Chapter Two

“SHOWER,” HE SAID, when he flipped her down, right side up onto the edge of a large bed.

Violet was still dizzy from being bounced upside down while he’d walked her through streets, back out into the woods, then here.

She blinked up at him. The house was warm, the bedroom clean if minimalistic. He watched her carefully, green eyes narrowed like he didn’t expect her to follow the command. Something inside her took that as a challenge.

“No. How about you tell me what the fuck that was, where I am, and why they—they shot an arrow at me?”

He met her growing anger with cool indifference that only served to make her fume. He’d seemed big in the forest, and he seemed more so here, wide chested with arms that burst from the sleeves of his shirt, hard cut and thick muscled. With his blue jeans, boots, and dark, slightly curly hair, he looked so normal, if normal was on steroids.

“Take a shower, then sleep,” he said again, no question in the words. “You’re tired.”

“And you’re a psycho,” Violet spat back, struggling to her feet. “You can’t just kidnap a person. What the fuck is wrong with this town? Where am I?” Her demands barely moved him; he seemed impervious to them, solid like a wall with his arms hanging loosely at his sides while he watched her rail.

“Forest Bluff.” He wet his lips and stepped around her to open a drawer in a smooth, dark-stained wooden dresser. “Shower or don’t.” He tossed a large swath of black fabric onto the bed. “Drink some water. I’ll see you this afternoon.” He turned to leave, and something inside her snapped.

“Hey!” Her fingers closed around the back of his shirt.

Violet swore she’d barely moved, barely blinked, barely thought of what she would say next when he’d whipped around and was facing her again. Her arm was caught around him now, tugging her close to him. Calloused fingers on her chin held her in place before she could step back.

She swallowed and felt her throat move against the heel of his hand, felt his breath, warm on her cheek, and the tension that had dropped over them when he’d turned around. His green eyes studied her, flicked down her cheeks, to her lips, then suddenly she was moved away from him. Strong hands around her arms pushed her back and sat her on the edge of the bed while he left the room too fast for her to follow. The lock snicked on the door, and Violet beat her fist on the mattress in rage.

 

THE SKY WAS dark outside the window when she woke. It took a long minute to understand where she was, why her ribs screamed when she sat up, and why she was wrapped in an unfamiliar blue comforter. As she looked around the room, her gaze fell to the handle on the window, but it was locked; she’d tried that yesterday—earlier—time had become difficult to hold onto since she’d left the club.

She’d beat the door for what felt like hours after he’d disappeared, yelling her demands through the crack in the frame, and rattling the handle. When it refused to give, and he’d not come back, (Mikel, she reminded herself), she’d tried the windows and rifled through his drawers for anything that might help. When she found nothing but clothes, she’d finally relented. The hot shower had hurt. Violet had sat under the spray until it started to turn cold and dressed herself back in her ruined jeans and the T-shirt he’d left, before sitting down at the foot of the bed to think.

She searched the darkness. The water and two white pills on the nightstand confirmed he’d been in the room while she was sleeping, and he’d probably moved her to the bed. The thought made her insides squirm with discomfort. She ignored the offering, half out of spite and half out of distrust.

Awake now, Violet left the bed, not bothering to remake it, to pace the room and look for things she’d missed earlier when she was exhausted. Before felt like a dream, Mikel telling her to shower felt like a dream, all of it did, yet she’d woken up still here and not back at the mansion. The room wasn’t telling. The furniture was all wooden, solid, and dark stained, beautiful in its simplicity. She reached out to run her fingers over the open drawers of the dresser. Nothing more than clothes inside, three pairs of boots at the foot.

The normalcy of it scared her. Knives and guns and The Serial Killer Handbook, she’d understand. She could make sense of that but not this.

Surprisingly quickly she was tired, a painful growl from her stomach reminding her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday, maybe the day before—time had turned blurry since she’d stepped out of the club to smoke. She slid down the back of the door and banged her fist on it a few times.

“Hey!” All her earlier yelling had proved fruitless, and she had a feeling this would too, but it beat sitting there, waiting to starve. “Hey, psycho!” She banged it again, putting her weight behind her hand until it started to hurt.

