It’s not a kill shot, so I’ll pay for this.
Violet’s head moves to be in front of his at the last minute, and I ease off the trigger, as he holds her and unleashes the monster, as if he’s tested what she can take and wants it all.
They crash to the bed with him on top of her, and he shoves her hands above her head as he gets lost in her, never acknowledging me, as I knew he wouldn’t be able to.
Violet’s head lulls off the bed, and she uses her upturned arms to grab the back of my head, yanking me to her before I can even process the madness going on all around me. The second her lips hit mine, that’s when I feel it. It’s been too long since I’ve been close enough to Damien to feel his true power while feeding.
My heart pumps faster when she moans against my lips, her nails digging into my shoulders, as her body writhes to a steady rhythm.
Growls, ticks, and rattles permeate the air, almost distracting me, until Violet whispers two names, pulling me back into the moment.
Disjointed images of us roll through my mind, even with my eyes closed.
Her back arched.
Her legs spread.
Her hands using me to hold herself up.
It’s all a constant reflection in my mind—an image of the three of us.
I drink her in, kissing her harder, as her hands slide up and tangle tightly in my hair.
Violet cries out against my mouth, as my head spirals through the fog. I swallow down her next sounds of pleasure as she drags me closer, and I kiss her, trying to remember why this is a bad idea.
A groan tears from my mouth as something falls out of my hand, and all I can see is her. Swaying on my knees, I brace myself on the edge, getting a better angle on her lips.
The pressure of the fog eases enough for me to realize Violet is clutching my shoulders again, breathing hard as our lips detach. At some point, she’s been flipped to her stomach.
How long did we kiss?
Damien is slumped over her back, breathing heavily. Violet is breathing just as hard, as she continues to cling to me like I’ve been her anchor.
There’s almost an eerie sensation when Damien blinks his eyes open, lazily cutting them in my direction. The white is gone, and he’s perfectly aware of everything going on around us.
How…
Violet gives me a little lazy grin as she makes a soft, relieved noise. “It worked,” she says on a breathy whisper that cuts through the deafening silence.
Damien isn’t smiling.
Neither am I.
For several long silent minutes, my eyes stay locked on his.
Why is he awake?
What happened?
My head got too wrapped up in having her lips on mine, while Damien controlled the pheromones.
“That shouldn’t have worked,” I say quietly.
“Or maybe you’ve spent too much time overthinking it. Told you I’m more resilient than I look,” she says to me, even as Damien remains mostly still and quiet against her back, aside from his hand slowly sliding up her side, as he continues to just stare at me like he’s waiting for me to explain this situation to him.
He looks ready to kill me.
“A flower pot cracked your skull,” I remind her with a slight edge, as Damien lightly kisses her shoulder, still glaring at me.
She reaches back, and his eyes close as she touches his cheek, finally giving me a reprieve from that enraged glare of his, as he leans into her touch and shakes his head.
I’m still stuck to the floor, waiting on my legs to get their feeling back, and I think Damien has just been released from his Portocale death curse.
“I could really use a drink,” I say on an exhausted breath, clearing my throat.
The heady air of seduction continues to dissipate, as Violet angles herself to see Damien over her shoulder. Her hand drops from his face, and she gives him a timid smile.
“Are you okay?” she asks him.
“I’m not really sure what to say right now, Violet,” he tells her softly, kissing her shoulder again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, his lips linger for longer on her skin, as though he’s basking in the feel of her under him.
“I’d leave you two alone, but I’m stuck on this floor for the foreseeable future,” I point out in a tired tone.
I drop back on my ass, exhausted just from holding myself up on my knees.
“Damien’s only been under two days, and he’s lucid. That means it works, and neither of you look like you see a reason to celebrate. I feel wrong for being excited,” she says, looking disappointed as she glances between us.
“It’s painful to have false hope for anything,” Damien tells her with a practiced smile. “By the way, when should we go on that date you mentioned? Can it start now?”
