Violet

by Mia Harlan

  Again, her pulse spikes, and my eyes land on her throat. I can practically smell her blood pulsing beneath her skin, tempting me, but I would never take a single sip. Not when she needs every ounce of that blood to survive.

  “Why me?” Violet demands, like finding true love is the worst possible thing to have happened to her, not the best.

  “We’re meant to be, Violet. We’re mates.”

  “M-mates?” Her eyes widen with genuine surprise, and her wildly beating heart confirms she isn’t faking it.

  “Don’t skunk shifters have mates?” I frown.

  Violet starts to shake her head, then quickly nods, while her pulse spikes. I haven’t a clue how to interpret any of it.

  Of course I know that not all shifters have mates, but I’ve met skunk shifter mates before. Or maybe they were raccoons? It has been several decades, and with so many shifter species, it’s hard to keep track.

  “I’m not your mate,” Violet denies.

  “You are.” I tap my chest with one fuzzy skunk paw. “I can feel it right here.”

  “But—” Violet starts to protest again. I interrupt.

  “There’s magic that binds us.” I trace it from my chest to hers, stopping right before my large, furry hand touches her buttoned sweater. “I can see it: glowing, pulsing, pulling us together.”

  Violet sucks in a breath and swallows audibly. Then she shakes her head in denial. Which is when it finally hits me—she really didn’t realize we were mates until now.

  “Is that why you thought you were a furry?” I ask. “You were attracted to me, but you couldn’t feel the mating bond, so you thought it was the suit?”

  “No.” Violet’s cheeks flush an adorable pink. “Okay, fine, yes.”

  “What’s a furry?” Betty asks. “Is it a skunk thing?”

  “No, it’s a human thing.” I can’t help grinning. “Furries are people who are into animals.”

  “So they are attracted to shifters?” Betty asks.

  I shake my head. “I mean animals who act human.”

  “Aren’t those shifters?”

  “Cash means people who dress in animal costumes,” Violet clarifies. “Like his suit.”

  Her pulse spikes, and I wonder if maybe she really is into the suit. She is a skunk shifter, after all, and by some odd twist of fate, here I am dressed like a skunk. Guess I’ll have to buy the suit from the costume shop and wear it for her more often.

  “So furries are attracted to costumes but not shifters?” Betty frowns.

  “They might be into shifters, too, dear,” Violet tells her. “I read a book about them, but the details escape me.”

  Her pulse spikes again, and I vow to go to the costume shop first thing tomorrow. I can buy a clean skunk suit and maybe a few other animals to try, just in case.

  “I’ll just have to ask Liam when I get home,” Betty says, and even the thought of Betty talking to someone else about furries seems to make Violet’s heart rate spike.

  I grin and pick up my giant skunk head. “So what do you say to lunch?”

  Violet shakes her head vehemently.

  “You should at least give him a chance,” Betty tells her. I decide then and there that the moment I’ve won over my mate, I’ll send Betty flowers.

  “Please, Violet.” I place the skunk head on my head for good measure, hoping it will do the trick.

  “I’m sorry, but no.” Violet shakes her head.

  “Don’t you feel the mating bond?” Betty asks her. “The way you did with Bill before he passed?”

  Violet’s eyes widen with obvious panic while my heart lurches at the thought of her with another man. What if I’d met her while he was still alive? Would she have accepted us both? Or sent me on my way?

  “I think Violet’s going to need some time,” Betty says.

  “Of course. I understand.” We just don’t have time. Not when Violet’s clock is ticking.

  I think Betty realizes it, too, because she turns to Violet and adds, “You know, if a young blood mage was interested in me, I wouldn’t turn him down.”

  “He’d be lucky to have you, Betty.” I wink at her and start making a mental list of all the single blood mages I know. Who knows? Maybe one of them is her mate.

  “I loved my Martin,” Betty adds, “and I always will. But he wouldn’t want me to stop living now that he’s gone. Your Bill wouldn’t want you to stop living either, Violet.”

