Page 81 of For Dear Life

“More than crystal, Dorian,” I interrupt. “And Leif’s stressed. He’s no experience of necromancy.”

“None of us has,” says Rowan.

But Dorian’s focus shifted again. “Why’s Grayson more nervous of me than last time we met?” He slants his head. “Has something happened between you and him, Violet? Does he have your blood?”

“Good grief, no,” I mutter.

“So?” He arches a brow.

Grayson runs fingers repeatedly through his hair, silently forming the story in his head but not sharing. I sigh. “Grayson won’t hurt me, even though someone asked him to.”

“Fuck, Violet,” says Grayson hoarsely.

“Excuse me?” growls Dorian. “Explain.”

“Well, Josef—” I begin.

“Let Grayson explain,” says Rowan quietly. “Less bluntly.”

I rest my hand on top of Grayson’s slender fingers, the cool of his ring against my palm. My gesture mutes him further and Dorian hisses air between his teeth.

“Again, I require a guarantee that you won’t hurt Grayson, Dorian.” My father often has a glare worthy of a petulant toddler—which I once told him and regretted the decision. The exact look he has now. “Grayson has information about the witches that I saw at the house.”

“Is that so?” asks Dorian darkly. “Friends of Josef’s? Is that why Sawyer wouldn’t speak to me about them in his presence?”

Grayson finds his voice again and cautiously relays his tale to Dorian, repeating what he told Rowan and Leif last night after meeting me. To his credit, Dorian listens and doesn’t interrupt. He taps his manicured fingers against the side of his cup.

“Josef Petrescu is not an idiot and yet that plan stinks of idiocy. He knows Grayson will tell you, Violet, and then me. He’s intending to lure me into a situation.” Dorian nods at me. “You are not to approach anymore witches or locations where they might be. If you see anybody who’s connected, or if Josef contacts Grayson, you contact me immediately.”

“But—”

“Violet.” His warning growl runs over everybody at the table. “I will confine you to the estate if you ignore me. I’m close to locating and apprehending these witches. Your work is done.”

I choke. “No. There’s a bigger picture. I want to keep investigating. The shifters, and—”

“Once I apprehend the killers and hand them over to human authorities with their confessions, yes. For now, no.” He sets down the cup and looks from guy to guy. “And your acquaintances will ensure you don’t go against my wishes, if they know what’s good for them.”

“They can’t tell me what to do,” I retort.

“Do you want them to stay safe, Violet?” he retorts. “Your Petrescu friend in particular would be wise to listen to me.”

“Absolutely,” says Grayson stiffly.

Speaking of petulant toddlers, I rest back in my seat and give Dorian a well-practiced daughterly scowl.

“Now, where is this phone you neglected to give me the other night?” He holds a hand out, palm upwards. “Any further communication from these witches needs to come to me.”

Yesterday evening, when I called to explain some of my day, Dorian questioned me about how I knew the witch left a message for Maxwell. When I answered, I had to hold the phone away from my ear as he yelled at me. At that point, I suggested he meet us today rather than risk the outcome if I informed him of Grayson’s news too.

“Violet, I’ll meet Sawyer tonight. Then I’ll locate the witches—I already have men visiting the house you mentioned and the lodge, in case either of those are the meeting location. I’m also looking further into the house owners’ affairs and background. I’ll deal with the witches, and I can move on to look for whoever’s overseeing this doomed plot against me.”

“We.”

“Phone.”

Glaring, I retrieve the phone from my sweater pocket and slam it on the table, which he takes and shoves into his jeans pocket.

Dorian stands and takes the black jacket he doesn’t need to wear from the seat beside him. He’s always one to disguise his supernatural traits in human company—none would walk around in the rain without a jacket and the gloomy weather demands one.

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