Chapter Four

“SORRY I WAS gone today.” He finally broke the silence and Violet regarded him coolly from where she leaned against the doorway to his living room. “Had six orders to get out,” he explained gruffly, unlacing his boots, and not looking at her.

He also offered no explanation for why she couldn’t have gone with him to work in the shop like she had before.

It had been a long, boring day, alone in his house with the memory of the previous night turning over and over in her head. There were only so many woodwork manuals and home improvement books she could read before she went fucking insane.

Would it kill the man to own some fiction, a TV?

“You have a woodworking business,” she realized aloud.

He nodded and finally looked at her. “Mostly furniture.” Violet couldn’t decide if she wanted to kiss him or sneer at him—a dilemma she’d been working on all day.

“Want to go get some clothes?” His fingers paused work on his laces.

“My credit card is in my car,” she shot back, cool and challenging.

“My treat.” He offered her the ghost of a smile, but Violet didn’t return it. His jaw tightened, then he sighed.

“Car’s gone. Went back while you were asleep that first day. They’d already burned it. It’s probably at the bottom of the river now.”

It was irrational that she wanted to cry at the news. Tears pricked her eyes, and Violet turned away quickly.

“Let me grab my hoodie,” was all she left him with when she disappeared back down the hall.

 

HIS TRUCK, AND of course it was a big black beast of a thing, ground to a stop outside a small store Violet didn’t recognize the name of. The ride had been quiet. He’d left her alone to her brooding over her car, over one more quick slip of her freedom through her fingers.

“Is that a camping store?” she asked.

The window display had a tent, blue fabric turned gold in the setting winter sunlight.

Mikel grunted what she assumed was the affirmative.

“Isn’t there like, a Hot Topic or something here in psycho wolf town?”

Mikel’s brow furrowed. He glanced down at his own outfit, a warm plaid coat and Wrangler jeans, then dutifully pulled the truck away from the curb without further comment. When they stopped again it was outside Target.

Violet blinked at the red motif on the huge building. “Werewolf town has Target?”

He smirked at her incredulity and killed the engine. He was quick down, and before she could reach for the handle, her door was opened for her. After she slid out, he closed it behind her too, and followed her to the entrance.

“You can just give me your card and wait in the truck,” she offered, oversweet, earning her a huff of a chuckle and the faintest brush of a hand on the small of her back while they crossed the road.

Violet told herself her stomach did not flutter in response.

She’d underestimated the power of familiarity, normalcy. It was ethereal to see a layout she’d walked a dozen times and to lead Mikel easily to the women’s clothing section.

When she’d asked, “Are we talking an outfit or a wardrobe?” he’d only shrugged, and she’d decided to go with the second, given the unlikeliness she was getting out anytime soon.

The thought turned her guts and made it easier not to feel guilty when she shoved a stack of black shirts and two pairs of dark jeans into Mikel’s chest. He carried them, amusement dancing in his green eyes.

Utility, done. Next Violet moved to the dressier items and plucked up a pair of dark canvas short shorts for him to take. He didn’t.

“It’s winter.”

“And?”

“You’ll freeze, unless these are underwear.”

Violet had to stare at him for a moment. “They’re shorts.” Her intonation said more about what she thought of his intelligence in that moment than the words did.

He hung the shorts back on the rack in pointed fashion and she seethed. When she spotted a crop top and picked it up, it received a similar dismissal.

“What is your problem?” she hissed at him, furious at his attempts to control her.

“What’s yours?” he answered, heat just creeping into his voice. Something inside her soared with the idea this was bugging him. “Is it too much to ask that you don’t make yourself even more inviting to all the Kyles and Roberts in town?”

“Yes,” she spat back, snatched up the crop top and shorts, and shoved them into his chest. She walked away when they hit the floor. The trudge of his boots followed a moment after, and she smirked.

Tiny dresses, short skirts, and shirts with only laces crisscrossing at the back. Violet could practically hear his teeth grind. When she turned to him with handfuls of dark lace and silk lingerie he was flushed, angry.

“Get a coat and something you can actually wear outside of the house, and we’re done.”

A wicked smirk lit her face, but Violet never got to respond.

“Well, I never, Mikel Davis taking a mate and a human at that.”

They turned to greet the owner of the voice, an older woman pushing a cart full of woolen cardigans and floral clothing.