A yelp of surprise left her when the door she was leaning against gave way, and she fell forward, catching herself on hard leather. She looked down at the pair of boots under her hands, then up into familiar green eyes.

“Hungry?” he asked, something that could have been humor just barely touching his face. “Come on.”

He extracted his boots and disappeared back down the hall, and Violet took a minute to collect herself before she got to her feet and followed. She only passed one door that was closed. Then, she was stepping out into what looked like his living space—a sofa and television and two high bookshelves that touched the ceiling and sagged under the weight of the tomes stacked and piled on them. She stopped to search for a phone, a computer, anything she could use to call the police, when his voice came again.

“In here,” he said, and she went to stand in the doorway of his kitchen.

It was stunning with dark wood and darker granite, and glass from floor to ceiling on one wall with the forest whispering just outside.

“Omelet?” he asked her gruffly, back to her, already pouring eggs into a sizzling pan. Violet glared at him in disbelief. Her lips parted to say something quick and sarcastic, but the eggs smelled amazing, and her stomach gnawed painfully at itself.

“Okay,” she said instead and glowered when he shot her half a smile over his shoulder.

“Ham, cheese, spinach, green onion?” he asked.

“Fine,” she ground out.

Violet watched his back while he cooked, studied this clean, pleasant, open space he kept, and tried to match it in her head with the man who’d found her getting the snot beat out of her in the forest late at night, the one who’d dragged her back to town, the one who’d tumbled her and held her tight against him and come up clutching the arrow in his hand she knew was meant for her back.

“Tell me where I am?” she asked, and for the first time, it was a question, not a demand.

He reached up into a cabinet, and when he turned around, he had an omelet, folded crookedly onto a plate in his hand.

“Forest Bluff.” He gestured to a stool at the counter before he slid the plate to the place there. A knife and fork slid across the granite next.

Despite herself, Violet went to the stool, pulled it out, and hopped up. The knife and fork were in her hands, and she was cutting her first bite when she stopped, torn. This got his attention. He looked between her and the plate before he seemed to understand. Her heart picked up as he walked around the bar, came to a stop calmly beside her, and took the utensils from her hands. He cut a piece off the corner and ate it without preamble. The utensils hit the counter again, and he nodded.

“Could use pepper,” he said to her or himself.

It didn’t matter, Violet was already tearing into the food. She cut off a big bite and shoved it unceremoniously into her mouth. When she was on bite number three, she looked up to find him doing that stupid crooked smile at her again. She glared but said nothing, deciding to finish the food before she tried to go any further with getting out of her predicament.

When the plate was clean, she finally turned her gaze back to him, scowling at his stupid smile.

“Another?” he said, and she hated that he seemed to think this was funny or he was charming, like this was all some game. She stared, letting her eyes burn him, taking in the size of him, the cut of his jaw and his ease with all this.

“Fine,” she finally said because, god, she was hungry.

He had the audacity to let out a huff of a chuckle that left Violet furious.

“Usually say ‘please,’” he said as he turned around.

“Please get me the fuck out of this crazy town where some psycho is holding me hostage in his kitchen and refusing to tell me why the fuck I was almost involved in some ritual killing yesterday,” she said sweetly, a vicious smile on her face.

He turned back from the sizzling pan to look at her. “This morning,” he corrected, and she wanted to punch him.

“What’s Forest Bluff? Your buddies snatched me from a club in Frankston,” she shot back.

“Those kids aren’t my buddies.” He sprinkled toppings onto the eggs, and Violet glared daggers at his back.

He talked slowly, voice deep and lulling, like he had all the time in the world. It drove her crazy. She gritted her teeth.

“Why are you keeping me here?” She forced herself to stop at the one question, although she had dozens, hoping he’d answer if it was just the one. He didn’t. The eggs sizzled in the pan and hissed when he flipped the omelet. Then, he slid it onto a plate and ground a healthy amount of pepper over the top. He pushed this one to her with a little flourish. Violet only glared at him.

