Page 106 of Live To Tell

I’m still Violet Blackwood, half-vampire, half-witch, but now with a fondness for four people who’ve shown me I’m not dead inside. Just a little dark around the edges.

Like Rowan is. He worries me. Leif mentioned his temper and I’ve seen this in increasing intensity, notably two days ago. I accept what Rowan is now—that we’re bonded and alike, but not the same. Those similarities scare me too, but I finally understood the need to replace the shadows I give him with myself instead, and to show Rowan how I can’t hide from any part of what I am.

And to be frank, the curiosity and increasing frustration saw me walk into the arms and bed of the guy I love. Love. At least that’s not a minefield now we’ve reached an informal agreement of what constitutes our individual understanding of the emotion. Although, Rowan did comment that I’m overthinking still, based on that sentence alone.

Holly’s correct that intimate matters are more than parts joining, but I already knew that. If I didn’t possess the emotional intimacy with Rowan, regardless of a witch bond, I would never want to jump that chasm. We’d had some more minor intimate moments before last night and only now do I understand what Rowan meant about not holding back anymore. He was not only talking about magic.

The guy who had part of me, and sees the Violet nobody else has so far, now has all of me.

Things aren’t easy for the others. Leif remains in limbo, unsure whether he’ll need to run as he planned the first time we spoke. He’s still with Ethan at his mother’s, something my father will find uncomfortable, as she’s human and they’re intimidated by his appearance.

I spoke to Leif last night, and he flatly told me the elders weren’t lying. Leif’s father was a Tigris elder, but she knew nothing about the deeds or land. His father shielded her from shifters once he made the decision to leave. Again, that odd tugging sensation in my chest grew along with an itching need to fix this.

And Grayson. He spends each day wondering when Josef will catch up with him again. When. Not if. I’ve nothing to say that can reassure him because I won’t lie. Still, I’m an apparent distraction to the guy, who’s not letting me forget that for a moment. The emotions of his I sense are stronger than before, as is the physical longing, not helped by the blood inside me wanting to join with his.

He's truthful about not wanting the full blood-bond, but when Dorian discovers our tryst, will he believe Grayson? Highly doubtful.

Dorian. Today we’ll gather evidence that I can present to Dorian and query how his investigation is progressing. From the start, I’ve felt a certainty in the core of me that the tiara links into the puzzle somewhere. And activities in the academy? Is that linked to Josef’s group, the tiara, or the necromancer witches? Because I’m not entirely sure the two factions are working together, which could either help or hinder Dorian.

Please let today and our rendezvous with Annabelle bring us a step forward.

I sit on the park bench beside Rowan, beneath the boughs of an oak tree and scrutinize the faces of passers-by—a little too intently because one or two of the joggers speed up and an elderly couple pick up their clipped white poodle and veer away.

Our legs touch and Rowan holds my hand, and there’s a strange calmness about him I’ve never sensed before. Quite the opposite to how he usually is—and a world away from the guy who flipped out in the greenhouse last night. The pull to him became tighter, the invisible thread holding us together shorter. For once, magic never entered the equation.

“How clandestine,” I comment to Rowan and gesture at our unusual meeting place.

“And public,” he reminds me, then points at a large pond nearby where I’ve absentmindedly watched ducks attract children’s attention. “Maybe we should've brought bread?”

I blink. Mind reading? “Bread is actually harmful to ducks and feeding them the foodstuff should be discouraged.”

“Um. Okay.” He shakes his head. “I bet you never fed ducks in a human park as a kid. Far too normal.”

A small girl whose mother grabs her arm as she veers too close to the water triggers an odd memory. “I did. At least once, but I caused trouble and Ethan carried me away from the scene.”

“Necromancy?” he asks, not as quietly as he should.

“Not on those particular ducks, no. I left the reanimated ones on the island when we left.”

“Right.” Rowan elongates the word and takes my hand. “I can't imagine you feeding ducks.”

“I didn’t. I tried to steal them.”

A laugh bursts from him. “Steal? Best you don’t approach these ones.”

“I believe I may be conspicuous if I did, and Annabelle evidently desires the opposite.”

A woman walking alone catches my attention. Most who've passed without a dog or pushchair attached to their hands were joggers, and few travelled alone. This slender woman walks, even though dressed in sports gear—tight black leggings and a snug blue and black jacket, a baseball cap pulled low on her face, and sunglasses.

“Somebody doesn't want recognizing,” I say and point. She halts when she spots us, standing stock still at the edge of the graveled path that runs between the benches and pond, before pulling a phone from a jacket pocket and turning her back on us.

Rowan's own phone sounds with a message alert and he looks down. “I told you Annabelle wouldn't like you coming with me.”

we're supposed to meet alone

I sigh and take the phone from Rowan

you're both safer with me here

---