Page 91 of Violet

I shake my head. “I don’t want her to die.”

“Oh Stephan, not that. I didn’t mean that. Sophine’s stupid game and Cecilia’s death aren’t the same. And for what it’s worth, do this the right way and it doesn’t have to be something that earns Council sanctions.”

“So that’s all that matters?”

“To the Gardeners with all those Omegas? Yes. But for you? Itshouldmatter. A good start to this, an honest one, is a great starting place.” She pauses. “As for the rest? It doesn’t have to have the same ending. You need to knowthat. What happened to Cecilia isn’t Violet’s fate. You deserve happiness, too.”

I don’t say a word, just take the bottle of bourbon and go and sit outside the door.

Pen’s wrong. But what’s done is done, and it’s up to me to protect Violet in all ways, even from me. Because…shit…because what I told Pen earlier is true. I don’t know what I feel for Violet.

But…whatever it is, it’s starting to consume me.

What has this Omega done to me?

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Violet

From somewhere in the sea of haze and a deep, insane lust that rocks my very foundation, makes me fever-hot and slick between the thighs, the scent of oak anchors me.

I want him. It’s a desperation that makes my clit throb and swell, my pussy lips ache for a tongue, and my insides long for invasion, a swelling, a cure to the pain that gouges in.

But his scent. It’s there.

In me.

His voice is a low, cool stream of words that lick against the heat I can’t control myself.

And where’s Iris and Mom? She’s been here, too, a rock to cling to when my mind was gone, when the pain flared.

Thoughts fracture, and I press into him, his shirt dampwith perspiration, and together our scents mingle into something so much more.

But there’s no flesh, just softness of sheets, and the voice is in my head.

“Here, Vi…” Iris presses something cold against my forehead, and I take her hand, and drift once more.

I catch pieces of Stephan’s voice. Iris’s cool disdain threaded with humor, and I think the worst has passed.

But I keep drifting.

The world is dark and warm and quiet when I wake next. Things shift in and out of focus and my body is hot, restless, needing.

This is home, and oak’s in the air and smells so good. He’s embedded in a blanket I cling to, and then he’s there. Stephan. My Stephan.

We’re naked, and he’s doing things to me, so much but not enough, like it’s nothing but air.

In that world, he’s now just there. And then we’re dressed. He slides under the covers, kissing my face, biting once more on the mark, and I push into him.

More.

I try to capture that sweet relief.

It feels good when you do that.

I don’t say these things out loud, but he hears. And he doesn’t say a word, just kisses me deep, then trails tiny licking kisses to my throat, and this time he bites hard, sucking and licking his mark and I moan.

---