  Violet opens her mouth to reply and then closes it again. She looks completely at a loss for words, and I don’t blame her.

  “I would never want to replace your other mate. I just want a chance to get to know you... and for you to get to know me. We can take our time. See where this goes.”

  Which is a complete and utter lie. I may not want to replace her old mate, but time is ticking, and I know exactly where this will go. We’re destined to be together. We’re soul mates. I just need Violet to see it, too.

  I know she will, with time, but that’s not a luxury either of us has. Which is why I need to speed things along and seduce my mate. I need to make her want me so bad she’s begging to spend eternity with me. Before it’s too late.

  Chapter 8

  Violet

  “It’s just lunch.” Cash places one big, furry mascot arm on the counter and winks at me.

  All of a sudden, I want him. Bad. Maybe it’s because he’s my mate. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the first guy to hit on me since I started posing as old Violet. Or maybe I’m just sex starved since I haven’t been with anyone in over a year.

  Whatever the case, I get turned on. Like, really turned on. And here’s the thing... I have wonky magic, just like my sister. Mine is just a little different...

  I don’t shift when I feel strong emotions or when I’m startled or embarrassed, the way Amber does. Nope, I shift whenever I get a girl boner. How embarrassing is that?

  I’ve only had a few boyfriends—two in high school and one briefly in college—but any time things got heated... Bam! Not one shift or two: I’d start cycling through different forms like a slot machine flickers through pictures.

  By the third guy, I’d learned to turn the lights off. It was that or have him completely freak out when he suddenly found himself doing it with his teacher... or his mother. And over the past year, I’ve gotten better at controlling it.

  I’ve managed to hold my form around Nole so many times, I assumed I was an expert by now. But unlike Cash, Nole never tried to seduce me.

  Having a guy staring at me like I’m the most desirable woman on earth fills me with need... and the urge to shift! My chameleon magic travels from my fingertips all the way down to my toes, and it takes everything I have just to focus on fighting it. Trying to force it back. Trying to maintain control.

  Then Cash leans forward, and I know I’m done for.

  “The program!” I cry, backing away from him. Except I’m sitting in my ergonomic pleather chair, so I end up wheeling away from him instead.

  I end up crashing into the book truck of returns that’s directly behind me. I come to a stop, and then I just sit there, wide-eyed, while Cash and Betty stare at me.

  What am I doing? I need to pull myself together and start acting like an old lady. I need to act like I feel absolutely nothing for Cash, and then I need to convince Betty that nothing happened with her grandson, before someone else says otherwise.

  Okay, deep breaths, Violet. You got this.

  I turn to Cash. “Could you put your head back on?”

  He smirks.

  “Your costume head,” I clarify, trying not to blush. Because women my age—women Violet’s age—do not blush.

  “Sure thing.” Cash winks at me and picks up the giant skunk head. He settles it in place, and then he does a little dance that must be popular with the kids.

  “The program room is just straight ahead and to the left, dear,” I add, getting to my feet so I can point him in the right direction. Five points. “The door’s unlocked, and Nole
set everything up last night. He’s such a helpful young man.” Five more points. “You just be sure to stay in costume until the teachers and kids get here.” There!

  Cash does another little dance that ends with a full spin and a nod. It’s kind of endearing, but I manage to hide my smile until he dances away.

  “You really should give him a chance,” Betty says once he’s out of earshot.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, which seems to appease her.

  “I suppose I should call for a cab.” She sighs. “If I wait for Liam any longer, I’m going to be late.”

  Her words conjure up an image of the troll. They also conjure up feelings for the troll. A troll I barely know, except for the few stories Betty shared.

  I wrack my brain, but I only remember bits and pieces. How he picked up all her groceries last week and fixed her sink a few weeks back. Oh, and that he likes to read almost as much as Betty. Not that it should matter, since I can’t be with Liam any more than I can be with Cash. It doesn’t matter that they’re my mates. I can’t risk it getting back to them.

