Chapter 3: The Wolves Take Their Witch
The first course sat untouched on the table. A delicate arrangement of roasted quail and honeyed figs, still steaming, the scent curling through the great hall like a question no one had the words to answer.
Violet's hands rested on the edge of the table. She hadn't moved since she'd spoken. Neither had they.
Cassian's golden eyes hadn't left her face. His breathing had gone shallow, his pupils blown wide, and there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before. He looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, trying to decide whether to jump.
Evander was stiller. But his stillness had a different quality now—not control but restraint. His hands were fisted at his sides, knuckles white, and the muscle in his jaw ticked once, twice, a steady rhythm of barely leashed want.
The fire cracked. A log shifted, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
And then Cassian growled.
It was low. Primal. The sound of an animal that had just caught a scent it couldn't ignore. It vibrated through the room, through the stone floor, through Violet's bones.
Evander answered. A rumble deep in his chest, rougher than Cassian's, edged with something that wasn't quite human. His eyes—those piercing ocean-blue eyes—had gone darker. Wilder.
Violet's pulse hammered in her throat.
She knew what that sound meant. Every witch who'd ever walked among shifters knew what that sound meant. The wolves were scenting their mate.
But that was impossible.
They were married. They had each other.
"You should run," Evander said, and his voice was gravel and smoke. "If you don't want this, you should run now."
The words hung in the air between them.
Violet didn't move.
She couldn't. Her legs had turned to water, her heart to fire. And there was something else—something that had been building for five years, buried beneath professionalism and walls and careful distance. It was awake now. It was hungry.
"I'm not running," she whispered.
Cassian made a sound—half laugh, half growl. "Thank the gods."
He moved first. Always the impulsive one, always the one to leap before he looked. He crossed the room in three strides and stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell the sun-warmed fur scent that clung to his skin.
His hand came up. Cupped her jaw. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, over the freckles scattered there, and his eyes—those impossible golden eyes—searched her face like he was memorizing it.
"You have no idea," he said, "how long I've wanted to touch you."
"Cassian—"
"Five years." His voice cracked. "Five years of watching you walk in and out of rooms, watching you smile at other people, watching you go home alone. He's been a wreck. I've been a wreck. We've been—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "We've been falling apart, and you've been the only thing holding us together."
Violet's throat tightened. "I'm your advisor."
"You're our mate." Evander's voice came from behind Cassian, closer than it had been. He'd moved too, silently, and was now standing at Cassian's shoulder. The two of them, side by side, filling her vision. "You've always been our mate. We just didn't know how to tell you."
"That's not—you're married. You love each other."
"We do." Evander's eyes didn't waver. "And we love you. We've loved you for years, Violet. We just didn't know how to say it. We didn't know if you wanted us. We didn't know if we deserved you."
Cassian laughed, soft and bitter. "We still don't. But we're tired of pretending."
The words hit her like a wave. Five years. They'd wanted her for five years. They'd been falling apart, and she'd been the thing holding them together, and neither of them had said a word.
"I thought I was imagining it," she breathed. "The way you looked at me. The way you—"
"You weren't imagining anything." Evander stepped closer, and now they were both within arm's reach, both radiating heat, both looking at her like she was the answer to a question they'd been asking for centuries. "Come with us. Let us show you."
Violet thought about the green dress. The walk to the palace. Mira's words—you deserve to be someone's favorite person.
"Show me," she said.
The door to the royal bedchamber clicked shut behind them.
Violet had never been in this room before. In five years, she'd been in every corner of Thornhold Palace—the throne room, the council chambers, the libraries and kitchens and servants' quarters. But she'd never crossed the threshold of the shared bedchamber.
No one did. It had been sealed for decades, the kings sleeping in separate wings, separate beds, separate lives.
Now it was open.
The room was cavernous, swallowed by velvet and shadow. A massive bed dominated the center, draped in dark furs that gleamed in the candlelight. The air smelled of old spice and enchanted wine and something wild—snowfall on wolf fur, pine and frost and smoke.
Cassian's hands found her first.
He turned her to face him, his fingers working the buttons of her dress with a haste that bordered on desperate. The green silk slid from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and she stood before him in nothing but her shift, the thin fabric doing little to hide the curves beneath.
He made a sound. Low. Appreciative. Filthy.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Look at you."
His hands slid down her arms, then around her waist, pulling her against him. She felt every inch of him—the hard planes of his chest, the ridge of his cock pressing against her belly through his trousers. He was already hard. Already aching.
Evander came up behind her.
He didn't speak. Just pressed his chest to her back, his hands settling on her hips, his mouth finding the curve of her neck. He kissed her there, slow and deliberate, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
Violet shuddered.
"Tell me what you want," Evander murmured against her throat. "Tell me and I'll give it to you."
"You. Both of you. Everything."
Cassian growled. "Good answer."
He kissed her then. Hard. His mouth claimed hers like he'd been starving for it, tongue sliding against hers, teeth nipping at her lower lip. She tasted wine and honey and something darker, something wild. His hands cupped her breasts through the shift, thumbs brushing over her nipples until they peaked, until she moaned into his mouth.
Behind her, Evander's hands moved lower. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her shift and tugged it down, baring her to both of them.
The fabric pooled around her ankles.
She stood naked between them, her skin flushed, her breath coming fast.
Cassian broke the kiss and stepped back. His golden eyes raked over her—her full breasts, the curve of her waist, the dark curls between her thighs. He looked like he wanted to devour her.
"Bed," he said. "Now."
