Page 19 of For Dear Life

“I held you. When you died, Violet, I held you while Leif calmed down a hysterical Rowan.” His voice cracks. “There was a lot of blood. Your blood. But you know what there wasn’t? My usual obsession with tasting you.”

I pause, terrified that I’ll say or do the wrong thing. Evidently Dorian’s wrong—not all Petrescus are ruthless killers who’ve no conscience.

“I care about you a lot, Violet. When I held you, I felt as if someone punched a hole in my chest and let out all the air. I couldn’t breathe anymore.”

I moisten my lips. “I believe that’s called a panic attack, Grayson.”

Grayson swears and forces apart hangers either side of my head, his eyes darker hemia than their usual emerald. “Violet!”

“If you’re about to sink your teeth into even the smallest vein, beware, because I am really not in a mood to accommodate unwanted advances.”

“How?” He half-shouts and drags both hands through his hair. “How are you like this? Yesterday was a fucking big deal. I’m trying to tell you what you mean to me and you’re telling me I had a panic attack!”

His breathing grows faster and shallower, but I hold off suggesting he’s having another one.

“Grayson. You and me in close proximity in this way feels rather familiar. I’m focusing very, very hard on not...” I hold a palm to my forehead. “Move away. Please.”

“‘Very, very hard on’ not doing what? Shoving me against the wall and trying to take my blood again?” he asks in a harsh voice.

“Don’t,” I warn. Has he not considered yesterday’s blood loss could’ve exacerbated the possibility?

His shoulders drop, and he rubs a palm across his eyes. I grab the opportunity to duck beneath the clothes, but my feet get tangled in several pairs of boot laces. I trip forward, snatching at a nearby coat to right myself again, but fail. Grayson catches me and pulls me up beneath the arms.

I’m close. Too close. His blood flows fast and near to the surface, and immediately, my hands are between us, palms against his chest, where his heart thunders against them. Grayson’s arms suddenly surround me, trapping my own uncomfortably between us and bringing my face far too close to his jugular.

“Grayson,” I say stiffly. “You have three seconds to let me go before I impale you with a coat hanger.”

Too late. She’s already here—the Violet who craves Grayson’s blood, not his affection, and who’d accept his touch as the opportunity to move my mouth closer to that. So, when he pulls away and looks down at me in the way Rowan does, I panic for different reasons, moistening my lips as I look at his.

If I kissed Grayson, I could bite and taste the blood my heart wants to beat through me.

The fool completely ignores my threat, instead attempting to take my hand. “I don’t care if you bite,” he says quietly.

“I assure you, you would,” I say and pull my hand back, focusing away from him to the floor. “Wait. I need to do something.” I drop to my knees.

Grayson goes utterly still and silent as I shove aside a shoebox placed on the floorboards, revealing the whole of a mark I’d spotted partially hidden beneath.

Runes.

What?

7

VIOLET

They’re temporary runes, chalked in blue, and now my pulse runs fast for other reasons. Why are runes hidden in Holly’s closet?

I open the lid to the cardboard box and peep inside. Long, white leather boots take up most of the space, but there’s a small black velvet pouch tucked into a corner, barely larger than a ring box, tied by a red ribbon. The item twirls in front of my eyes as I hold it up by that ribbon.

Spellbag.

All secretly placed here by a witch with ill intent? No. Despite the mess in this closet, Holly would know about the runes. “Grayson.” I tug at the leg of his jeans, and he looks down, the same startled look on his face. “Look at this.”

As he crouches, I tip the contents of the bag into my palm—rose quartz, black onyx, and moldavite.

“Is this yours or Holly’s?” he asks

“Not mine.” I squeeze the stones in my hand as I move everything aside to look at the small circle more closely. “And these runes. They’re used to focus energy.”

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