Page 8

NICHOLAS

T hree days. Three whole fucking days had gone by since Violet had locked herself in that damn room, not even leaving to eat or drink or piss in a bathroom that wasn't the windowless closet in her bedroom.

Seventy-two hours. Fia had been tried and confined to the Claustra. Asteria had delivered a long ass speech on the importance of not killing each other to steal a fucking power. Life had gone back to normal. Except it hadn't. Because for three days, or seventy-two hours, or who-knows how many damn minutes, all I'd heard from Princess were half-assed texts or muffled replies through her closed door. She wouldn't open. We'd asked gently—hadn't worked. We'd fucking demanded she opened the door for us, and still, we'd failed. Not even the threat of kicking it down had done the trick.

We knew she wasn’t fucking starving because rooms had mini-fridges with snacks and sodas, but still. Fucking still. She couldn’t survive on snacks and soda, now, could she?

Perched on the edge of the couch, I cracked my knuckles and huffed, right knee bouncing like it was its full-time job. What was she even doing in there? Why didn't she want to talk to us? See us? Had we… I don't know, had we fucking done something to upset her?

I looked up. Quinn sat on the kitchen table and shuffled a deck of cards. Kenji was baking the umpteenth batch of cookies—the whole house stank of pumpkin and vanilla. I sat on the couch and ignored the urge to fucking break something. Something like her door.

I swallowed down a grunt.

For some unspoken agreement, we’d all stopped doing our normal daily stuff. No more classes, no more gym, no more mission planning. She wasn’t there. It didn’t make sense to keep living as if everything was normal.

Hell, I hated it. I loved it just as much at the same time. The way she'd crept into our lives quietly and yet making a whole lot of noise in the process. How she fitted perfectly into our existences without even trying, like she was made for us. For us to look at, for us to listen to, for us to protect.

Protect.

I clenched my fists. I didn’t fucking know how it’d happened. I’d never wanted to care about this fearful, jumpy, oversensitive little thing. And yet. And yet . I couldn't pretend I didn't feel the need to kill with my bare hands whenever she got hurt, which tended to happen too often. I couldn't pretend she didn't have a whole lot of fucking power over me, something I somehow enjoyed. I couldn't pretend I didn't want her in a way I'd never experienced before. Because yes, I'd wanted women before. I'd wanted them, fucked them, then forgotten about them the minute I finished. It was different with Violet. It wasn't just about what I could get, but also and above all about what I could give . Me. The greediest motherfucker of creation wanted nothing more than to give to her. I craved her smiles. Her rare laughs. Hell, making her come had me almost nut in my pants—that’s how fucked I was.

“That’s it.” I jumped up and strode across the room, only stopping to put on some sneakers. The fucking laces weren’t cooperating. “I’m tearing the door down.”

Quinn looked up from his deck. “If you care for my opinion—which I doubt you do— I don’t believe this to be your greatest idea.”

Wrong. I respected him and his fucking brain too much not to care about his opinions. Damn kid. “Why not?”

He didn’t let my tone intimidate him. He slipped down the table and walked toward me, hands still shuffling the cards. “We would lose her trust. You will agree with me, it wouldn’t be ideal.”

I abandoned my laces and pictured the scene. She’d flinch and try to make herself smaller and then look at me with huge, terrified eyes, and I couldn’t stand it. Not in my imagination, not in reality.

I’d rather be gutted with a rusted butter knife.

“Then what do we do?” I asked, voice getting louder, more aggressive.

I bit my tongue and clenched my jaw. It wasn't their fault. And I'd never been one to notice or pay attention to how I processed my anger, and how it affected those around me; I'd never really cared if my attitude drove people away: so long as I had my Team, everyone else could leave with my blessings. And yet here I was, trying to tone it down. Aware, maybe for the first time, that I couldn't treat the only people who'd stuck by my side so poorly without a reason.

It was her fault. She was the only reason I was suddenly stopping to acknowledge my misplaced anger. The way she reacted to my rage outbursts made me want to rip my tongue out so that I could never upset her again.

