Page 93 of Unleashed By Eden

“I’m stealing my sister for the night,” he announces to Carter.

Carter doesn’t argue. He lifts his water bottle, takes a slow drink, eyes still on mine over the rim. He still hasn’t said a word, and somehow that says everything.

Liam guides me toward the door, arm heavy around me.

Out in the hallway, the music quietens behind us. The air is cooler. My head is clearer. The beast in my chest isn’t gone, exactly—but she’s lying down, finally. Resting.

Liam leans down to my ear.

“Fucking proud of you, Vi,” he whispers. “You’ve changed. In all the right ways.”

His words find the soft spot, and instead of bruising, they soothe.

I let out a shaky breath that feels like another little release. I’m done letting Cindy live rent-free in my head.

Chapter twenty-five

Violet

Aweek in Toronto without Carter has felt like being skinned alive slowly. Mornings are the worst. Waking up, rolling to the side, reaching for solid heat, but finding a paper rose instead of a body. Seven days of pretending I haven’t started counting time by how long it’s been since his mouth was on mine. Seven days without his cold steel sliding inside me, and without heavy muscle pinning me exactly where he wants me.

He’s messed with my wiring. I’m used to needing no one. Now I’m fucking addicted to him.

I love my brother more than I love oxygen, but fuck, am I thrilled to see the back of him.

Liam pulls me into a hug, squeezing tight. A new thing for us.

“You’re on the home stretch now,” he murmurs into my hair. “After New York, will you come stay with us? Meet Indigo. We’d love to have you, if you’re not in a rush to get back to Sydney.”

“I’ll stay,” I say, faster than he finishes. “Of course I’ll stay.”

And I mean it.

His features melt. “Good.” He kisses the top of my head, gives my shoulders one last squash, then grabs his carry-on suitcase.

We split in opposite directions. Liam heads for the main doors that lead to the commercial terminal, New York-bound. I turn for the quieter lounge signed for private charters, the jet waiting to haul us to Milan for our next slice of downtime.

He gets a few strides away, then twists, walking backward as he cups a hand around his mouth. “Oh, and fix your damn phone!” he yells. “I’m sick of talking to your voicemail.”

“It’s my charger, not the ph—” I cut myself off. He’s already turned away, swallowed up by the ebb and flow of people with roller bags and neck pillows.

I check the time on my barely alive screen. We’ve got a few minutes. If I cut through to the main concourse, I might be able to grab a charger from an overpriced tech kiosk and finally stop living like a savage raccoon borrowing power from strangers.

I pivot toward the exit. And I get exactly one step.

Chris appears at the end of the private corridor with the band strung out behind in a swaggering procession of boots, duffel bags, and frenetic energy.

Carter’s eyes land on mine.

I lose my shot.

Everything under my skin snaps to attention. One look and my body remembers exactly what it’s been missing all week. The waiting is finally over, the distance closing.

Then my eyes snag on someone tucked neatly under Xander’s arm.

Cindy.

I’d honestly hoped I’d never have to see her again in this lifetime, let alone before we’ve even cleared Toronto. Her arm is looped around his waist, hand resting a little too comfortably on his hip, all cozy and shit. It’s both territorial and staged, and she knows it.