Darius

I can’t stop watching her.

My office has floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooking the main floor of the Supernatural Affairs Division. Normally, I keep the blinds pulled halfway down for privacy, but today, they’re open. I tell myself it’s to monitor department operations.

It’s a lie. I’m watching Violet.

She sits three rows back from my office, her desk positioned near the window. Sunlight streams through the glass, catching in her hair and turning it almost golden. She is bent over her computer, completely absorbed in whatever she’s working on, her fingers flying across the keyboard with surprising speed.

My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin like the caged animal he is. He wants out. Wants to go to her. Wants to claim what’s ours.

I take a deep breath.

Two days. This is her second day working here, and every minute has been torture.

She sits right there, close enough that I can catch traces of her scent when she walks past my office. Close enough that, if I focus hard enough, I can hear her voice through the soundproof glass when she speaks to colleagues. Close enough that it’s driving me absolutely insane.

But not close enough to touch. Never close enough to touch.

My wolf snarls, frustrated. He doesn’t understand why we’re denying ourselves. Why we’re sitting in this office when our mate is right there, breathing the same air, existing in the same space.

Because she doesn’t know, I remind him savagely. She doesn’t feel it.

She should, though. Even without her wolf fully surfacing, the mate bond shouldn’t only be felt on my end. But there’s nothing in her eyes. That’s the part that’s been eating at me: the complete lack of recognition. The way she looks at me with nothing but cold indifference—and sometimes, outright hostility.

Maybe she’s hiding it after overhearing what I said to my father. My jaw clenches at the memory.

“Clumsy.” “Shy.” “Sheltered.” “Can barely function in normal society.”

The words echo in my head like a curse. Every vile thing I said, every cruel observation meant to convince my father that Violet doesn’t belong in this division, in this building, anywhere near me.

She heard all of it.

I saw her face when I opened that door. Saw the way the color drained from her cheeks, the indifference that slid over her expression like a mask. And then, she walked past me like I was nothing, keeping space between us so deliberately, it felt like a slap.

“You don’t like me, right?”

Her question from that night cut me deeper than any blade could.

“I’m not interested in spending any amount of time with you, either.”

I deserved that. Deserved worse, probably.

But what I didn’t deserve was the way she looked at me when I cornered her against my car the next morning. Like I repulsed her. Like my touch made her sick.

“Your smell makes me nauseous,” she told me. The memory causes a hollow ache to spread through my ribs.

But she was lying. I know she was. I saw the way her pupils dilated when I got close. The blush in her cheeks, the slight tremor in her hands. Her body responded to me even though she tried to pretend the opposite.

She said it, though. Twisted her wrist free with a move I didn’t know she possessed and walked away like I mean nothing.

Like we mean nothing.

I force my attention back to the present, to the woman sitting at her desk who looks nothing like the girl I remember.

That girl was shy. Reserved. She kept her head down during pack gatherings, spoke in soft whispers when addressed directly, flinched whenever her mother’s sharp gaze landed on her. She was sweet in a way that made me want to protect her, to shield her from the cruelty of our world.

This woman is different.

Quiet, yes. But there’s steel beneath the silence now. An inner strength that radiates from her even when she’s sitting perfectly still.

I saw it yesterday morning.

I was heading down for coffee when I heard voices raised in the kitchen. Ordinarily, I’d ignore it, but something made me pause outside the door.

It was Violet, her tone cold and controlled. “Say it again. To my face this time.”

Then, the sound of an object clattering to the floor, followed by a gasp of pain.

I stepped closer and peered through the crack in the door just in time to see Violet twist the head cook’s arm. The older woman’s face went pale, her eyes wide with shock and pain.

“Since you have so many opinions, let’s go discuss them in front of the Alpha.”

The ice in her voice sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn’t the timid girl who used to apologize for existing. This was someone who knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t hesitate to do it.

I watched her maintain that joint lock without flinching, forcing the cook toward the door while James scrambled to intervene. I watched Violet refuse to back down even when Susan started crying, even when she begged.

“I may be weak, but I’m not going to let anyone walk all over me.”

She released the cook only after making her point crystal clear. Then, she asked for breakfast as if nothing had happened, her tone perfectly calm.

I’d barely managed to step back before she walked out of the kitchen and nearly crashed into me.

