Drake’s face swam in her mind.
Certainly not!
And yet. The bed. His hands. The utterly catastrophic way her good sense had simply evacuated the premises the moment he’d looked at her with those dark, probing eyes.
Haven’t you crossed the line enough, Vi?
Yes... But, she could always just cross back over then, couldn’t she? Not all lines were irrevocable. Some that got crossed could be uncrossed. Well, she’d just cross back over then, wouldn’t she? Lines could be uncrossed. Decisions could be revised. She was a perfectly sensible woman in full possession of her faculties, and she would simply choose, going forward, not to be within arm’s reach of Drake Fury.
Perfectly simple.
Do you truly believe yourself?
Violet sighed. No . . .
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting her spiraling thoughts.
She drew a deep breath. “Yes?”
“It’s me.” Calliope’s soft voice drifted through the door. “May I come in?”
Violet pushed herself upright. “Yes, of course.”
The door pushed open, and Calliope slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her. The woman’s fair hair and green eyes were marked by an open warmth, a gentleness that softened everything they touched. So unlike the man she had married. And yet, in a way, they suited each other. Light and dark. Hard and soft. No such harmony existed between her and Drake.
“I heard what happened,” Calliope said at once. “Are you hurt?”
Violet shook her head and patted the bed beside her. She hadn’t realized how much she had needed the presence of another woman. “No, I’m fine. Come, sit.”
Calliope nodded and joined her on the bed, handing Violet a valise. “A night dress and a dress for the morning. I thought they might be welcome.”
Gratitude pricked in Violet’s throat. “Thank you. Men don’t think about these things.”
“Oh, I know, and I hear it’s been quite the night,” Calliope remarked.
Violet nodded. “How is Drake?”
“He will be fine,” Calliope said reassuringly. “Maxen is waiting for him to wake. The others are keeping watch downstairs and on the roof.”
Oh.
The man would no doubt receive a thorough reckoning from his brother. If such a thing were even possible. Could Drake be scolded? The notion conjured images of two titans colliding, sparks and stone and stubborn pride.
She could imagine it.
She simply preferred not to.
“Are they always so... intense?” Violet glanced toward the door, as though the men themselves might be listening through the walls. The journey back had been thick with dark looks and scowls, which seemed to be their nature. She understood the danger at their heels, the enemies hunting them still, and their brother had fainted, yet even when they smiled or joked about, like Reaper, an undercurrent remained.
Calliope gave a soft chuckle. “Always.”
“I am surprised they do not find it exhausting.”
“Oh, they do not,” Calliope said lightly. “It is only tiring for the people around them.”
Violet studied her more closely. “You seem to bear it well.”
“That is because I ignore them for the most part,” Calliope replied. “Or pay only partial attention to their antics.”