“Evening, Mrs. Jones.” Mikel greeted her politely, and Violet barely wrestled down a laugh while the woman’s gaze catalogued the array of lingerie in his arms, and she sniffed.

“I don’t care what this town says, you’re a good boy, Mikel. A little interesting perhaps.” She eyed the lingerie again, and Violet had to cough to cover her laugh. “But you’re nothing like that daddy of yours.”

Mikel only swallowed in response, a darkness in his face that hadn’t been there before. “You have a good night, ma’am,” he offered in reply.

“What’s with the thing about your dad?” Violet asked, when Mrs. Jones was barely out of earshot.

“What’s with you dressing like a hussy?” he replied, voice low and rough and irritated. She was torn between laughing at hussy and being fucking furious that he thought he had any right to tell her how to dress.

“You telling me you don’t like it?”

It was a challenge, thinly veiled and acidic. Neither of them had acknowledged the previous night, and part of her ached to validate it. To repeat it, a dark and dirty part of her insisted.

In a flash, her clothes were strewn on the display beside them, and she was pulled forward, pressed up against him, strong fingers on the back of her neck, holding her.

“It’s about who else might like it.” His words were practically a growl.

Her body woke up, responding to the heat of his anger and his proximity. “Jealous?” she asked sweetly, pleased.

Gold flashed in his eyes, and Violet had to swallow the saliva that flooded her mouth at the darkness, the depth of the frustration and desire in his look.

“Pick up your shit; we’re leaving.” He let her go roughly. Violet did but took her time.

Despite his words, she stopped for a coat, new boots, and makeup. By the time they were heading for the exit, he was weighed down with bags, jaw clenched tight and eyes steely, and Violet couldn’t decide if she regretted riling him or thought he deserved it.

She was pondering it when a familiar face registered in her vision. Shock ran through her at seeing someone she knew, someone from outside.

“Jared!” she yelled, twisting sideways and away from Mikel, lest he grab her. Hope sprung forth in her chest. “Jared! Jared, hey!”

She crossed the car lane without looking, breathless with excitement at the sight of one of her dad’s security guys here. They locked eyes and relief washed through her, hope.

“Help, they’re keeping me here. I need—” A strong hand seized her arm, yanked her back, but her eyes stayed on the familiar man while he stood frozen for a long moment, something like shock on his face. Then, he stepped back, turned, and rushed away.

“No! Wait! Wait!” She struggled in Mikel’s grip before she was jerked back against him, held tight, a hand over her mouth while she screamed against it and kicked and clawed at him.

“Stop,” he insisted darkly in her ear.

All the hope inside her collapsed, tumbling in on itself until her desperate shouts were tears, spilling down her cheeks and onto his hand. Then, she was still. When she sagged back against him, he held her, and for the first time since she’d left Frankston, grief swallowed her.

It was like walking through a haze. A hand on her arm guided her back to the store and kept a grip while he picked up the bags. Mikel walked her to the truck, lifted her into the cab when she didn’t climb up, and didn’t pull away when she refused to let go of her hold on him and her tears soaked the shoulder of his jacket.

He pulled her hair back off her face. Violet listened to the rumble of his voice when he told her it would be all right and hated herself that she found comfort in it. “Easy, now,” he said, when she sucked in a stuttering breath and drew back, giving her a moment to collect herself while he loaded some of her bags at her feet and the rest into the back. With it done, his gaze came back to her, and shame saw Violet look away.

Fingers touched her cheek and large thumbs swiped under her eyes, taking her tears. He pulled her seatbelt across her, closed the door, and she searched the dark parking lot for any signs of Jared. Violet was unable to understand why he’d turned away. She didn’t know him, not really, but enough that she was sure he recognized her, that he could have helped her.

Maybe he’s stuck here too?

They rolled to a stop at a Starbucks drive-thru, and Violet’s mind had officially checked out of her body, too tired under the weight of werewolves and illicit woodland encounters and almost escapes to stick around. Mikel scratching the back of his neck and struggling to order, “A medium black coffee and a chicken sandwich,” tugged part of her back.

“Grande.” Her voice was scratchy and unintentionally fond. “You want a grande black coffee and the chicken and bacon panini.”

Despite a slight butchering of the panini, he managed, then turned back to her with a smile and expectant eyes before gesturing at the speaker box.