The look in her eyes when she saw me standing there told me I was just another obstacle in her path. Another person she had to navigate around.

“I don’t remember you being this person.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“And? Did you prefer me when I cried and whimpered?”

That bitter smile. That cutting retort. Every word was designed to push me away, to maintain the distance she’d already established between us.

I can’t reconcile this woman with the girl I knew. Can’t match this quiet strength with the shy teenager who used to light up whenever I treated her nicely.

A slight movement pulls me from my thoughts.

Violet is talking to Sarah, one of the senior analysts. Sarah hands her a stack of files, then gestures to something on her computer screen. Violet nods and asks a question I can’t hear from here. Sarah responds, and Violet makes a note on her pad.

She’s picking things up quickly. Altogether too quickly for someone who supposedly has no experience in this field.

On my laptop, I tap a few keys, and then I observe as Violet pulls up a territorial dispute file, cross-references it with three different alliance agreements, and pinpoints the exact clause that resolves the conflict. It takes her four minutes. It would’ve taken most analysts an hour.

My ribs constrict with approval. Satisfaction. The pride of watching my mate excel.

I expected her to struggle. Thought I would have to step in and help her navigate the complexities of supernatural politics and corporate procedures. Predicted that she would need me, even if she didn’t want me.

But she doesn’t. She’s smart. Clever in ways I hadn’t anticipated. It has only been two days, and she has already found her footing, already proven she belongs in this division despite what I told my father. Despite what I told myself.

Another movement near her desk catches my attention. Rachel from the alliance coordination team is approaching her, a smug expression on her face. Behind her, I can see two of the other women from her cluster watching, not even trying to suppress the smirks on their faces.

They’ve been testing her all day. This morning it was filing old alliance documents in the archives. Before lunch, copying and collating reports for the entire team. And twice already today, coffee runs. Things that have nothing to do with her actual job description. Menial tasks meant to establish a hierarchy.

They can sense it: the weakness of Violet’s wolf. The lack of dominant presence that should mark her as pack. And they’re pushing boundaries, seeing how far they can go.

I force myself to stay seated. Not to interfere. She made it clear she doesn’t want my help, doesn’t want anything from me. Besides, she handled the cook. She can handle this.

Rachel leans against Violet’s desk. Whatever she says makes Violet’s hands go still on her keyboard for just a moment.

Then, she nods. Her expression remains perfectly neutral, giving nothing away. She stands, her movements controlled and deliberate. Picks up not just her phone but her wallet from her desk.

My hands curl into fists.

Third time today. And they’re making her pay for it again. Making her not only get but pay for their goddamn coffee.

Violet moves toward the elevators, and that’s when I see it. Now that her back is to Rachel and the smirking women, her face shows what she’s really feeling. Not anger. Not the cold fury I saw in the kitchen.

Exhaustion. A deep, bone-weary resignation. Like she has fought this battle a thousand times and knows exactly how it ends. Like she has already accepted that this is simply how things are, how they’ll always be.

My breath catches. I feel a sharp pain in my chest at that look on her face.

I’m on my feet before I can think better of it, shoving back from my desk hard enough that my chair hits the wall. I stride to the door and push through just as Violet passes by.

Rachel looks up, and I see the exact moment she spots me. Her expression shifts from smugness to predatory interest in a heartbeat. She immediately hurries over with that walk she thinks is seductive.

“Darius,” she purrs, reaching out to touch my arm. Her fingers trail up my bicep as she leans in, her voice dropping to what she probably means to be an alluring tone. “I’ve been meaning to catch you. There’s a clause in the Ravenhood contract that needs your signature, and I thought maybe we could go over it together?” Her hand slides higher, squeezing slightly. “Privately?”

Normally, I tolerate Rachel’s behavior. She’s dominant enough that she keeps the other women in line, preventing the kind of petty drama that would waste my time. I basically ignore it when she touches me. I’ve never encouraged her, but I’ve never explicitly shut her down, either.

But right now, with my mate walking away, Rachel’s hand on my arm feels like a violation. I shake it off with enough force to make her stumble back a step.

Violet doesn’t even glance our way. Just keeps heading toward the elevators as if nothing’s happening. As if I don’t exist.

“Violet.”

The single word comes out like a whip crack. A command that makes every shifter on the floor freeze. The soft click of Violet’s heels against the floor stops immediately, but she doesn’t turn to face me.

