Page 47 of Knot Broken

We all exchange glances, a quiet surge of determination binding us together. Violet squeezes my hand softly, her expression fierce, unwavering.

“Marcus won’t know what hit him,” she whispers, the quiet intensity of her voice sharpening every word.

No, he definitely won’t—not after tonight.

“Thank you for including us even though we both know your alphas are probably pissed we will be in the middle of the danger.” Violet gives us a half smile.

I look at her and chuckle. “And if we asked you to stay here?”

She cocks an eyebrow at me. Fallon snorts, “We’d just go anyway.”

“I thought so.”

Dare

June 8th

12:42 P.M

The sun’s warm, low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the backyard as a gentle breeze moves through the trees. It’s one of those rare quiet days—the kind we never used to get before her. Even though we know we are about to be knee deep in it. While we are getting confirmation on action, we have this rare moment to ourselves, and I’ll be dammed if I wasn’t going to take it.

Violet’s sitting a few feet away on a weathered stool, perched in front of a tall canvas propped up on an easel. She’s wearing a loose black tank top and shorts smudged with flecks of purple and blue paint, a pair of sunglasses pushed up into her wild curls. Her bare feet tap absently against the patio pavers as she works, brush moving with sure, easy strokes. She’s in her element, completely focused—but I know she’s listening. She always is.

I’m stretched out on the outdoor sofa, shirt off, one arm slung behind my head, a glass of water sweating on the tablebeside me. Watching her paint is one of my favorite things. She doesn’t even realize how peaceful she makes the world feel.

“You ever been to the coast?” I ask, letting my voice drift lazily through the air.

She hums. “Only once, but it was gray and rainy. I kinda liked it.”

“My mom’s place is about twenty minutes from the beach. Warm most of the year. Smells like jasmine and saltwater. You’d probably love it.”

Violet glances back over her shoulder, giving me a soft smile before returning to her canvas. “You close with your family?”

“Yeah,” I say, a little surprised by how easily the answer comes. “At least, now I am. I grew up with two younger sisters, and my mom—she’s the glue. Strong as hell, kind of loud, and she absolutely loses her mind over anything romantic. When I told her about you…” I chuckle, rubbing the back of my neck. “Let’s just say she cried and threatened to show up uninvited in the same phone call.”

That earns a genuine laugh from Violet, bright and beautiful, and it pulls something loose in my chest.

“She’s just happy I found you,” I add, quieter now. “She worried I’d keep pushing people away. That I’d forget how to want a pack outside of the job.”

Violet pauses mid-stroke, her body still for a moment before she sets her brush down carefully and turns fully toward me.

“You didn’t forget,” she says, meeting my gaze. “You just hadn’t found the right reason to want it yet.”

I blink at her, swallowing the sudden tightness in my throat. “Maybe. Or maybe I just hadn’t found you.”

She stands slowly, walking over to me with paint still smudged on her fingertips, and settles herself on the edge of the sofa beside me. Her hand rests gently on my chest, right over my heart, and I cover it with mine.

“I want to meet her,” she says softly. “Your mom.”

A slow smile pulls at my mouth. “She’s going to love you.”

Violet grins, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my cheek before whispering, “Tell me more, Dare. Tell me everything.”

So I do.

And for the first time in years, I feel like every word matters.

The sun has shifted lower in the sky, casting long amber shadows across the backyard. Violet returned to her stool after curling up beside me, her brush lazily dancing over the canvas, but we’re not really talking anymore. It’s the kind of silence that feels lived in—like something shared, not empty.

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