“Tell me what the fuck is going on,” she demanded.

“Eat before it’s cold,” he replied, and she wanted to scream.

She cut a piece and he seemed satisfied, turning to dig in the refrigerator before a bottle of water was set down by her plate. She chewed and watched him wipe down the counters—this guy made no sense, and she tried to figure out if he was dangerous, deranged, or just fucking weird.

By the time she swallowed the last bite, she still had no clue, but what she knew was that he was intimidating, the size of him saw to that. He hadn’t been needlessly unkind to her so far, despite holding her hostage, she reminded herself, but there was something about him. He was attractive, thick muscled, and dripping the kind of dark mystery she was sure lesser women swooned at. He was older, at least in his thirties she guessed, and eerily quiet.

“Am I ever going to see my family again?” The question was quieter than her previous one had been, and she ignored the prickle of sadness and regret in her chest when she thought of Lila, alone in the mansion with only Magnus now.

“No.” His voice was as quiet as hers, but it sounded like a gunshot to Violet.

“You’re going to kill me then?”

“No.” He wasn’t wiping the counters any longer, just standing, hands curled around the granite’s edge, probably studying the wall in front of him, Violet guessed from his back. Her fingers balled into fists, her temper close, but she fought it back—at least he was answering her.

“So, what, you’ll keep me prisoner here forever?” A long beat passed, and he didn’t answer. Dread bloomed anew inside her. “Please tell me what’s going on and why I can’t go home?” Discomfort was audible in her voice, and she hated it, but it seemed to affect him.

“Once Jason brought you over the line that wasn’t an option.” He turned to look at her, voice gruff, face an unreadable mask. “Nobody from the outside leaves the Bluff once they’re in. This is your home now.”

Violet blinked at him in disbelief.

“And why did they try to shoot me with an arrow?” she heard her voice ask, feeling like she was separating from her body. This all had to be some colossal cosmic joke, but he wasn’t laughing.

“Jason brought you in. Didn’t claim you at the ceremony. If no one claims an outsider, they kill them. First time in years it’s happened.”

“What the fuck?” Violet realized she’d said it as she’d thought it. “What do you mean by claim? How did you catch a freaking arrow?”

She watched him wet his lips, look away, then look back to her.

“Claimed you,” he said, eyes boring into hers. “Was that or watch you die.”

Shock held her tongue for a long moment. Self-preservation made her careful with her answer.

“I appreciate you saving me”—and she did, she decided—“but I want to go home.”

He shrugged his large shoulders and said nothing.

“Explain claimed to me? Explain this wackjob town? Is this some kind of psychiatric community I tripped into the middle of? Why is nobody calling the police when some dude’s trying to shoot girls in the square at dawn?”

“Police won’t help you here,” he informed her grimly, then hesitated to run a hand over his jaw. His fingers scruffed the stubble there, and Violet tried to pair this thoughtfulness with the fact he was keeping her hostage.

“The Bluff is a closed community,” he finally said. “Things work differently here; you’ll get used to it. You have to understand that you need to stay with me. It’s not safe to go wandering by yourself.”

Violet stared at him in disbelief.

“What did you mean by you claimed me?” she demanded, unease leaking through her.

“You’re human,” he said, like it explained anything at all. She shook her head at him in confusion. He seemed to steel himself for a moment, the set of his jaw hardening against whatever he was about to say. Dread pricked Violet’s skin. “You’re claimed but you’re not mated and you’re not a descendant. Until you are, it’s not safe for you to be outside.”

Violet’s brain stuttered and stalled and stuck on the word mated. “You—what are you talking about? This is some kind of joke. It has to be a joke.” She pushed back from the counter, stool screeching against the hardwood floor. “Fuck this.”

Panic loomed over her. This was too weird, he was too serious, and mated held all kinds of connotations that told her she had to get out of this house and out of this crazy fucking town.

She was quick back to the living room, glad to see what looked like the front door, heedless of her bare feet and lack of coat. To her surprise, it opened easily when she turned the handle. Cool air hit her, made colder by the warmth of the fire roaring in the stove at her back.

