Page 35 of Violet

What other secrets is she holding?

I want to find out.

Looks like it’s time for me to find her and collect that dance I was promised.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Violet

Irun past the maze and rose garden, through the small smattering of trees, and then slow, walking by the clipped entrance to an old maze, one that’s tall and thick.

Trying to shut off my mounting thoughts, I focus on making the moon and stars my only guide. The glow behind me of the house is in the near distance. The noise and the music is mostly now only background noise, and the fresh air loosens the tightness of my chest and lets me breathe.

Somewhere a frog croaks and crickets sing.

It’s getting cooler now.

The grass is soft and springy under my feet, slightly damp. My shoes are… I don’t even remember where they landed when I kicked them off.

I stop and carefully remove the mask, then continue, turning a corner as I find a little-used path.

Something shimmers like dancing silver, and I realize I’ve reached a small lake. I focus on calm to quiet down the little rivulets of panic that come at me in waves. There’s a gazebo so I go to it, climbing the short steps. The path might not be used much, but this structure is kept painted and clean, and there’s even a lamp on the table in the middle as if it was meant to be used by guests.

I perch on one of the built-in benches and carefully set the mask down to close my eyes a moment.

The lap of the water soothes. And the songs of the night are magic.

I could stay here forever.

I can’t, though. I’m going to have to go back in eventually.

It’s just…those girls. The stares. The pressure.

My thoughts waver as my senses spark.

The scent of oak drifts on the lightest of night breezes, making me start to buzz.

My breath catches fast in my throat, but this time it isn’t panic. It’s everything but.

Jumping to my feet, I turn—and there he is. The man from the boathouse, Mr. Ashford, looking too good in that wolf mask and scruff. The suit’s made for him. It’s way more stylish than anyone else’s and black in this light. But it isn’t pure black. I remember seeing the blue and almost purple threads that run through the material when he stood with me, holding my hand, using his Alpha voice on me so softly that the command still reverberates in me somewhere.

“I’m sorry.” I reach for my mask. “I’ll go?—”

“You still owe me a dance, Violet.”

My name on his lips shocks me, and I don’t move as he approaches.

He walks with intent, and he commands my attention, all without saying anything else.

I know if we were in a crowded room, he’d draw all the eyes. He probably did earlier, but I was too on the verge of a full-blown meltdown to notice.

In the dark, the only light is the silver moon reflected on the water and the stars above, and it somehow feels more powerful than if we were somewhere brightly lit. I want to breathe in his oak and rich earthy scent, the sweeter undertones, see what he is beneath that expensive blocker.

He’s so familiar. Beyond meeting him at the boathouse. Maybe I’ve seen him in town and just don’t remember.

But a man like him a girl can’t easily forget. So where is this hint of recognition coming from?

---