  “Betty...” I blurt out, before I can change my mind, “there’s something I need to tell you.” Might as well rip the bandage off and tell her I have no plans of going anywhere near Liam.

  “Just hold on a minute, Violet.” Betty rummages around in her purse and pulls out her phone. It’s not as ancient as old Violet’s—she’s got a flip phone for emergencies and grumbles any time I suggest getting her a tablet—but at least Betty’s is a smartphone, even if it isn’t all that smart.

  I’d probably be stuck with a similar model, a lot of lag and almost no storage, if it wasn’t for Nole. He’d tagged along to the store with me and convinced me not to get the granny phone I’d zeroed in on. Then the sweet bear spent weeks teaching me to use it... while I played a game called What Would Old Violet Do. And what Violet did was grumble, push all the wrong buttons, and insist on printing out the entire phone manual.

  Nole never once lost his patience, and those lessons were some of the most fun I’ve had all year. We watched prank videos together to help him come up with ways to get back at his brothers. Then we made social media accounts for Spell Library and brainstormed what to post. But the best part, hands down, was photographing our previous library cat, Handkerchief, and creating the posts that later went viral.

  I smile and try to think what Nole and I can do to showcase Stacks the Cat-Dog, when the bear shifter saunters up to the desk.

  “I got the hair growth formula from Willow’s, and I picked you up a...” He trails off when I look up.

  He does this full-body shake, kind of like a wet pup... or a wet bear. Except his hair is all dry now, and so are his shoes. The only one who’s wet is me.

  My reaction to Nole is instantaneous. My eyes widen, and I feel my chameleon magic swirling through me. For close to a year, I’ve managed to handle my attraction to Nole, but apparently those days are gone.

  Suddenly, I’m right back to square one. I want to shift. I want to jump the bear shifter’s bones. I want to climb him like a chameleon climbs a tree—the human kind, and the lizard kind.

  If the bear shifter was wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt, maybe I could resist him. But shorts, flip-flops, and a sleeveless shirt just aren’t fair!

  “Is that a Mood Tea you’ve got there?” Betty asks. Good old Betty, reminding me that I’m an old lady and I need to snap out of it.

  “I sure love Mood Teas. Don’t you, Betty, dear?” I ask. Five points.

  The drink’s been a huge hit with the Senior’s Book Club, so much so that we’ve renamed the program to Mood Tea and Books. Nothing better than talking about all your most and least favorite scenes while your tea changes color to showcase your mood.

  Except isn’t red the color of arousal?

  I gape at the Jewels Cafe cup in Nole’s hand. I have a handy bookmark of all the colors and their corresponding emotions, but there’s no possible way Nole is attracted... to an old lady like me.

  Wait, was he thinking about Willow? Is that why he took so long at her store, buying that hair growth formula? Was he flirting with her? Are they going out?

  “What does red mean again?” Betty asks, still talking about the Mood Tea, which changes from red to a very light pink.

  Is that embarrassment? I can’t be sure. What I do know, without a doubt, is that if I took that cup, it’d be green with jealousy. Which it has absolutely no right to be. Not when I look eighty and Nole and I are just coworkers.

  “Violet?” Nole’s voice rumbles in his chest. I almost shift on the spot.

  I definitely don’t reply or do anything that suggests I’m a normal, functional human being. All I do is stare.

  What is with me today? First Liam, then Cash, and now Nole? I really shouldn’t have started reading that reverse harem romance my sister donated, because that book is messing with my head.

  “Vi?” Nole prods, his tone laced with worry. “You look kind of flushed.”

  “She was looking flushed earlier, too,” Betty says.

  I feel a moment’s panic, worried she’ll bring up what happened with Cash. She doesn’t.

  “Do you need to sit down?” Nole asks, rushing around the desk. “Here, let me help you.”

  He guides me into my chair, his touch warm... tempting. I know he means nothing by it, but my body still responds. I start to feel my magic flicker, and take deep breaths to counter it.

  You’re an old lady, Violet, and you need to stay that way, I remind myself. Whatever you do, do not shift!

