A wall of Violet's

Alec:

I let her leave and told myself it was a strategy, that her absence was part of the plan. In truth, I needed the distance.

The training grounds were still scarred where Russ had fallen, deep gouges carved into the earth by claws that were meant to kill. The others lingered at the edges, pretending not to stare while very clearly doing exactly that. Lycans respected strength, but they feared unpredictability, and Violet Ambrose was both.

Russ rolled his shoulder, bone popping softly as it reset. He tested his weight, then snorted. “She didn’t hesitate.”

“No,” I said. “She didn’t.” That intrigued me.

Most fighters paused at the edge of killing, even the seasoned ones. There was always a breath where instinct argued with conscience. Violet skipped that entirely—not because she was cruel, but because she was precise, methodical.

She fought like someone trained to survive, not just to win.

“Did you hold back?” I asked.

Russ barked a laugh. “I shifted. She didn’t. You tell me.”

I watched the tree line where she’d vanished, the echo of her presence still humming faintly in the air like lightning after a storm. Her scent lingered longer than it should have—steel and rain, yes, but beneath that something sweet. 

A dormant wolf should have made her slower, but it hadn’t.

That was another anomaly.

“Dismissed,” I said, and the others scattered quickly, relief rippling through the group.

Russ hesitated. “You knew,” he said finally. “Didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

Because yes—I had known her wolf was dormant, and yes, I had known she would win.

I just hadn’t expected it to look like that. 

She came back at dusk. I felt it before I saw her. The pack house shifted when Violet crossed the boundary—energy tightening, awareness snapping sharp like a held breath. Conversations stuttered. Chairs scraped. More than one lycan turned toward her with their nostrils flaring.

She’d changed.

Not just clothes—though the dark jeans, fitted top, and leather jacket suited her far better than silk ever could—but in her posture. She moved as if she belonged nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Her scar caught the light as she stepped inside, pale against her skin. She didn’t hide it. Didn’t soften herself for the company she would keep tonight.

“Alpha,” she greeted, stopping a respectful distance away. She dipped her head—not submissive, nor defiant. I hated how much I noticed her.

“Violet,” I replied. “You’re punctual.”

Her mouth curved faintly. “You said dinner. I am never late for dinner.” I gestured toward the long table where the others were already gathering. 

“Sit where you like.” She did. Not at my side. Not at the end. Across from me. It was a bold choice.

Asher was already watching her with open curiosity, though to his credit, he didn’t crowd her. Anna leaned in to whisper something I didn’t catch. Nate watched her like a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet. Russ gave her a respectful nod that made more than one lycan stiffen in surprise. Respect earned in blood traveled fast.

Dinner was loud, warm, and very normal. That unsettled me more than anything else. Violet ate carefully, eyes always moving—not nervous, just aware. She listened more than she spoke, answering when asked but never offering unnecessary information. When laughter broke out, she smiled but didn’t relax fully. She was still on guard. Something shifted then—subtle, electric. The bond she didn’t have, the wolf she couldn’t reach, the power she kept locked beneath bone and will. It pressed outward just enough for me to feel it.

The Moon Goddess had touched her. Of that, I had no doubt.

“Tomorrow,” I said, drawing her attention back fully, “we’ll begin tracking leads on Neal’s whereabouts. You’ll come?” I asked.

She pushed her plate back, her cheeks flushing as she swallowed the last bite of her food. She picked up her goblet of wine, and with one small word, she had my heart racing in my chest.

“Yes,” she said. It was just one word, but it carried the weight of many.

“Great. We leave at dawn.” I nodded to my family, my friends, and those who just followed me blindly with faith in their hearts, and I stood and excused myself from the table for bed. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about Violet the whole time I showered, nor after I lay in bed for hours tossing and turning. I know I shouldn’t, but I wanted to reach out through the pack link just to hear her again. Just one more time before morning, and I swear I could sleep after that. 

I lasted exactly twelve minutes before I gave in. The excuse formed easily—an Alpha checking on the stability of his pack before dawn—but it dissolved the moment I closed my eyes and reached for her. The pack link slid outward from me, instinctive and controlled, brushing past the familiar presences tethered to my authority until I found the one that felt like lightning beneath still water. Violet. I touched her mind—and met resistance.

Not a violent shove, not a creature with teeth snapping at my power. A shield.

It rose smoothly and deliberately, layered with precision. I tested it lightly, expecting barbs or frost or the sharp recoil of fear. Instead, warmth met me. Steady. Quiet. Like standing at the threshold of a lit room while everything behind you sat in darkness. It was inviting and warm.

“You’re reaching,” her voice brushed along the barrier—not fully through the link, but close enough to shift something in my chest.

“You noticed,” I replied evenly.

A faint pulse answered me. Amusement, perhaps. “I notice everything.”

Of course she did.

I let my power settle instead of pushing. The surface of her shield reacted to the contact, not cracking, not flaring—just brightening, like moonlight spilling over calm water. Beneath it, I felt discipline, control, and something carefully constructed.

“You don’t trust me,” I said.

“No,” she answered with no hesitation or apology.

Then, after a beat, “But you’re not trying to break through it, so there is that.”

“Should I be?” The shield pulsed once, as if she had hidden a laugh from me. 

“If you were like the others, you already would have.” The others. A history I wasn’t part of. Wounds I hadn’t inflicted. I shifted, letting the Alpha edge of my power recede just slightly. 

“I wasn’t reaching to dominate you, Violet.” Silence stretched between us, thin but unbroken.

“I know,” she said at last. That was what unsettled me. She knew.

I rested there at the edge of her defenses, and for a fleeting second I sensed what lay beneath the steel. Not her wolf—that space felt dormant, sealed off—but something brighter. A quiet current of divine energy, subtle and waiting. The Moon Goddess had touched her. I felt it clearly now, humming under bone and will like a second heartbeat. Her shields were not built from paranoia; they were built from survival.

“You’ll need to lower them tomorrow,” I said softly.

“For tracking Neal?”

“For me.”

The barrier flickered—surprise, sharp and clean. “And why would I do that?”

“Because if he reaches for you,” I answered, letting the truth sit bare between us, “I need to reach you first.”

A long pause followed. Then the shield thinned, just slightly. Enough that her breath brushed mine through the link. Enough that I felt the steady cadence of her heartbeat, strong and unyielding. She did not open herself to me, but she allowed me to stand there.

“Goodnight, Alpha,” she murmured.

The light dimmed, though it did not disappear entirely. I withdrew slowly, the darkness of my room settling around me once more. A darkness that, after standing in her light, felt different now. Less suffocating.

I realized, as sleep finally dragged at me, that I hadn’t reached through the link to test her strength. I had reached because, for a moment, her presence felt like air after drowning.