Page 144 of The Violet Raven

I flee the ballroom, my heart pounding and my cheeks burning with humiliation. The cloying mix of wine, perfume, and candle smoke still lingers in the air, but I can’t focus on anything except the heat of my anger. I quicken my pace, desperate for distance from my embarrassment.

“Triona, please,” Finn calls, his voice tight with desperation, cutting through the heavy silence of the corridor.

I whirl around as I reach the archway just before the staircase, my eyes blazing. “Return to the revelry,” I snap, my voice sharp with contempt. “You’ll surely enjoy your night more now that you’ve ensured I can’t enjoy mine.”

He halts a few steps away, his expression crumpling at my words. “Triona, I—”

“No, Finn,” I cut him off, my voice trembling with the force of my emotions. “You were a brute in there!”

He steps closer, his face etched with regret. “I wasna tryin’ to ruin yer night.”

“It matters not!” I snap, my voice rising with frustration.

His breaths come in harsh, heated waves as he strides toward me, his movements deliberate. I press my back against the icy wall, willing myself to stay strong, to not flinch beneath the storm in his gaze.

There’s an incessant desire burning inside me, a need to push him to his breaking point, to force out the emotions he keeps buried so deep.

“You’re acting as if I did something wrong, when I have not. I was politely putting an end to his advances. I am more than capable of defending myself—far better than you give me credit for—”

“I never suggested you acted inappropriately,” he says, tone elevated.

“Then why was all of that necessary when you seemed so fine with it mere minutes before?”

“Because I was a jealous feckin’ git!” He snaps. “I couldnae stand to watch his hands on you!” he shouts, his voice raw, cutting through my tirade like a blade.

“This again? Really, Finn?” I spit.

He’s so close now that I can feel the heat of his breath against my chest, his proximity making my heart thunder in my ears.

He takes a shuddering breath, and his voice softens, though the intensity remains. “I lied when I said you looked exceptional in there,” he begins, his gaze locking with mine as though the words are being drawn from the deepest part of him. “You aren’t just exceptional—you are indescribable. A vision so arresting I could barely breathe. That dress—gods help me. You walked in, and I forgot everything but you. How that gown clings to every inch of you, and the way the light dances on your skin… it’s bloody unfair.”

He pauses, jaw tightening, as if the truth burns on the way out.

“You are temptation itself,” he says, his voice low, rough. “And I’ve never—not once—had to hold myself back the way I am right now. Because all I can think about is touchin’ you... feelin’ if you’re as soft as you look. Tastin’ the heat of your skin. And showin’ every bastard in that room that they never stood a bloody chance.”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his restraint fraying at the edges. “Is that what you want?” he continues, his voice trembling with the weight of emotion he can no longer hide. “D’ye want to hear how bloody crazed with jealousy I was? How it felt like fire ripping through me? How it took everything in me not to pull you away from him and—” He cuts himself off, his fists clenching at his sides as he fights to rein himself in.

“And what, Finn?” I demand.

My mouth opens again, but the words catch in my throat. Understanding dawns like a lightning strike—he isn’t angry with me, and he isn’t truly angry with Mannie. He’s angry with himself.

Finn’s palm presses flat against the wall beside my face. He doesn’t lean in fully, but his sheer presence, the weight of him so close, keeps me rooted.

“You test my patience every single day, without even realisin’ it, and it’s drivin’ me mad.” The restraint in him is palpable—I can feel it, almost taste it, as though he’s holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

“Finn, I don’t want half-truths and hesitation.” My voice is steadier than I feel, but my heart pounds like a war drum. I dare him to answer. I dare him to prove he’s not just saying what I want to hear.

“You dinnae believe me?” His other hand comes up, pressing into the wall on the opposite side of my head. His scent—earth and leather, something wholly him—fills my lungs, making it impossible to focus on anything but him.

“I’ve tried,” he says, his voice low and jagged, “tried to stay away, tried to tell myself you deserve better, but—”

I shake my head, the tears I’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “Stop, Finn. Have I not made it clear? I don’t want better. I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

He closes his eyes, as if trying to block out the truth in my words. When he opens them again, they’re brighter, fiercer, filled with something that steals the air from me. “I cannae be something you wake up regrettin’,” he asserts, his voice rough with emotion.

My fingers curl into his shirt, fisting the fabric, pulling him closer. “I could never feel that way,” I whisper fiercely. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”

“I’m afraid to risk ruinin’ what we have,” he admits, the words shaky.