  “Nole...” Come on, brain. Work! “Nole, be a dear and put away the returns, please?” Five points.

  “For you, anything.” Nole winks and gives me a goofy, heart-flipping grin.

  I know he doesn’t mean anything by it—not when I probably remind him of his grandmother—but my cheeks flush, and my heart nearly explodes out of my chest.

  “Did you take all your pills this morning?” he demands, kneeling down in front of me so we’re at eye level.

  “My pills?” I don’t have to pretend to forget all about them. Not with Nole this up close and personal.

  “Let me grab them for you.” He throws open my desk drawer, pushes aside Amber’s copy of Love Blooms, and rummages in my purse for my pill box.

  “Thank you, dear,” I reply, my voice and hands shaking.

  “Here, let me help.” Nole places the pills on my open palm and then holds my mug of water to my lips.

  I swallow down the little sugar pills, which are nothing more than a convenient excuse I can fall back on every time I overreact to Nole. Except this time, no matter how hard I try to collect myself, it just doesn’t work.

  Nole’s just being a good guy—helping the elderly, doing his part—but it doesn’t feel that way. His touch is intimate. Loving. Caring. He makes me want to hug him and cry and make love to him, all at the same time.

  “Violet, I’m really worried,” Nole says, taking my hand in his.

  My pulse spikes, and I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I won’t survive today. Because if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to shift.

  If I can’t handle Nole or Cash on their own, there’s no way I’ll survive being around both of them at once. When the blood mage is done with the program, he’ll come looking for me—I’m sure of it—and if Liam comes back, too... let’s just say everyone in Silver Springs will know the truth before the day’s out. And I won’t see tomorrow’s sunrise.

  “I have a terrible headache, dear,” I lie. Five points. “I think I should go home and rest.”

  “Of course, Vi.” Nole gives my hand another squeeze that’s nearly my undoing.

  I quickly grab my purse, shove my sister’s book inside, and practically run out of the door. Slowly. While leaning on my walker. With Betty by my side.

  Chapter 9

  Violet

  Betty insists I share her cab and drops me off in front of my building. I get inside, take the old, clanking ele
vator to the fourth floor, and only then realize that I forgot to give Nole instructions on what to do while I’m gone. Not that he needs any instructions. He may be my assistant, but he started working at Spell Library a few short weeks after I did. Except for being late here and there, he’s a natural.

  He’d make one hell of a librarian if he went to college and got his degree. The thought makes me chuckle, because it’s not like I have my degree, either. Eighty-year-old Violet does, but I’m no more qualified to run Spell Library than Nole is.

  The only thing I’m really worried about is that he’ll run into Cash—or Liam—and the guys will tell him I’m their mate.

  It’s not like Nole will even care. I’m just his old lady boss, and I shouldn’t forget it, I berate myself as the elevator door slowly creaks open. I just as slowly make my way to my apartment.

  “Violet? What happened? What’s wrong?” My eighty-year-old roommate and best friend—whom I currently look like, and who also happens to be named Violet—demands as soon as I walk through the door, close said door, and lock it behind me. Her tone betrays her worry, but she keeps her voice to a whisper-shout, since we can’t risk having a neighbor overhear. Not when, as far as anyone knows, Violet in apartment 4B lives alone.

  “Everything’s fine.” I dump my giant old-lady purse—an ugly, patchwork tote that has seen better days—on the coffee table next to Violet’s poetry book, shift back to my own body, and plop backwards onto the couch with a groan.

  “Then why are you home in the middle of the afternoon? And why do you look like that?”

  “Like what?” I ask as I kick off my orthopedic shoes—easier than having to shift what I’m wearing too—and throw my legs over the side of the couch.

  “That.” Violet waves her arm in my direction, as if to encompass all of me. “You’re supposed to be at work.”

  “I came home sick.”

  “What’s wrong? Do you have a fever?” Violet instantly pushes to her feet—not an easy feat, I would know—and feels my forehead.

  “I’m not actually sick. You’d know if I were. I spent the day shifted into you.”