Mateo's POV
The corridor stretched long and golden under the dawn light pouring through the arched window. Violet's hand still rested on my cheek, and yet every nerve in my body felt exposed, like someone had peeled back my skin and left me bleeding in front of her.
I couldn't look away from her eyes. They were the same eyes that had gazed up at me last night in the dark of Mark's bed, wide, wanting, but now they held something else. Something colder. Something that had walked into a room full of elders and rewritten centuries of tradition with nothing but her voice and two bites on her throat.
I had chased her out of that council chamber like a fool. Like a male who had no pride left, and maybe I didn't. Because standing here, feeling the fresh scar along my jaw pulse with every heartbeat, I still wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything.
"What are you doing, Violet?" The question scraped out of my throat, low and rough. "What game are you playing?"