He turns her as he kisses her, lifting up just enough to complete the process, before coming back down on her, fully caging her in a possessive way.
“I’m still cursed and have numb legs,” I remind them. “And I really still need that drink.”
Violet smiles and tries to pull away from Damien, but he kisses her harder, unwilling to let go just yet. I fucking hate him.
“You could just drag me to the door at this point,” I suggest with a hint of justifiable bitterness.
“Just sit there. I’m getting champagne or something. It’s weird that there aren’t tears of joy and gasps of gratitude or something,” Violet says.
Damien laughs under his breath, as Violet disentangles herself from him, wrapping up in the sheet. He’s smiling over at her until the very second she walks out of the room, and then the smile falls like it was one of his illusions all along.
“How the hell did Violet end up under me tonight?” he asks me like this is all my fault.
“I woke up for less than thirty minutes, and she immediately made it all about you. And she goes zero to sixty faster than my bloody car!” I whisper-yell.
“What?” he asks incredulously.
“We’re twenty-eight forever, age is just a number, and years feel like days, and blah blah blah. We take for granted the amount of patience we’ve accumulated over those long years. We say we’re going to do something, and then our chins wag about it for a decade or two while we weigh all the considerable options or consequences. Violet wants immediate action because she hasn’t learned patience,” I add on a wince, a slight burn forming in my legs, meaning the feeling is on its way back.
I’ve never understood why I’m the only one to suffer this issue after waking.
“Did it really work?” I ask him almost reluctantly, cutting my eyes to him as he bristles.
“I felt like I took a breath of fresh air for the first time in…I can’t remember when. It feels like I could inhale for hours and not expand my lungs enough. That sort of liberation doesn’t come for no reason. I wouldn’t be alert right now if it hadn’t broken.”
I don’t have limitless lungs, so I’m decidedly still cursed. Maybe I should become a relentless stalker and move myself into her home. She seems to give those men and women more attention. She has a habit of rewarding bad behavior.
“Are you listening to me?” Damien says, cutting through my thoughts, having apparently been telling me something.
“No. I’m not. I’m currently contemplating killing you so that you’re out of my way for twenty-eight years and ten months,” I tell him honestly.
He blinks in surprise. “You’re jealous of me?”
“Of course I’m bloody jealous of you, you fucking idiot. You’re a sociopathic lunatic who should have been smashed in the face with a hammer the first time you crept into her bedroom, and she’s—”
I shut up, annoyed when I hear her quickly returning.
Damien shakes his head as he hisses, “I vote we not tell Arion the details of my recovery.”
I snort. “I vote you better make me a deal I can’t refuse, because I hate you enough to stir him right now.”
He grinds his jaw. “You’re the one who let Violet come to me.”
“Zero to sixty,” I remind him. “She said she thought it might work. I tried to stop her. That’s why I’m on the ground. Aside from shooting out her knees, I didn’t have much of an option.”
“Like you could shoot out her knees,” he says quietly, looking back toward the door, still lying on the bed where Violet left him.
Clearly she’s forgotten something, because she’s gone back down the stairs at some point.
“That really shouldn’t have worked,” I tell him more seriously.
“Unless the Portocale Council is holding out,” he says to me, eyes still on the door like he’s getting impatient waiting on her.
“It’s doubtful they’d tell us that a willing Portocale gypsy is a work-around for the curse,” I say more to myself than him.
“It’s possible they didn’t even know. It’s not like curses come with detailed packets of what to expect,” he murmurs, releasing a breath, as he continues to stare at the door. “Violet made me slit her throat to cool you down—”
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” I ask him as I try to jump to my feet, managing to make it a few inches into the air…
Legs still don’t work.
Ass hits the ground.
“You let her come to me,” he says like he’s accusing me of doing worse, and then points to the line that was just out of reach while he was chained. “That’s way too close.”