“Could I get a grande caramel frappe and the cranberry walnut salad with the dressing on the side.” She cleared her throat and managed a small smile at him. “Also, my name is Violet Page, I’m being held hostage—”

“She’s an outsider; she’s adjusting.” Mikel cut her off, while he pushed her back in her seat, a playfulness Violet had never heard dancing in his tone. “One chocolate cake on a stick thing, and that’ll be all, ma’am.”

Nothing was fixed, but the drive home went a little easier with a caramel frappe in her cup holder, the chocolate cake pop he’d plopped unceremoniously into her lap, and soft green eyes that were never far from her.

 

VIOLET PADDED BAREFOOT down the hall later, her tears shed quietly into the pillows away from Mikel’s concerned eyes. She found him on the sofa, feet up, a cushion behind his head and glasses perched on his nose.

“You wear readers?” she asked.

His gaze flicked from the book to her, and the double take he did was visible. Her pajamas were soft short shorts and a thin black tank. His eyes catalogued all the skin they failed to cover, twice, before he sat up and set the book, then his glasses down on the coffee table without answering. Mikel patted the sofa beside him. It shouldn’t have sent a tendril of heat curling into her belly.

When she sat, he bent forward, taking hold of her lower leg to look at the ugly puffy scrape there that still hadn’t healed from her tussle with Jason in the forest. “Needs fixin,’” was all he said before he disappeared into the kitchen.

While he was gone, Violet picked up his book, careful not to lose his place when she turned it over in her hands—a catalogue of fixtures, fittings, and little metal bits that could be screwed into wood.

“Do you do anything other than work?” she asked when he reappeared and perched on the coffee table in front of her.

“Run around after you.” He was gentle when he set her foot on his leg.

“Ouch, what the—” Violet sucked in a breath at the sting of an alcohol wipe on the broken, scabby mess on her shin.

He had the gall to smirk at her, her ankle caught tight in his grasp. She bore the rest of his attention quietly, watching big hands that were surprisingly gentle put Neosporin and a Band-Aid over the wound that admittedly had started to look a little rough.

“You going to take care of it from now on?” He set the box of Band-Aids and the tube of ointment beside him on the table, fingers still wrapped loose and warm around her calf. Aside from being patronized by the question, something else struck Violet.

“Why do you act like you care about me?” Her words weren’t malicious, yet he didn’t answer. “If you really want to help, drive me to the town line, or better yet, back to Frankston.”

“Can’t.” Maybe it was their closeness, or the kindness he’d shown her earlier when she’d melted down, but her temper wasn’t as quick as it usually would have been.

“Why? Explain it to me.”

“Once you’re in the Bluff, there’s no getting out.”

“What is this, the mafia?”

His lips quirked, and she had to stop her own from lifting in response. He sighed.

“Nobody leaves, not in the way you’re thinking.”

Violet breathed out through her nose, slowly. “Your non-answers are driving me fucking insane.” Her tone was overly pleasant, comically juxtaposed with her words.

The pads of his fingers rubbed back and forth over the skin of her calf, and while some distant part of her mind was glad she’d thought to shave her legs since she’d gotten there, another wondered if he knew he was doing it.

“I’d end up on trial with the elder council. You’d most likely end up in an unfortunate accident or a mental hospital somewhere.”

“The guy with the bow and arrow going to come cut my brakes or have me committed because I escaped?”

His eyes darkened at her tone.

“No, but somebody out there will, maybe a police officer, maybe one of the elder council. If you leave town, you won’t survive.” He ran his free hand over the scruff on his chin. “The moment Jason brought you to the Bluff, your option for a life out there was done.”

Violet opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “You’ll be able to go out in a year or two, but your life as it was before is gone.”

She stared at him, stupid.

“You’re telling me the Frankston police are aware there’s a community of freaks here who are taking people hostage with their freaky gold eyes, and they’re not only letting it happen, they’re helping?”

Mikel had the nerve to rub his temple like she was the frustrating one.

“There’s some alliance between the Bluff and Frankston. It’s the only town within two hundred miles and would be the only real threat to the community here. I don’t know the ins and outs—”

Violet cut him off. “My dad’s the fucking mayor of Frankston, and he’s a huge piece of shit who knows, pays, is getting paid, or has dirt on pretty much everything there. There’s no way anyone knows there’s a thriving band of freaks one town over. I’ve never even heard of this place, never seen it on a map, and I’ve lived in New Hampshire my whole damn life.”

