Page 36

VIOLET

Eloise intercepts our arrival at the Blackwood estate and demands I go to my room, as if I’m a human teen and Dorian caught me somewhere I shouldn’t be.

Dorian’s response unnerves me. Is this how a human father would react to such a situation—lethal and silent, but measuring the moments after the mother steps in before the shouting begins?

Eloise is giving me time, but I don’t want that anymore.

Holly’s scent lingers in my room amongst the mingled smells permeating from years of magic, including the scorched carpet.

The girl in the mirror looks no different to the day I left for Thornwood.

Less annoyed, but expression equally defiant.

The red lipstick and eyeliner faded with everything happening today, and although I’m softer in face, I’m harder in determination.

And less hard-hearted than the day I walked away from the estate to Thornwood.

I’d known what and who I was and never believed I’d change.

Even the idea I could become like Eloise and find men to share my life with repulsed me.

Violet Blackwood took control, even as a toddler when she renamed herself, but unlike many teens, she never questioned her parents.

Not until the coercion started: first the high school and then Thornwood—mistakes Dorian now regrets.

He’s the one who sliced through our family unity.

Not me. Today is the culmination of weeks drifting away from my father’s control over me.

I wipe the remaining lipstick from my mouth with an index finger and Grayson comes to mind.

He ran the moment Leif suggested Dorian might catch us.

Will I see him again? Our night together may not have solidified the blood bond, but the physical closeness we created sealed our fate toward a shared future.

Nobody will take Grayson from me. Or Rowan. Or Leif.

My mother orchestrated this moment—she must’ve been aware of Cornelius’s actions over the last days and didn’t inform me. And what about Ethan and Zeke? Has she also planned that they stay away and ensure I’ll face Dorian with only her?

I can’t predict their reaction. Is it time my family lets me go?

Weirdly, my heart jumps out of rhythm at the thought this could lead to exile from the people who embraced and nurtured me for eighteen years. Surely none of this would change Ethan and Zeke’s minds.

I expect Dorian to arrive in my room once Eloise can’t appease him any longer. Dorian will demand I follow him to his office, the territory he always drags me to where I’m trapped and he can dictate the terms.

But no one comes to my room.

Not wanting to delay this any longer, I go to him instead. But the door is open, and Dorian isn’t waiting behind his desk. Confused, I walk the slate floors toward the kitchen, another hub in the house. The lights are on, but again the room empty.

The longer Dorian stays away from me, the deeper the fear about the outcome for us all buries into my heart.

I spy a note on the table, written in Eloise’s handwriting. Garden.

The moon watches over me as I walk outside, both a beacon to light my night, and a reminder of the academy and people I love. I have a week until this moon becomes full.

Eloise sits on a wooden garden seat where bushes of herbs surround the uneven pavers. I’ll always associate lavender with my mother, as the scent overpowers other herbs in her favorite gardens. Rarer plants nestle amongst the culinary herbs, including those used in dangerous spells.

The deadly nightshade berries bring Rowan to mind—the day he invaded my room and privacy hoping to steal ingredients from the Trinity witch’s daughter. I never thought we’d end up here.

Eloise remains still as I pass by to sit on another cushioned seat where the small yellow chamomile flowers touch my arms. Such a shame the calming herb won’t help with this meeting.

Where is Dorian?

My mother’s green eyes meet mine, searching my blank expression, and her magic brushes against my mental barrier. She takes a tall glass from the marble table and sips the clear liquid.

“I’m curious to know how you’ll deal with this,” she says lightly. “I gave you the chance to take an easy way out, yet you made ludicrous choices.”

“You mean by not sacrificing Grayson in order to deny my involvement?” I shake my head as she offers to pour me a drink from the glass jug.

“And Dashiell? You never found the shifter boy?” She sets down the jug. “Unusual, as I thought he’d return for Holly. After all, she’s responsible for his decision. Handing Dorian at least one of the culprits would’ve helped you.”

Culprits.

“Dashiell saved my friend’s life. I am returning the favor.”

She looks back at me, unblinking. “Tell me. Where is Viktor’s body, Violet? Have you taken and destroyed it?”

“I have not. And if I had taken him, would you have preferred if I brought him here?”

She says nothing, and I pull a chamomile flower from the bush and rub the petals between my fingers. “Where’s my father?”

“Inside. I persuaded him to take time before speaking to you. After the pantomime with Cornelius today, and your disappearance, he’s on the edge of reason. He’ll join us soon.”

Join us soon , as if we’re about to share a late-night family drink: ordinary behavior from the extraordinary people, relaxing away from the troubles in their lives.

“Does he know? Have you told him?”

Eloise arches a brow. “If I’d shared the full details, nothing I did would’ve persuaded Dorian to keep away from you. You made the mistake. You deal with the consequences.”

I suck my lips together. And the consequences for Eloise? She’s the one person in the world who has sway over Dorian, but will he see her decision to keep Viktor’s death under wraps as a betrayal too?

“How is Grayson?” she asks, sipping from her glass again.

“Hiding.”

My mother laughs, but I glare back. There’s nothing amusing here.

I don’t hear Dorian pass through the open doors to the house but sense his presence before he rounds the corner to the herb gardens. He halts, sweeping an impassive gaze over me but doesn’t sit. The darkness edges his powerful aura, but the anger is still controlled.

I’ve never feared my father. The man never once raised a hand to me, often allowing me more leniency over mistakes— or deliberately dangerous acts—than the rest of my family.

As I look back to him now, our last conversation tumbles through my mind.

I’m not scared of Dorian. I’m frightened for others.

“Still here, Violet?” he asks evenly. “You didn’t take the opportunity to sneak away and fuck things up even more?”

I side-glance at Eloise.

“As I told you, Violet wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave the estate tonight,” says Eloise.

“ This time .” Dorian crosses his arms. “Now, where should we begin? Cornelius lied about you stealing his tiara, and I played along. I found nothing in his estate staffs’ minds, which confirms he lied. Why the sudden interest in you by Viktor’s father? Answers. Now.”

“I’ve information regarding Viktor, Dorian.”

Dorian scoffs. “That isn’t enough of an answer. I’m perfectly aware this charade all links to Viktor and his whereabouts. Where is he?”

“With Cornelius Whitegrove. On his estate.”

Dorian’s lips thin. “Don’t be an imbecile. I just visited the place, and if a witch emanating magic of Viktor’s magnitude was there, we would know.”

“That’s where I believe he is,” I correct.

“Impossible. Cornelius would not risk revealing a connection to ‘Joe Smith’ after all this time. And Cornelius Whitegrove certainly would not step into my life or take me to the location where his son is hiding.” Dorian’s blue eyes glint. “Truth. Now.”

Eloise continues to observe quietly.

“Viktor Whitegrove is dead.”