Page 12 of The Girl With Violet Eyes

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t... I didn’t...” I mutter. But he just exhales slowly and shakes his head as if reeling something back into himself.

“It’s okay,” he says finally, his voice low and husky, barely above a whisper. He shuts his eyes tightly before adding, “You... you can touch me... if you want to.”

I do.

I’ve seen plenty of pretty males back in my own pack, but none like him. And none who were kind. Hesitantly, I unfurl my fist and raise my hand up toward him again, tracing the dip of his lower lip, surprisingly silky under my fingertips. His lips part slightly, melting under my touch, and an idea crosses my mind that makes color rise up to my cheeks and heat pool in the pit of my stomach.

I want to trace the soft lines of those lips with my own.

As if reading my mind, his eyes flicker down to my mouth, and I feel that heat spreading with me. He leans down, and I tilt my chin up toward him, my hand dropping to rest lightly against his chest. He smells like honey and smoke, and he’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath against my lips. They brush tentatively against his, feather-soft and tantalizingly slow.

It’s barely the ghost of a kiss, but suddenly something cold and biting burns across my chest. There’s a slashing sort of sting over my heart, reminding me of the slicing agony that Oscar’s claws once inflicted, and I gasp, pulling away sharply.

“No!” I choke on the word.

Tristan’s eyelashes flutter over his golden eyes as he blinks in confusion, and I desperately wriggle out of his arms and crawl away from him, putting as much distance between us as possible without falling off the bed. I press my palm over my chest, over the crescent, scar-like birthmark right below my left collarbone, as I pant.

It happens so quickly, and panic floods back into me. That flicker of pain muddies my memories and nightmares like something stirring up dirt underwater. I’m dizzy with drowsiness; fear makes everything murky, but I catch the flash of hurt in Tristan’s eyes.

I don’t know what just happened, what that was. Before I can contemplate the words that might express my confusion or communicate what I just experienced, Tristan is on his feet. He moves with the speed and precision of a perfect predator. In what seems like a single, swift motion, he turns away from me, heading for the door with such resentment in his expression that I don’t know what to do with myself.

“No,” I say again, softer this time. He ignores me, taking another step toward the exit.

I’m sore and startled and still very much afraid.

But I don’t want him to go.

Chapter Twelve

“Please.”

The plea escapes me before I can think twice about it, and Tristan stops, his back still turned to me. He doesn’t face me, but he’s no longer bolting for the door. I take a few shaky breaths, trying to steady myself as my head spins. I let myself collapse onto the bed, hunching forward facedown, so my forehead is resting on the mattress as I struggle to gather my bearings.

I don’t have the energy or the good sense to consider my next words, so I just let them tumble out. “Please don’t go.”

I hear him turning back toward me, but I remain curled up on the bed, shaking slightly.

“Why?” he asks, but it is more of an accusation than a question. He must think I’m mad. Perhaps I am. Perhaps I’ve lost my mind at last. Is this what my mother felt like? Am I damned to suffer the same fate as she did?

I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know what I could possibly say to explain myself or to apologize. I want to thank him for comforting me, thank him for his patience and concern for me. It’s more than anyone has ever shown me.

I think of the way he held Oscar’s hand in a death grip before my cousin could hit me, and how he let me climb onto his back when I was too weak to run. I think of how he snapped at his Beta at dinner, and the way he seemed almost apologetic when he came to check on me after.

'All this trouble, and I still don’t even know your name.'

It’s the least I can give him.

“I...” I start, and my voice is unsteady as I lift my head from the bed but keep my eyes lowered. “I don’t have a name.”

Silence. My head is hanging, my gaze fixed on my hands curled into the sheets below me.

“You wanted to know what I’m called,” I go on, filling the silence with my hushed words. “But I couldn’t tell you. My father abandoned my mother without mating with her. I never knew who he was or where I came from, and my mother...” She lost her mind. She had a cursed child with violet eyes and no father that drove her mad until she died. “My mother died when I was just a baby, so I was raised by her brother, Viktor.”

Tristan lets out a sharp breath, and it dawns on me that he never even knew that I was the Alpha’s niece. He probably never would have guessed it from the way Viktor and Oscar treated me. It might not have been the best idea to reveal that I’m related to his enemy.

Please, please don’t hate me...

“Viktor, is your uncle?” he asks, and when I nod to confirm, he curses under his breath. I flinch.

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