They moved as one, the three of them tumbling onto the furs. The bed was massive, wide enough to swallow all of them, and the fur was soft beneath her back as Cassian pressed her down.
He kissed her again. Then his mouth moved lower, trailing down her throat, across her collarbone, closing over one nipple. He sucked hard, teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and Violet arched off the bed with a cry.
Evander was there. His hands on her thighs, spreading her open. His fingers finding her slick folds, stroking through the wetness already pooling there.
"So wet," he murmured. "Is this for us, sweetheart?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
He slid one finger inside her. Then two. Curling them just right, finding that spot that made her vision white out.
Cassian released her nipple with a wet pop, grinning against her skin. "Look at you. Falling apart already."
"Shut up and fuck me."
He laughed—that warm, full laugh that made her stomach flip. "Bossy. I like it."
He shifted, kneeling between her spread thighs, and Violet got her first real look at him. He'd stripped off his shirt at some point, revealing the muscled planes of his chest, the dark trail of hair leading down to his waistband. His cock strained against his trousers, thick and hard, and when he freed it, her mouth went dry.
"Like what you see?" He stroked himself slowly, eyes locked on hers.
"Get inside me before I change my mind."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He lined himself up and pushed in. One slow, relentless thrust that stretched her wide, filled her completely. She gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, and he groaned like a man drowning.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, you feel—"
"Move."
He moved.
The first few thrusts were slow, deliberate, like he was savoring her. But then something shifted. The wolf rose up in him—she could see it in the way his eyes glowed, in the way his teeth lengthened, in the way a rumble built in his chest.
He fucked her harder.
Each thrust drove her deeper into the furs, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the cavernous room. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he bit down on her shoulder—not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to mark, to claim.
"Cassian—"
"That's right. Say my name."
He drove into her again and again, relentless, animal, and she was climbing, climbing, about to shatter—
And then he stopped.
She whined. Actually whined. A desperate, needy sound that she would have been embarrassed about if she had any brain cells left.
"Not yet," he said, panting. "Not without him."
Evander moved onto the bed.
He was naked now—she hadn't seen him undress, but there he was, all olive skin and hard muscle, his cock thick and veined and leaking. He knelt at the head of the bed, beside her face, and looked down at her with those piercing blue eyes.
"Open your mouth," he said.
She did.
He fed her his cock slowly, inch by inch, and she tasted salt and musk and something that was purely him. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked, and his hand came down to stroke her hair, gentle in a way that made her heart ache.
"Good girl," he murmured. "That's it."
Cassian started moving again.
They found a rhythm—the three of them, together, like they'd been doing this for centuries. Cassian fucking her from behind and below, Evander sliding in and out of her mouth, their hands on her skin, their voices in her ears.
Violet had never felt so full. So wanted. So complete.
"Fuck," Cassian groaned. "She's so tight. So perfect."
Evander's hand tightened in her hair. "Look at her. Taking both of us. Like she was made for it."
She was. She was made for this. Made for them.
The thought pushed her closer to the edge, and she moaned around Evander's cock, hips bucking against Cassian's thrusts.
"Close," Cassian panted. "I'm close—"
"Not yet." Evander's voice was strained, but controlled. "Trade with me."
They moved without words. Cassian pulled out and flopped onto his back beside her, chest heaving, and Evander slid down to take his place between her thighs.
But he didn't fuck her right away.
He hovered over her, propped on his forearms, his face inches from hers. His eyes—blue as the deepest ocean—searched her face like he was looking for something.
"Tell me you want this," he said. "Tell me you want us."
"I want you." Her voice cracked. "I've always wanted you. Both of you. I just—I didn't think—"
"I know." He kissed her, soft and slow. "We should have told you sooner. We should have—"
"Later." She wrapped her legs around him. "Tell me later. Right now, just—"
He pushed inside her.
Where Cassian had been fast and rough, Evander was slow and deep. Each thrust was deliberate, controlled, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her from the inside out. His eyes never left hers, and she saw everything in them—the years of loneliness, the fear of losing what he loved, the desperate, aching hope that she might be the thing that saved them.
"Evander—"
"I know." He kissed her forehead. "I know, sweetheart."
Behind her, Cassian pressed against her back. He'd moved without her noticing, and now he was there, his chest warm against her spine, his lips brushing her ear.
"Let go," he whispered. "We've got you."
Evander fucked her harder. Faster. And Cassian's hand slid down between their bodies, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles.
She shattered.
She screamed their names—both of them, tangled together, a sound that ripped from her throat and echoed off the stone walls. Her body convulsed, waves of pleasure crashing through her, and she heard Evander groan as he followed her over the edge, spilling inside her with a shudder that wracked his entire body.
Cassian came a moment later, his hand still working her clit, his teeth buried in her shoulder, growling against her skin.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then, from somewhere deep in the palace, two wolves howled.
The sound was triumphant. Joyous. A declaration that echoed through the corridors, through the wards, through the very bones of Thornhold Palace. The magic that protected the walls shimmered, flickered, blazed bright—and then settled, warm and golden and right.
Violet lay between them, spent and trembling, and felt something she hadn't felt in centuries.
She felt like she belonged.
Cassian's arm wrapped around her waist. Evander's fingers traced lazy patterns on her thigh. The fire crackled in the hearth, and outside, the wolves howled again—not a question this time, but an answer.
"Stay," Evander murmured against her hair. "Stay with us."
And Violet, for the first time in longer than she could remember, didn't want to run.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll stay."