“You might ease up on the freak comments,” he said after a long pause where he only studied her thoughtfully, and Violet seethed. “As it stands, your options are join said freaks, or you’re back running from the bow because you failed to integrate.”

“Or you take me home now, and we end all this,” she shot back and watched his jaw work tight and then unclench.

“If I could take you home”—he always spoke slowly, but he said this even slower, and it dripped sincerity—“I would have done it the night I stumbled on you with Jason.”

Silence stretched in the wake of that, and Violet struggled to draw up her anger and indignation again.

“Someone you’re missin’?” A darkness to the question suggested he didn’t mean family, something in the way he avoided her eye after.

“Yeah,” she said, sarcastic, “the bartender.”

“You’re a kid.”

“I’m twenty-one. And before that, real good friends with the guy who’s in charge of the liquor licenses. Everyone in town knows my dad doesn’t give a shit what I or anyone else does, unless it affects his money or his political hard-on. Me propping up the bar at the Satin Lounge does neither.”

He seemed to digest this information.

“The guy from Target—” Suddenly his earlier question about her missing someone made sense.

“Eww. He’s one of my dad’s guys, for security and stuff. There’s no way he didn’t recognize me; he’s been at my house like, three days a week before. He picked me up from school a couple times before I got my license when I missed the bus.”

Mikel’s brow furrowed. “He’s security for the council here. What would he be doing working for the mayor of Frankston?”

“A shitty job when said mayor’s daughter looks him dead in the face, obviously in distress and being manhandled by a neanderthal, and he hauls ass instead of helping her.”

Mikel shook his head. “His name is Matt or Mark, Don Burrow’s older brother, can’t be the same guy.”

Violet mulled his assertion over. She was certain that was Jared. He wasn’t someone she’d paid a lot of attention to, but she knew him, and the guy in the parking lot was either him or his identical twin. Mikel broke her silence.

“You been crying because you want to go home?” He rubbed his fingers over her skin again, and somehow that stalled the way she wanted to snap at him for the question.

“I left my sister. She is a kid. She needs me,” was all Violet could say. If she dared give voice to the guilt over another stupid night out hunting for another face she wouldn’t remember in the morning just to try to feel something, and the fact it had led to her leaving Lila alone, she’d break.

She must have looked desolate, as Mikel’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “Red’s comin’ tomorrow. She was an outsider. Why don’t you go out with her on the truck?”

Violet recognized the olive branch and nodded. The moment was too thick, too uncomfortable, and she scrabbled for a change of subject.

“You’ve been sleeping on the couch?” She gestured to the pillow, and he nodded. “You’re like, huge. Why not take back your bed, and I’ll crash out here since I can actually fit.”

“I do fine,” he said in lieu of an answer and finally released her leg. Violet understood that was her cue to leave, yet she lingered, studying the shadow the fire cast on his jaw.

“Why’d you catch the arrow?”

It wasn’t what she’d meant to ask, but she had to know. He was still for a time, and she was starting to wonder if he’d heard her when his expression broke.

“You didn’t deserve to die.” Something hung unsaid in the words.

“So, you just casually signed up to, what, marry me? That’s what this is supposed to be, right? And now you’re buying my clothes and feeding me because some altruistic impulse said I just didn’t deserve to die?” She was digging for something she didn’t know the shape of yet, but she felt it close.

His green eyes bored into her. “Go to bed,” he finally said.

“Tell me something real,” she shot back.

He paused before answering. “You don’t want to be alone?” The question shocked her because she didn’t.

Mikel had cut down to the reason she was stalling before she’d understood it herself. Before she could respond, he was up and sitting beside her, his big shoulder bumping her bare one while he leaned to pull something out of his pocket.

“Jack’s been showing me how to watch videos on this thing.” Violet stared down at the cell phone in his hand like she’d found the holy grail.

“It won’t call out of town,” he said in warning before dropping it in her lap. “I started one last night, and they were building a boat. Bring it back, and we’ll watch.”

“Show me the eye thing again,” she requested in trade, careful not to jump when he did, and his pupils flashed gold. “But that’s it? Your ancestors were werewolves but all that’s left is color-changing eyes?”

He grunted the affirmative. She almost asked him about mating, but her bravery failed her. Instead, she navigated to YouTube on the phone she noted did not have a passcode and settled into the couch cushions to watch a sped-up build of an entire boat from the ground up. It was nice not to be alone.