“Where are you going?” My voice is lower now, controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes the temperature in the room drop.

Silence.

Rachel recovers quickly, that fake smile still plastered on her face. “Oh, don’t worry about her,” she says with a dismissive wave. “The new girl’s just doing a coffee run. I needed someone to pick up the afternoon orders, and she seemed like the perfect person for it.”

Behind Rachel, I can see the other women exchanging glances. Clear amusement. Delight at putting the weak wolf in her place.

Heat floods through me, rage building behind my sternum like pressure in a volcano.

I slowly turn my head to look back at Rachel. “Who gave you the authority to send employees on coffee runs?”

Rachel blinks, her smile faltering. “I—What?”

“Are your legs broken?” I take a step toward her, and satisfaction flares when she automatically moves back. “Or are you just too incompetent to get your own coffee?”

Her face flushes. “She’s hardly an employee.” The words come out sounding defensive, almost petulant. Rachel gestures past me toward where Violet is standing. “She’s hardly a shifter. She doesn’t belong in this office.”

Silence.

I wait for Violet to react. To unleash the same cold fury I saw her direct at the cook yesterday morning. To put Rachel in her place. But she says nothing.

The elevator dings. The doors slide open.

I hear Violet’s footsteps resume. Measured. Controlled.

I turn just in time to see her step inside the elevator without a word, without a backward glance. Her expression is blank, but just before the doors start to close, I catch it. That same tired, resigned look. Like she expected this. Like she has already accepted it.

The doors close, and the volcano erupts.

I grab Rachel’s wrist, my grip tight enough that she gasps. Dominance rolls off me in waves, and I watch with cold satisfaction as her knees start to buckle. She tries to hold eye contact, her wolf rising to meet the challenge, but I squeeze harder. And harder. Until her eyes drop and her body trembles.

“Let me make one thing clear,” I say, my voice dropping to a growl that makes every shifter within hearing distance freeze.

I release her wrist, and Rachel stumbles backward, barely catching herself on her desk. Her coffee mug tips over and spills across her keyboard. Papers scatter around her feet.

The entire floor is still silent.

“Violet is here because of the Alpha’s direct orders. Anyone who makes her life difficult will answer to me personally. Understood?”

Rachel stares up at me, her face white with shock and fear. “Wha–What?”

I take a threatening step toward her, letting her see the wolf in my eyes, and she immediately cowers, dropping her gaze completely.

“I don’t like repeating myself. She is not to be touched.”

Rachel nods, trembling.

“Good.” I lift my gaze to address the rest of the office, making sure every single person hears this. “That goes for everyone. Violet is under my protection. Touch her, harass her, or interfere with her work in any way, and you’ll wish you were never born.”

I don’t wait for a response. I turn and stride toward the elevators, where I punch the button. The doors open immediately. Different elevator. Empty.

I step inside and hit the button for the lobby. My heart is pounding. I need to find her, make sure she’s okay, protect what’s mine.

As the elevator descends, I know what they’re all thinking up there. Know the rumors that will spread like wildfire through the building. Darius Moonvale, cold and controlled second-in-command, losing his shit over the weird, new girl who can’t even shift. The truth will come out that she’s related to me. Will that change how they treat her? I can protect her better if people know she’s my stepsister.

The word makes me sick, though. I wish she were anything but that.

The elevator reaches the lobby, and I step out, scanning the space.

There.

Violet is walking out the front entrance. I hurry in that direction, not knowing what I’m going to say, just needing to make sure she’s okay. Before I can reach her, I hear someone call her name, and a man rushes past me. She looks back into the building, toward the sound, and her eyes meet mine for a second before focusing on the person heading toward her.

I recognize Julian immediately. One of the junior staff in my division. Young, eager, competent enough. Harmless.

Julian catches up to Violet just outside the main entrance. I’m still inside, close enough to see but not to hear. He smiles at her, gesturing down the street. Probably offering to help with the coffee run. Then, Violet does something that makes the pressure build in my chest again.

She smiles back.

It’s hesitant. Small. Nothing like the bright, genuine smiles I remember from years ago. But it’s there. A crack in that carefully controlled mask she’s been wearing around me since she arrived.

The smile is for him. Not for me.