“What do we do?” I repeated, this time calmer—sort of. “She isn’t coming out. If we did something to her she could at least… I don’t know, tell us. Why isn’t she telling us? Yo, Buddy Valastro, I’m talking to you too.”

Kenji took his sweet time to put another tray of cupcakes in the oven, then turned to face me. He looked fucking calm, calmer than the calmest monk up the tallest fucking mountain, but I knew better. He was boiling just as much as I was. He was just better at hiding it, which, for some reason, only made me angrier. Why couldn't he have a single fucking reaction?

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “I don’t know” he finally said.

“You don’t know what? Eloquence won’t kill you, just so you know.”

Kenji kept staring, unfazed. “I don’t know what we should do. I don’t know what’s going on with her. I don’t know why she isn’t telling us. Was that eloquent enough?”

He was pissed big time. Good. At least I wasn’t the only one who wanted to burn the world to the fucking ground. “Can’t your sister… they’re friends, no? Mei is friends with Violet.”

“I guess.” Kenji kept quiet for a moment, snapping a chocolate chip cookie in two. “We don’t speak much. She’s…” He dusted the crumbs from his fingers. “Catching up with life.”

“Can’t she talk to her?” I pressed. “They’re always chatting and laughing about who the fuck knows what. She’ll tell her—”

"She tried" he interrupted me. He was still staring at his latest batch of fresh cupcakes as if he wanted to incinerate it with a look alone. "To no avail."

“That other friend of hers? Mandy?”

“Maggie” Kenji corrected me robotically. “Same old.”

Quinn resumed shuffling as he rested against a chair’s back. “What about her other other friend? The one who’s attached at her hip?”

A thick silence fell into the room. Magic crackled like electricity from an exposed, torn wire. "No" Kenji and I replied at the same time. Turned out we agreed occasionally.

“I’m not crazy about the guy, either” Quinn said, letting his head loll from side to side. “I don’t fancy his presence any more than you two do, Alphaboys. But Violet does speak to him a lot.”

She did. About what, I didn’t know. I didn’t fucking know. Because she insisted we give her privacy. Because she wanted space. Because, for some reason, she liked the idiot fuck who clung to her like a lost puppy. Wasn’t our company enough for her? Why couldn’t she talk to us about whatever things she confessed to those friends of hers? Why did she need other people? I felt so fucking stupid for my last thought, but anger was eating me fucking alive. I didn’t fucking know how to speak to her. I didn’t fucking know what to do.

“He’s harmless” Quinn went on. “The idea doesn’t appeal to me, but if there’s a possibility she—”

“No” I interrupted him in a way that would have made Violet jump. I hated how fucking aware I was of that. “We won’t bring him into this. We don’t need his useless, clingy ass.”

Quinn stared me down. “If you have a better suggestion, please, by all means, share it with the class. I’m begging.”

I thought about it for a moment, then I shrugged. "We could always tear her door down." But I said it quietly, an incomprehensible mumble because they were right: something like that would've made sure Violet never trusted us again. And for some fuckass reason I didn't know, the thought alone made me recoil. "We could… I don't know, fucking bribe her with the ton of cupcakes and cookies in this kitchen."

"Because that would work wonders. Just remind me," Quinn stroked his chin, "what breed of dog is Violet?"

I almost attacked him. Almost. “She’s no damn dog.”

His smile seemed triumphant. "Exactly."

The need to punch the smile off his face was strong. I did my best to keep it under control. He wasn’t the enemy—none of them were. As a matter of fact, they were my family. The only people I trusted. And Violet had somehow become part of it all, so I couldn’t afford not to control my anger.

“So what?” I looked at both of them, spreading my arms wide. “We let her be? Are you fucking okay with this?”

“Tone it down, Nicholas.” Kenji had spoken in a low yet clear voice, hands gripping the edge of the kitchen island. “It’s no use.”

