A cold breeze swept across my face, sending a sharp shiver down my spine. I curled in tighter, trying to protect myself from the bite of morning air. God, it's freezing. I couldn't stop shaking.
The dress I wore had been torn to shreds, exposing a thin silk slip that did nothing to shield me. The ringing in my head was so loud, I could barely think.
One eye cracked open. Wind howled through the twisted trees, making them dance like shadows around me. My hair clung to my face in knotted strands as I pushed it aside. Somewhere nearby, I could hear running water. Maybe a river.
I swallowed hard, dry
A throat aching. When I tried to lift myself, pain slammed through me—deep and raw. A cut split open my right arm. Another on my left leg, bleeding through torn skin. My fingers reached for my scalp, pressing carefully against my forehead where pain pulsed like a drum. Blood had dried, but the ache hadn't left.
Bracing against the weeping willow at my back, I forced myself upright. I needed to move. I needed water. I limped toward the sound of the river, each step worse than the last. My vision blurred. My head throbbed. But all that mattered was forward.
When the river finally came into view, my legs buckled. I crawled the rest of the way, dipping my hands into the icy water. It stung at first, but I drank greedily, ignoring the tremble in my bones. Once I could breathe again, I used the water to clean my wounds, trying to block out the pain.
I bit my lip hard, squeezing my eyes shut, refusing to cry out. When I finally leaned back, panting, I caught sight of myself in the water's reflection.
My black hair clung to my face in knotted strands, streaked with dirt and blood as I pushed it asid. My pale skin, always striking, seemed even more so against the contrast of the dark hair. Freckles dotted my face, a scattered pattern across my nose and cheeks. It felt wrong, this version of me, but it was all I had in the moment. But it was my eyes that held me still.
Violet. Strange and vivid. They were the only thing I recognized.
My mind was blank. Not a name. Not a memory. Nothing but the ringing in my ears. I closed my eyes again, trying to force something to come back.
Then—voices.
Low. Male. Close.
My whole body tensed as I dropped to the ground, heart thudding wildly. I didn't know who they were—but I knew I couldn't be found like this. Not injured. Not exposed. Not without answers.
"Keep up, Victor. My brother should be nearby," one of them called out.
My skin prickled. Someone was watching me.
I scanned the trees, barely breathing. Then—snap.
A branch broke behind me.
I turned slowly.
He was there.
Leaning against a tree, half-hidden in shadow, stood a stranger. Broad shoulders. Arms marked with battle scars. Buzzed dark hair and a sharp jaw. His gaze locked with mine, unblinking.
How long had he been standing there?
Panic coiled in my gut. I didn't have the strength to run. I barely had the strength to stay upright.
"Give me your name," he said, voice rough like gravel.
I looked down at the river. Violet eyes stared back.
"I… don't know."
His jaw tightened. He took a step closer. The air between us shifted, tense and heavy.
"Who hurt you?"
I shrank back, arms crossing over my exposed skin. I tried to speak, but nothing came out.
He crouched in front of me. Studying me.
"Why are you injured?" he asked again, softer this time. His hand moved toward my arm.
I flinched.
His brows drew together, but he didn't lash out. He watched me closely, something unreadable in his expression. He reached for my hair, and again, I jerked away.
This time, he froze. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he let out a quiet grunt—frustration, not anger.
"Don't move."
His voice was firmer now. He gripped my legs—not harsh, but steady, as he began cleaning the blood. His touch burned where it met raw skin.
I gritted my teeth, shutting my eyes tight.
"Stop that."
His hand grabbed my chin, thumb pressing against my cheek, forcing my lip free. It left me in a small, unwilling pout.
"You're hurting yourself," he muttered, controlled but clipped.
Then he moved again, arms sweeping under me without effort. I gasped, wincing as I was lifted into his chest. His body was warm. Strong. I didn't fight him this time. Just for now, I told myself. Just until I can stand again.
I focused on my breath, trying to ignore the pain. Still, it started to fade. Not all of it, but enough to feel like something inside me was healing. Slowly.
"What's your name?" he asked again, voice softer than before. He didn't look at me this time. His eyes searched the sky instead, like the answer might be hiding there.
Do I trust him?
I thought of the girl in the river. The violet eyes.
"Violet," I said. "My name is Violet."
He looked down. His gaze softened. "Like your eyes?"
The way he said it, quiet, almost reverent, sent something sharp through my chest. I held his stare but said nothing.
He looked away, clearing his throat.
"Damon."
A voice calls out through the trees. I turn my head, and a tall man steps forward, golden curls falling over his brow. His eyes widen when he sees me.
"Who is this? What happened here?"
He pushes the hair from his forehead, jaw clenching as his gaze flicks between the man holding me, his brother, apparently, and me. The tension between them thickens, silent and heavy.
"Is everything alright with you?" he asks me gently, his tone soft, like approaching a wounded animal.
I blink up at him. His auburn eyes linger on my injuries, and something about his gaze makes me uncomfortable—like he sees too much, too fast.
I bite my lip as he reaches toward me.
"I've got this, Gabriel," the man holding me cuts in, his voice sharp.
He pulls me in tighter, away from the golden-haired man's reach. Gabriel lowers his hand in response, stepping back with a nod of respect.
"Of course. I apologize, brother. Let's get a medic to look at her injuries," he adds, motioning toward the path he came from.
Medic. Thank the stars.
"Your Majesty!"
A red-faced man emerges from the woods, panting as he bows low. His eyes narrow when he catches sight of me.
"Is everything alright?" he croaks, straightening.
"I've found an injured shifter," Damon responds, his tone colder now. "I want her treated and questioned. Send the medic to my chambers."
My eyes widen. King Damon?