My hands curl into fists at my sides. Every instinct is screaming at me to close the distance between us, to drag Violet away from him, to make it clear that she’s…

That she’s what? Mine?

My fists slowly relax, fingers uncurling in defeat. In agony.

Because she’s not mine.

I’m the one who said those cruel things about her to my father. The one who’s been maintaining this brutal distance because claiming her would destroy everything.

But watching them walk away together, watching Julian lean in slightly as he talks to her, watching the way she tilts her head to listen?

It’s torture.

I turn around before I do something I’ll regret.

Every step away from her feels wrong. My wolf snarls, pacing, demanding I go back. Claim her. Make it clear to every male in this building that she is off limits.

But I can’t.

The side exit leads to a small smoking area tucked between buildings. It’s empty this time of day. I pull out my cigarettes, light one, and take a deep drag.

The nicotine does nothing to calm the rage burning through my veins.

I smoke three cigarettes in rapid succession, crushing each one under my heel with more force than needed. The acrid smell clings to my clothes, my hair, my skin. I light a fourth. A fifth. A sixth.

By the time I hear voices approaching, the ground around me is littered with crushed butts.

I don’t look to see who it is. Don’t need to. I can smell her. It’s that artificial perfume masking the ghost of her real scent. But there’s something else now, too. Something that makes my hackles rise.

Julian.

She has been walking close enough to him that his scent has transferred to her. Or maybe he even touched her. Guided her with a hand on her arm.

The cigarette between my teeth nearly snaps in two.

I hear Violet’s footsteps pause. Feel her eyes on me.

She’s going to walk right on past. Going to pretend I don’t exist, just like she has been doing for two days.

My hand shoots out of its own accord. My fingers wrap around her wrist firmly but not enough to cause pain. The cigarette is still clenched between my teeth, smoke curling up into my vision.

I don’t look at her. Can’t. Not yet.

Julian’s voice. “Uh…Darius?”

“I need a word with Violet.” My voice comes out rough. Gravelly.

The tension in Violet’s arm tells me she has gone perfectly still. “Sure,” she says coolly. “I’ll come to your office after—”

“Now.”

She tries to pull her wrist away. I don’t let go.

Finally, I lift my head. Slowly. Meeting her gaze for the first time since yesterday morning.

Those hazel eyes are blazing with anger. Good. I’d rather have her rage than her indifference.

“I said, I’ll come to your office,” she repeats, each word enunciated clearly.

“And I said, now.”

I see the war playing out behind her eyes. Part of her wants to fight me on this, to assert her independence. But another part recognizes the command in my voice, the dominance she can’t quite ignore even though she wants to.

Julian clears his throat as he motions with the carrier of coffees in his hands. “I can, uh, take these upstairs for you, Violet.”

Her jaw clenches. I notice her frustration building in the way her free hand curls into a fist at her side. If I weren’t so fucking angry myself, I might be amused by how pissed she looks.

“That would be great, Julian,” she says through gritted teeth. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Julian says, looking between us uncertainly. “I’ll just…Yeah.”

He hurries through the side entrance.

The moment he’s gone, Violet yanks her wrist again. Harder this time.

I still don’t let go. I stand there with her arm held in midair between us, the cigarette still clamped between my teeth. She crinkles her nose, her face twisting in disgust.

The cigarette. She doesn’t like the smell.

Without a second thought, I pull it from my mouth and drop it to the ground, crushing it beside the rest of them.

I release her wrist. “Why have you been letting the others in the office treat you like a lackey?” I ask harshly.

Her eyes flash. “That’s none of your business.”

She walks past me, heading for the door. I follow her, keeping pace easily with my longer stride. There’s an isolated corridor just inside this entrance. Usually empty. Private.

Once there, I step in front of her, cutting off her path. She tries to move around me, but I block her again, backing her up until her spine hits the wall.

“You’re here to work,” I say, planting my hands on either side of her head. Caging her in. “Not to be a maidservant for people who think they can push you around.”

“Get out of my way.” She lifts her chin, but I catch the slight tremor in her voice that betrays her.

I lean closer, and her true scent envelops me. That artificial perfume can’t mask it anymore. Not when we’re this close. I can hear her heart beating, see the pulse hammering in her throat, feel the heat radiating from her skin even though I’m not even touching her yet.

And underneath her scent, there’s something else. Something that makes satisfaction bloom in my chest.