At least I’m fucking reacting . But I didn't say it. I kept my mouth shut, because the last thing I wanted to do was fight. "I don't want to argue. I'm just saying, let's try and find a way to get her to talk to us. To get her out of that fucking room at the very least."

“Why?” Quinn flashed that triumphant grin again. “I thought you didn’t want her here. You mentioned your deep dislike for her multiple times.”

“I didn’t fucking dislike her” I replied, voice nothing more than a half growl. “I disliked how weak and unfit for this team she seemed.” I clenched my fists. “It’s different.”

“I remember quite well the remarks you used to—”

“What do you want me to say, huh?” I barked, stomping closer to him. “That I care? That I’m fucking worried about her? That I cannot stand this distance for another minute because I might just explode?”

I was in his face, but his smile only grew bigger, and he didn't back off. "Indeed, Nicki Boy." He gave my chin a light bop. "Say it. Say it to her, though." He turned to glance at Kenji. "You too. It wouldn't hurt to express how you feel every once in a while, you brutes. Maybe making an effort to be a tad more affectionate toward her. She'd appreciate it."

"She knows how I feel" I grumbled. "I begged on my knees, asking to eat her out."

“You told her how you feel about her body, but maybe you should spend a few words on her mind and soul, too.” He raised an eyebrow. “It might not be the solution you were looking for, but it’s surely something.”

I told myself she knew how I felt. That it was obvious. I lost my fucking mind every time she risked dying or hurting herself. I'd made her come. I'd kissed her, for fuck's sake—and I wasn't a kisser. What else did she need?

But then, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I might be wrong. I was only now understanding that I didn’t want to be away from her, that the thought alone made me want to rip something apart. How could she know? How could she know if I myself was recognizing it just now? I was still coming to terms with the fact the only thing I hated more than having her around and apologizing for every small thing was not having her around and apologizing for every small thing.

She made me feel things that didn’t have a name in my vocabulary, because I’d never felt them before.

I couldn’t expect her to know.

God. I hated how deeply she made me think about stuff. I hated how she made me question myself and everything I believed to be right and true.

“Or maybe,” Kenji muttered, eyes low, “we should do as she’s asking.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“Give her space” he explained.

I burst into laughter—a cold, humorless laughter. “That means you’re okay with her being away from you? From us?”

He looked up, gaze so sharp I felt it cutting whatever was left of my soul. “No. But she’s been through a lot. The abuse. The newly found magic. The multiple attempted murders. Us.”

“Us?” I repeated, raising my eyebrows. “How are we on the same fu—on the same level as the damn abuse and the attempted murders?”

Kenji stared at me quietly for a long moment before answering. “We’re another unforeseen event. And I’m not talking exclusively about the Team.”

“What do you mean?”

"Harem dynamics are common in our reality, but mortals aren't as familiar with the concept" he explained. "She's coming to terms with the idea she's interested in three men willing to share her without rivalries, jealousy."

Sometimes I forgot she’d had a different upbringing. That we hadn’t been taught the same rules—the opposite, in fact. Something that felt so normal to me was foreign and apparently wrong for her.

“Can’t she feel it, though?” I muttered, flexing and then uncurling my fingers. “How she belongs to us, how we belong to her.”

It was hard to admit but I’d known from the very beginning. The tug I felt toward her was impossible to ignore, though I’d done my fucking best to do so. Because a part of me knew Violet deserved better than what my fucked-up self could offer her, that maybe I should step aside and let Quinn and Kenji care for her the way she needed, but I was too selfish to actually do it. I wanted her for me. For us. I couldn’t stand it being any other way.

“So we just… We let her be?” I grumbled, nails digging into the couch. “For how long?”

“For as long as she needs, I imagine.” Quinn sighed as he hoisted himself on the table, legs dangling off the edge. “Kenji’s right. She’s been dealing with quite a lot. Pressuring her would be counterproductive, I fear.”

I knew that too, but that meant waiting.

I didn’t know how much patience I had left.