30. Violet

30

VIOLET

I'm tired, but I don't want to close my eyes in case I'm dragged back into that nightmare.

I shiver and then look up, snowflakes falling into my eyes. "Stop with the snow, will you," I grumble.

Flint chuckles. "Sorry, it's involuntary." He looks up and breathes in, visibly calming himself, and the snow stops falling around us.

I look around at the three of them. Their concerned faces make my heart ache. "I'm sorry for worrying you all."

"You have nothing to apologise for," Caine says firmly.

"He's right," Thorne adds. "This was Nathaniel's doing, not yours."

I bite my lip and shake my head. "He reacted violently to my plan to kill him. This was my fault."

Flint curls up next to me, taking my hand. "It wasn't your fault, Violet. None of this is. "

As I settle back against the pillows, I can't help but feel that this isn't over. Nathaniel's final words echo in my mind. This isn't over, little flower. You can't escape me forever.

But then, something flickers deep inside me. I can't quite place my finger on what it is or why it's there, but it's some knowledge ready for me to grasp if I could just get past the fog in my brain.

Truth be told, though, I'm too tired right now.

I start to drift off, and that nagging feeling returns—like there's something important just out of reach in my mind. I try to grasp it, but it slips away as sleep tries to overtake me.

There's something I need to remember, some crucial piece of information. But every time I try to focus on it, it dances away.

I open my eyes to see Caine sitting beside the bed, his gaze fixed on me. "How are you feeling? Really?" he asks.

"Okay," I say, sitting up. "But...strange. Like I'm forgetting something important."

Caine frowns. "Like what?"

I shake my head. "I'm not sure. It's irritating."

"Don't force it," he advises. "Sometimes these things come back on their own when you're not actively trying to remember."

I nod, but the nagging feeling persists. There's something just on the edge of my consciousness, something vital.

Thorne takes my hand, and I turn to him. He's studying me intently. "Violet, I need to ask you something important. When exactly were you turned? The precise time, if you can remember."

I blink, surprised by the question. "Why?"

"The ritual we need to perform, which we need to do sooner rather than later, has to be at the same time as your turning. Do you have any idea?"

I close my eyes and think back. The terror of me running away from my home, from my murdered parents, from Nathaniel. I was going hell for leather through the park when the village church clock struck midnight. "It was after midnight. But I couldn't tell you the exact time. The clock struck, and it was after that. That's all I can tell you."

He purses his lips and tries to hide his disappointment.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "The fear and running and everything… I honestly don't know. Maybe ten minutes?"

"It's okay," he murmurs, leaning forward, kissing my forehead. "I can work with a ballpark. Does the church clock strike the quarter hour?"

I shake my head. "Not at that time, only the hour."

"Do you think you can reenact it?" Caine asks.

"What?" I fluster.

"Exactly what I said," he replies, gaze steady on mine.

"Caine, we can't ask her to do that," Flint murmurs .

"If you could, it would help us, princess," Thorne says.

"You want me to go back to Millbrook and reenact the scene? I can't do that! My parents! The police are probably looking for me in connection with their murder!"

Okay, so that's the first time that thought occurred to me. But being confronted with the nightmare of returning home to do this has shoved it right up to the surface and now it's all I can think about.

"We don't have to actually go to Millbrook," Caine says. "With Flint's help, we should be able to create a sort of pseudo-world that is an exact replica. If you talk us through the details, we can configure it."

"How?" I ask in shock.

"With a great deal of powerful magick," he replies with a smirk. "Good thing you've got three powerful creatures desperately in love with you."

His words strike a chord in me that makes me gasp, but I have no words. I can't even breathe, let alone comment on it.

"When?" Flint asks, sidestepping Caine's grenade with a finesse which I don't possess.

"As soon as possible," Thorne states. "We need a big enough space."

"The forest," Flint replies.

"Blackthorne told me not to go there."

"Tough shit," Caine states. "This is vital to the ritual, so we are doing it. You don't need to be afraid, snowdrop. We've got you. "

"Uhm, okay," I say hesitantly. "What do you need me to do?"

"For now, you need to write down everything you can remember in bullet points," Caine says, gesturing for Thorne to hand me a pen and paper. "You have to be precise in your retelling when we get there. Focus on sights, sounds and senses. If you slipped, write it down. If you sneezed, we need to know."

"Where do I start? With the clock?" I ask, taking the paper and pen.

"No, start at the beginning. We need you to be in the moment from the second you ran. Once you get to the church clock striking, then we need to really focus on the passing seconds. For now, write down what you can. Read it over and revise it. Then read it again and revise it, and so on."

"Okay," I say, getting into this. "I can do this. I've replayed it in my mind a hundred times already while I was imprisoned at Nathaniel's. I can do it."

"Wait," Flint says. "You need some blood first. You've been through a lot, and it will help you focus and be mentally strong."

"Are you offering?" I ask, seductively, the vampire in me, as well as the little nympho, has perked their ears up at this.

Flint's eyes darken at my words, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Always," he says, his voice low and husky.

The tension in the room shifts, becoming charged with a different kind of energy .

"I need you."

He moves closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You have me, baby girl. Always."

I lean into his touch, my fangs elongating in anticipation. Flint tilts his head, exposing his neck to me. The gesture of trust makes my sluggish heart thump that bit faster.

Slowly, I lean in, inhaling his scent like freshly driven snow. It sends a tingle over my skin. My lips brush against his pulse, and I feel him shiver.

"Do it," he whispers.

I sink my fangs into his neck, moaning softly as his blood floods my mouth. The taste has changed slightly from last time. It's richer, headier—cool and crisp like winter air, with that underlying heat that tells me of his Dragon nature.

Flint groans, his arms wrapping around me and pulling me closer. One of his hands tangles in my hair, holding me to his neck. The other slides down my back, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

I crawl into his lap, settling over his hardening cock. I grind down, making him grunt and drop his hand to my arse to push me closer.

As I drink, I feel my strength returning. My senses sharpen, the fog in my mind clearing. Flint's blood is like a tonic, rejuvenating me in all the ways I need.

Before I can pull back, Flint groans loudly, and I feel a damp patch between us.

"Fucking hell," he grunts. "I've unloaded in my pants. "

"Oh, my fucking Ice Goddess!" Caine snorts. "You are an absolute tosser."

"Fuck you," Flint pants as I draw back, trying not to laugh. "You try having her feed from you while she grinds her sweet pussy over your raging cock."

That shuts up Caine up as his gaze fixes on mine. "Soon," he murmurs.

I lower my gaze as Flint stands up and hurries to the bathroom. Thorne is snickering on my other side, but I ignore him as I pick up the pen and paper, chewing my lip as I write:

1) see Nathaniel and run from house.

2) it's raining.

3) it's dark.

I pause and close my eyes, letting the memory wash over me.