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He studied her darkly. “Then three moons from now I’ll get dragged in front of the elder pack, and you’ll probably get taken from me and killed.”
Fear and rage consumed her. “You’re sick,” Violet hissed.
She pushed up off the door and stormed past him, wincing when she bumped him with her shoulder and jostled her ribs.
“Goodnight,” he said, and she heard from behind her as she stormed back down the hall to the bedroom. She shouldn’t have been surprised at the snick of the lock seconds after she slammed the door, but she was.
She threw herself on the bed and beat the pillows while she screamed.
Chapter Three
IT WAS Arestless night of checking windows and poking at the healing gash on her shin, which was red and puffy at the edges. When the sun rose and the locked door clicked open, Violet stalked after Mikel down the hall, as she was already frustrated.
“Clothes.” The announcement was gruff when he held out a paper bag for her to take in the living room. “You can choose your own later, but this will do for now.”
He was still in sweats, she noticed, hair mussed from sleep and a tank top doing very little to hide his mass. She dragged her eyes from him and glowered at the bag for so long he set it down on the coffee table and left her for the kitchen.
She snatched it up, paused to try the front door—locked—and stormed back to the bedroom to change. Thankfully his taste wasn’t horrible. Plain black T-shirt in a size small, dark-blue jeans that were an eight when she wore a six, and a black hoodie, also a women’s small. Violet tugged off the borrowed shirt that had come down to her knees and her old, tattered jeans.
It felt good to be in new clothes. She wanted to hate Mikel but she couldn’t help appreciating the five-pack of black cotton socks at the bottom of the bag. She caught her reflection in the mirror and wanted to gag.
“Master has given Dobby a sock,” she joked to her own humorless face. She still looked tired, gaunt, with lank, dark hair and sunken eyes. She looked away.
When she crossed the hall again, her boots were laced and the hoodie tied around her waist. Violet followed her nose to the kitchen. If she had to be a prisoner, at least there was fucking food.
He was on his way out as she went to go in.
“A real shirt,” he noted with a smile, and she longed again for the moment where she’d punched him in his stupid throat. “We’re eating in the shop.” He shook a Tupperware container at her and led the way back to the living room and out of a side door she hadn’t noticed before.
“Hey man what’s—woah,” a male voice greeted them.
Violet was torn between looking at him and looking around the expansive shop that apparently backed onto Mikel’s house, pieces of all kinds of furniture in various states of finish ordered neatly around the space. The scent of fresh-cut lumber was sweet in the air, and suddenly, she remembered the smell of his hand over her mouth in the forest, the same smell that clung to his clothes when he’d pushed her against the doorframe last night.
“I thought Red was kidding, Davis. You really did it?”
Violet glared at the man who was staring at her. “Took some innocent girl captive and is currently refusing to let her go, yep.” The plosive popped on her lips. “He did,” she sneered.
The man smirked at her appreciatively. “Hey, I’m Jack, nice to meet you, and damn—” His gaze swung back to Mikel. “What’s up with that?”
“He needs psychiatric help, urgently,” Violet cut in again, quickly taking stock ofJackand deciding he wasn’t much of a threat. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a phone I can borrow, or you’ll call the cops for me?”
Jack laughed at her like she’d told a joke. When her eyes flicked to Mikel he was smirking too, that good-natured, stupid, crooked smirk. Violet fumed.
“You brought breakfast?” Jack asked him, completely ignoring her, hands already reaching for the Tupperware before Mikel snatched it away.
“Not for you.” His eyes met Violet’s. “Hope you like pancakes,” he offered and set them down on a nearby workbench in front of a stool. “Want to help or watch?”
“Neither,” she replied and pushed past him to plonk down on the stool and busy herself with the Tupperware.
He seemed to take this in stride and moved toward what looked like the skeleton of a bench with Jack, dismissing his questions about her and talking aboutthis varnishandthat cut.She was bored in about five seconds, but she listened anyway, found herself watching him while she tore into surprisingly good blueberry pancakes. He was passionate about wood, intense and focused while he measured and marked pencil lines here and there. Captivating.
After he caught her looking the second time, she gazed around for something to busy herself and pushed the empty container away. A sketchbook by her elbow caught her eye. She pulled it to her without asking and opened the sawdust-marked cover, surprised by the neat script inside that labelled the extensive diagrams and blueprints for a gazebo. Violet had studied his design for a dining set, two bedroom sets, a complex ornate chest, and a bench when athudbeside her made her jump.
She looked up to find a mug on the table in front of her and green eyes looking at her expectantly.
“See anything you want to order?” His eyes crinkled softly, and she thought that might be a joke. The smell of coffee softened her response, and she only shrugged.
“Only got powdered creamer, sorry.” He set that down beside her cup too, and it made her want to scream.
