“Even your husband?”
A sweet smile curved Calliope’s mouth. “Especially my husband. His intensity does not weary me. I find it quite endearing.”
“The power of love,” Violet murmured. How enviable. Should she reconsider a husband after all?
No. Certainly not.
A lover, on the other hand . . .
“If I may ask,” Calliope said carefully, “how did you come to cross into Drake’s line of sight? From what I have observed, he does very little without purpose. That’s true of all of them, really, but he seems particularly adept at the proverbial game of chess.”
Violet at once went vigilant. What to do? Dare she tell the truth? Lie? Impart partial truth? No, she couldn’t bring herself to expose the truth. Not yet. The moment she told the truth, she’d be part of this feud, and she refused to be caught up between the games of two men again, even if the stripes and spots of the predators were different. Calliope might be kind and generous, but she was still a Fury.
Keep to the story, Vi.
“I stumbled into his trap,” Violet murmured. “One meant for someone else.”
“Ah.”
Violet lifted a brow. “You say that as though you understand my plight.”
Calliope grinned. “I once stumbled into something myself. That is how I met my husband. Not a trap, mind you, rather more a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“You were caught and suspicion followed?” Violet asked, intrigued. While she’d met Calliope before—the woman had even visited her shop at its opening—she’d never heard how their union came to be.
“With these men?” Calliope laughed softly. “How could it not?”
“How did you convince them otherwise?” How could she convince Drake?
Calliope pursed her lips thoughtfully. “On the one hand, I was innocent. On the other, I was... not entirely so. Time, however, smooths out all misunderstandings.”
Time would smooth out nothing for Violet. There were no misunderstandings between her and Drake. Only hidden moves and unseen pieces. She knew who she was. She knew, at least partially, who he was. And she didn’t believe that the distance between those two truths was something that patience could bridge.
“Well, I suppose we shall have to see if that works for us,” Violet said, then probed, “Do you know who this enemy is? Am I in danger now too?”
The woman gave her an apologetic look, sending her pulse leaping. “I do not know. I do know that Maxen is furious. We shall know soon enough.”
Violet nodded. That made sense. The brothers only found out tonight the depth of this danger, she imagined. “How do you do it?” she asked quietly. “Live with such imminent risk all the time?”
Calliope laughed. “I ask myself that every day. Mostly, I trust Maxen. And,” her smile turned wry, “you may rest assured, I possess some fight of my own. Just like you.”
Unfortunately, those words were no comfort at all.
*
Drake opened hiseyes to Maxen’s furious glare and knew, at once, that he was not dead. Could he still wish to be? Blast it all to the devil. He’d done it again. Collapsed. And not just before the little flame this time, but before his brothers as well. What cursed fate of humiliation haunted him this night?
He shut his eyes, willing himself to erase the memory of all of it, starting from the moment Ox nearly got the upper hand. That would be where it started. Where it ended... Christ. He had felt the last of his strength draining, and still pridehad convinced him he could fight the haze. Pride, and stubborn bloody-mindedness. Look where that had gotten him.
Maxen did not speak. That, more than anything, told Drake precisely how furious his brother was. Maxen’s anger was rarely loud. The pressure, on the other hand, was not a bloody pleasant experience.
Drake shifted and the ache of his body answered him in kind. “Where is Violet?” he asked roughly, turning to his brother.
“That is your first concern?”
Not the very first, no. But he’d be damned if he told this beast his first concern was for his own damn dignity. “Do you want me to answer that?”
He received a fierce glare.
