Page 48 of A Violet Obsession

Legs pumping, I take the stairs two at a time. Another scream tears through the air as I reach the top floor and jam my fingers at the keypad. Wrong numbers. The panel beeps red. Fuck. I force my hand to steady and punch the code again, and the lock clicks.

Her door is standing wide open. Leo is a few steps back from the bed, hands raised, his face stripped of every ounce of his usual cockiness.

Lily is rigid on the mattress, her body arched, with her breath coming in short, panicked bursts. Her fingers claw at the sheets, sweat glistening on her skin. Her T-shirt has twisted around her torso, riding up to expose the smooth skin of her stomach. Hera is flat against her side, ears pinned back, and she hisses with all her formidable will at Leo.

“I was doing rounds, and she started screaming,” Leo says quickly. “I came to check. I didn’t touch her.”

I believe him, even though I still have to swallow the urge to put him through the wall for being in her room while she’s sleeping. “Go.”

“Gladly. Should she have a license for that thing?” He’s staring a little wide-eyed at Hera.

“Get out.” I growl quietly, not taking my eyes off Lily.

Lily’s expression twists, and she lets out a tortured moan. Her hands come up in front of her, fighting something that isn’t there.

“Stop—” she sobs. “Please—leave me alone—get off me!”

A pang slices through my ribs at her anguish—that’s the only word for it.

I sit carefully on the edge of the mattress. Hera swings her gaze to me, with those spooky yellow eyes, and for the first time since I’ve met this animal, there’s no hostility in them. She jumps down, allowing me to scoot closer to Lily.

Careful not to jar her awake, I gently work her fingers free from where they’re clutching the sheets and hold them loosely in my palm. Her hand is small and damp, and her nails have left crescent marks in her own skin.

“Lily.” I keep my voice low and even. “It’s Finn. You’re safe. No one can hurt you.”

She doesn’t respond. Tears leak from the corners of her closed eyes and track into her hair. Another tremor racks through her, and she curls in on herself, knees drawing up.

“Please—don’t let me die⁠—”

My blood runs cold. “You’re not dying.” I shift closer, lowering myself onto my elbow beside her, my free hand moving to smooth the damp curls back from her forehead with slow strokes. “I’m right here, Butterfly. I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Her shoulders twitch, and she lets out another sound of distress. But it’s quieter. My thumb traces her hairline, drawing slow circles at her temple, and I can feel her pulse hammering beneath the thin skin.

The desperate sounds begin to fade, and her breathing slows. Her muscles release one by one until she’s soft and heavy against my side.

Her curls slide through my fingers, and the scent of her fills my lungs. But it’s the feeling of relief that she is no longer suffering that overwhelms me.

I’m not sure how much time passes. The room is quiet except for her breathing and Hera’s low purr from the foot of the bed. I can feel Lily’s heartbeat through the thin fabric of her T-shirt between us, gradually slowing from a gallop to something approaching normal.

When her eyes open, they’re unfocused and confused as she looks up into my face. Then a bright red flush spreads from her cheeks down her neck.

I’m proud of myself for not following it to where the neckline of her T-shirt has stretched, revealing a lot more skin than was on display before.

She blinks and looks down at where she’s pressed against me, and her eyebrows come together. “Finn?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you in my bed?”

“You were having a nightmare.”

She blanches. Pushing up slowly on one elbow, her hair falls forward in a wild tangle. The collar of her shirt dips further with the movement, and I can see beyond the butterfly to the full curve of her breast. But it’s the uneven ink on the lower edges of the butterfly’s wing that catches my eye.

I’ve spent enough years around people who cover their scars with ink to know what I’m looking at. My head bends closer, and Lily stops breathing.

Sure enough, under the vibrant color is the unmistakable round puckering of skin.

“Who the fuck shot you?”