Violet Purple found herself back at the club. The music was loud again, the bass pounding in her bones, while the lights strobed in disorienting reds and blacks.
Right now she was on Asher’s lap, riding him like she was an addict and he was the high she chased. Asher’s head was tipped back against the plush couch, his jaw clenched and mouth slack in ecstasy, while his hands gripped her hips tightly.
His slitted pupils were blown wide, devouring her as she moaned, grinding harder, and harder like nothing else mattered. That was until blood tickled from his nose.
"What the fuck?" Asher mumbled, lifting his hand to wipe it away.
Violet saw it and didn’t care. Even when his body suddenly jerked beneath her, spasming uncontrollably, she didn’t stop. Her hips kept moving with feverish want.
Asher’s hands slipped from her waist as he convulsed, veins bulging grotesquely on his neck. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. Still, Violet rode him, her own head falling back, her lips parted in so sick, twisted rapture. A breathless, euphoric laugh tumbled from her throat.
Violet blinked and looked up when the first sticky drop hit her shoulder. And then she saw it, or rather, them.
Suspended from the ceiling, like marionettes held up by barbed wire, were Roman, Alaric, and Griffin strung in nightmarish contortions. Their bodies were slashed open in places where no one should be touched, their limbs twisted in angles that defied anatomy. Hollow, gaping sockets stared down at her, mouths frozen in eternal screams.
And from their mutilated forms, the blood dripped onto her and Asher.
The blood sared down her thighs, streaked her stomach, and painted her breasts. But instead of screaming in terror, Violet lifted her hands and began to laugh.
She laughed like it was the sweetest rain she’d ever known, and bathed in it. She rubbed the blood onto her skin, licking her fingers with a moan.
Asher’s body beneath her had gone cold, his head lolled to the side. His dead eyes stared up at her, mouth still ajar in that last twisted mont of pleasure.
Eyes that seed to accuse her for killing him.
Violet shot up in bed with a gasp, hand on her chest. She was covered in sweat and her heart pounded like a caged animal. She looked down and to her relief, her hands were clean.
There was no blood. No bodies on the roof and thankfully, she was not in any club.
Violet groaned, running her clammy hands down her face. What kind of twisted nightmare was that?
She hated this.
Violet tapped her phone beside her and the glow from the phone’s screen showed that it was 3:07 AM.
"Dear God." she muttered with frustration.
Couldn’t morning co any quicker? Violet was eager to see Lila and get the answers she needed.
With a sigh, she climbed out of bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen to get so water to drink. The house was so quiet that if one dropped a pin, it would echo.
Violet opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle, and tipped it up. Cold water rushed down her throat and she drank to her full. God, that was refreshing.
Violet was just about to close the fridge when she froze.
Sothing felt off.
The air was suddenly too still. A prickling dread crawled down her spine and Violet had long since learned to trust that feeling. Her instincts never lied.
She turned, lips parting to scream Griffin’s na when a hand clamped around her throat, cutting off the sound before it could form.
"Don’t make a sound," a rough voice rasped against her ear, breath hot and sour.
Her body stiffened, heart hamring against her ribs. Violet wanted to panic. She was fast, but not fast enough to escape a grip like this. She could barely breathe, let alone move.
Then ca the sound of a door slamming open, followed by a animalistic growl that reverberated through the house.
Griffin.
He was here. He’d sensed it. Thank the moon!
In a blur, Griffin stord into the kitchen, his chest rising and falling in fury. But he stopped cold when he saw her.
His gaze flicked from Violet’s wide eyes to the claws pressed dangerously against her throat.
His nostrils flared in disgust at the scent perating the air. "Rogue! You’ve got so nerve!"
Rogue? As in the wild werewolves without a pack she’d heard about over and over again. Oh lord. Violet’s stomach dropped.
There was not just one because two more figures erged from the shadows right on cue.
This was a coordinated ambush.
The rogue leader bared his teeth in a grin. "Make a move, Alpha, and I’ll slit her pretty little throat." To emphasize his threat, his claws nicked her skin, a thin line of blood blooming along her neck.
Griffin snarled, muscles bunching, but he didn’t advance.
"Good," the rogue hissed. "Now be a good boy and put these on. I’m not taking such a risk with a cardinal alpha."
One of the others stepped forward, holding out a pair of strange cuffs.
Griffin’s expression darkened. "You don’t know what you’re playing with."
"Do it now." The leader pressed his claw deeper into Violet’s collarbone this ti and she cried out in pain.
Griffin raised his hands. "Stop! I’ll do it. Just don’t touch her again."
"No, Griffin. Don’t let them—!"
But he was already reaching out and the cuffs snapped shut around his wrists. The cuff activated, glowing a harsh blue, while Griffin gritted his teeth as power bleeded from him.
"What now?" Griffin growled, his voice strained.
The rogue leader chuckled. "Now we disappear."
"No!" Violet shouted. "Griffin, look —!"
But her warning ca too late as one of the rogues drove a needle into Griffin’s neck. His roar of rage filled the kitchen, shaking the walls. His body jerked, then he dropped to one knee as whatever they’d injected began to take hold.
Violet scread, fighting like a wildcat but the leader slamd her head against the counter and white-hot pain exploded behind her eyes.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
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