Desire.

She wants this. Wants me. Even if she won’t admit it.

I brace myself, forcing my body to stay still even though all I want to do is take her, right here and right now.

“You had no problem standing up to the cook,” I say, my voice lower. Rougher. “But when it comes to your colleagues, you act like a meek, little mouse.”

Her pulse is racing. I can smell the adrenaline mixing with that faint trace of arousal.

“Why is that?” I bring my face closer to her neck, where her scent is strongest. Where I can breathe her in without that goddamn perfume getting in the way. “Is it because the chef is in a weaker position than you? Easy target?”

These words are designed to get a rise out of her. To break through that icy control. And I sense her anger a split second before she moves.

She’s fast. Faster than I expected.

Her knee comes up hard, aiming for my groin. I twist just in time, catching it on my thigh instead. The impact still sends a jolt of pain through my leg, but I ignore it.

Her hands shove my chest, and I let her push me back a step. Which gives her just enough room.

She’s clever rather than strong, using momentum and precision instead of brute force. She aims for a pressure point just below my ribs, fingers jabbing hard.

If she were dealing with anyone else, it would work. But I’m not anyone else.

I catch her wrist, twist it, and spin her around before she can react. Her front slams against the wall, and I pin both her hands above her head with one of mine.

She’s breathing hard now, her chest heaving with exertion. And I’m rock hard in my pants.

Fuck.

I am pressed up against her back, every inch of her touching me. I can feel the curve of her ass against my hard cock, separated only by our clothes. Every rapid breath she takes makes her body shift against mine. Every tremor running through her frame echoes through my own.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinding against her.

Her scent is overwhelming this close. The desire I smelled earlier is stronger now, mixing with anger and frustration and ferocity.

“You picked up a lot of skills in your six years away,” I murmur against her ear, keeping my voice low. Controlled. Even though control is the last thing I feel right now. “I’m curious what school taught you to fight like that.”

She tries to jerk her arms free. I tighten my grip just enough to keep her still.

“Let me go.” Her voice is breathless. Shaky.

My free hand moves to her waist, trying to steady her. The contact is electric, sending heat racing through my veins. I feel her desire intensify. I love the way her body responds to mine even as she fights it.

I release her wrists abruptly, stepping back before I do something irreversible. Like spin her around and kiss her until she stops pretending she doesn’t feel this pull between us.

She turns around slowly until her back is against the wall. Her wrists are slightly red from my grip. She rubs them absently, staring at me with those wide, hazel eyes.

“Tell Julian not to touch you again,” I say sternly.

Her body locks up. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“What are you talking about?” Confusion bleeds into her voice. “Julian didn’t—”

“I can smell him on you.” The jealousy in my voice is impossible to hide now. “His scent. On your shoulder.”

I see the moment when she remembers it happening. Then, a look of puzzlement crosses her face, like she can’t comprehend why Julian touching her would matter to me—or why some traitorous part of her is responding positively to my jealousy.

“If you let anyone in the office bully you again,” I say, my voice dropping to a warning growl, “I’ll punish you for it.”

Her pupils dilate. “Punish me?” Her voice cracks on the words.

A dark possessiveness unfurls in my chest at the way she’s looking at me. Like she can’t decide if she’s terrified or intrigued.

“I can be very creative,” I say softly.

She flushes. Pink spreads across her cheeks, down her throat, and beneath the collar of her dress. She is completely flustered. She doesn’t know how to process what is happening between us.

Suddenly, her expression shutters. “This was my good dress,” she snaps, looking down at it. “And you got your cigarette smoke all over it.”

She pushes past me, her shoulder deliberately knocking into my arm as she storms off.

I watch her go, my chest heaving, my hands still trembling with the urge to go after her. To grab her again. To pull her back. To never let her leave.

I pull out another cigarette and place it between my lips. My lighter is already in my hand when I pause.

That disgusted look on her face. The way she cringed at the smell.

Slowly, I lower the lighter. I take the cigarette from my mouth and stare at it. Then, I crush the entire pack in my fist and throw it in the trash. The lighter is next.

I stand there in the empty corridor, Violet’s scent still clinging to my clothes.

Two days down.

I don’t know how many more I can survive.

Some content on the website is uploaded by users. If it infringes on your rights, please contact us.