Violet got one foot onto the freezing stone step outside before strong hands caught her and pulled her back. Then he was in the doorframe with her, holding her around the arms, looking down at her with an intensity that made her pulse spike.

“You’ll die out there,” he said, slowly, green eyes boring into her. “You’re in a community of werewolf descendants, and right now, until we’re mated, you’re a piece of property that can be borrowed or stolen or used by idiots like Jason.”

Violet shivered. His words sent ice down her spine, but his proximity, the press of him against her, and his huge bulk in the suddenly small space of the doorframe sent fire in its wake.

“Is this a joke?” she breathed out because it had to be.

He shook his head.

Werewolves, fucking werewolves.

“Get off me, I’ll take my chances.” She tried to push against him in the small space, but he only shoved her back, one thick leg slipping between hers.

His body pinned her to the wall from her chest all the way down. She sucked in a breath at the heat of him, a flush rising up her neck at the proximity and the traitorous way her body was reacting to it.

He took a breath and looked down at her. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly. Her nipples tightened, sensitive against the soft cotton of her borrowed shirt.

“Let me go,” she demanded. He didn’t move. “Let me fucking—” The words died midsentence, and her hands froze where they’d been smacking against his arms, when strong fingers closed around her neck.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice rough, “I’m sorry this happened to you, but it has happened. The Bluff is your home now, and until you’re mated and not a threat to yourself, you’re going to play by the rules. My rules.”

Violet swallowed hard against his hand. The pressure there was gentle, nothing close to the choking she’d endured in the forest, meant only to hold her, not hurt, she thought.

“You’re seriously telling me you’re a werewolf?” Challenge and disbelief hung heavy in the words.

“A descendant,” he corrected, and she would have laughed, if not for the intensity that had settled over them, the coil of anticipation in her gut as well as the goose bumps on her arms that she told herself were from the cold wind on one side and the hot fire on the other, not from him.

“You’re fucking crazy,” she breathed out and tried to push against him, but she only succeeded in grinding into his thigh.

His nostrils flared, eyes flashed dark, then the ring of gold she’d seen the night before in Jason’s irises came forward from the green of his. Violet’s mouth dropped open while her mind grappled to explain that.

His strong fingers slid up to her chin and turned her head to the side, then his mouth was close, breath hot against her ear; her insides pulled tight at the tickle of it. “You will listen to me because the alternative is you die,” he said, and she could only breathe, only feel the ache of her bruised ribs with the doorframe digging into her back and him, flush against her front. She loathed him, but she couldn’t deny she was growing hot for him, her body betraying her, and as if he knew, he pressed forward. “I didn’t bring you here, but it’s done. Until I’ve mated you and marked you, you’re going to stay inside so you don’t end up attacked or worse. Do you understand?”

Shock kept her quiet, and heat, roaring molten heat, sprang up from low in her gut at the words. This was sick, wrong, and she needed to get home, but he held her there, lips brushing the shell of her ear while he breathed.

“Say ‘yes,’” he demanded.

A bead of sweat trickled down her hairline, and Violet wasn’t sure if it was from the heat of the fire or from him…this. Something warm and wet caught the sweat when it touched the column of her neck, and her breath caught in her throat when she realized it was his tongue, and she was instantly slick between the legs.

“Violet.” His voice in her ear was almost a growl. “Tell me yes, that you won’t get yourself killed. If I can’t trust you, I’ll take you inside, and we’ll handle this now.”

“Handle this,” he said ominously, and part of her clenched and pulled tight at the idea of him mating her while a part of her balked and reminded her this was insanity, and she shouldn’t be wet and hot and curious. She enjoyed looking at men but gravitated to women who were soft and easy and quick to tumble into bed with her. No man had ever been as close to her as this.

Apparently, her silence was her answer, and she was tugged sideways, the door slammed closed where she’d been, before she was back against it and he was on her, scratchy stubble on the delicate skin of her neck while his mouth pressed hot kisses and wet lines there.

His large hands slid around her hips, and he pressed the crotch of his jeans into hers. She could feel his half-hard cock nudging the apex of her thighs, rubbing there. With the attention to her neck, she was boneless, breathless, and overstimulated for a moment before she tried to push against him.

“Stop.” Some instinct inside her rose up to demand. “I won’t go outside.” Like she’d doused him with water, he stepped back immediately with his hands still on her waist.

Violet’s chest was heaving, and despite herself, her gaze fell to his jeans, to the obvious bulge below his belt, then back up to his face.

He cleared his throat, blinked. She noticed the gold was gone from his eyes. “All right,” he finally said, breathing out through his nose. “All right,” he repeated before he pushed away from her. He turned his back and shook out his hands like he was trying to clear his head.

Her heartbeat throbbed in her pants, and she leaned back against the door, brain scrambling to process, to reconcile how aroused she was with those strange yellow-ringed eyes, and the insanity her life had slipped into in the last day that felt like a month.

“You’re really a werewolf?” She felt stupid just for asking. “This isn’t all some joke?”

“Descendant.” He corrected her without turning around.

She swallowed and tried to clear the haze of lust, the weight of what had almost happened, that still hung thick in the room.

“You can turn into a giant dog?”

He turned to eye her over his shoulder. “Wolf, but the blood’s not pure enough anymore. All of us can change our eyes, some have speed or strength, but no one shifts.”

Violet gawked at him, then drew breath for another question.

“How old are you?” he asked before she could, trepidation in the words.

“Twenty-one,” she said, then added, “You?” because curiosity demanded she know.

“Thirty-two next month. You done with school?”

“Finished high school at seventeen. College wasn’t for me,” she confirmed, in keeping with this sudden rapid-fire question and answer session they were having.

And she’d been having a hell of a twenty-first year too, pissing off her father and taking care of Lila, right up until she’d slid headlong into crazy town.

“Show me the eye thing again,” she demanded.

He turned back to her, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Violet tried not to glance down at the crotch of his jeans and failed. When she looked back to his face, the smile was just a little bit bigger.

“You’re not much for manners,” he noted gruffly.

“Neither are you,” she shot back. “Most people ask what the other person wants before they take them home, hold them hostage, and dry hump them into a door.”

Humor cracked over his face, barely. “You liked it.”

“Your wolfy senses tell you that?” Violet sneered at the question but barely finished it before she was back against the door again, a strong hand holding her chin, forcing her to look up into his gold-ringed, green eyes.

“Your heart’s racing, and I can smell you.” He ran a finger down her neck and smirked at the goose bumps that rose in its wake.

She swallowed, struggling for a response, and he pulled back again leaving her cold, frustrated with her own inability to control her body and the eye trick she just couldn’t understand.

“Claiming me means fucking me?” she gritted out, brave enough to say it, when all of what he’d told her still felt like an abstract concept.

“No, I claimed you in the square. Mating you means fucking you, marking you with my bite, and making you a descendant so you’re safe in the community because you’re mine.”

She had to play his words back in her mind twice to even start to grasp them. “This is fucked,” she finally decided aloud. “So, when Jason said he was going to—” She was putting the pieces together, and her stomach turned at the image.

“Breed you and give you to his buddies too,” he supplied, and Violet started. He tapped his ears. “Wolfy senses.” He repeated her earlier words, and again she felt stunned, stupid.

“Are you going to—?” She couldn’t finish.

“Making you my mate is the only way you go from being a claimed pet to a person and have a shot at a life here.” There was an apology in his voice, but Violet didn’t buy it. “It’s my job to integrate you.”

“What if I don’t want that?” she demanded.

He studied her darkly. “Then three moons from now I’ll get dragged in front of the elder pack, and you’ll probably get taken from me and killed.”

Fear and rage consumed her. “You’re sick,” Violet hissed.

She pushed up off the door and stormed past him, wincing when she bumped him with her shoulder and jostled her ribs.

“Goodnight,” he said, and she heard from behind her as she stormed back down the hall to the bedroom. She shouldn’t have been surprised at the snick of the lock seconds after she slammed the door, but she was.

She threw herself on the bed and beat the pillows while she screamed.