Page 46 of The Violet Raven

I look his way, drawn in by the tenderness in his tone. There’s something in his eyes—a genuine acknowledgement. A depth of sincerity that roots me in place. “Never settle for less. Yer da wouldnae want that.”

For a heartbeat, I’m lost—studying the lines of his face, the way the light brushes against his skin. The way his golden-brown eyes find mine. I’ve met his gaze more times than I can count, but now they hold something new—more grounded, more certain.

An ache rises slowly, blooming like something long buried, and I feel myself poised at the edge of a truth too heavy to name.

I avert my eyes. There’s so much I could say—so much I want to say. About my mother. About Marcus. About the fear clawing at the edges of everything lately. The words burn at the back of my throat, desperate to escape.

But something about this moment feels too delicate. A hush I’m too afraid to disturb. And I do trust him. More than anyone.

More than anything, I’m clinging to the quiet comfort of him beside me—unwilling to break it by acknowledging what waits beyond this stillness. I want it—want him—a little longer before the world presses in again.

“I know he wouldn’t,” I say finally, voice quieter than before.

I pause, eyes fixed ahead. “My mother feels differently.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Finn exhale—sharp, as though he’s been holding it in. His jaw tenses, and I know that’s all the answer I need. That broaching this topic is risky.

I stretch my legs out, keeping my gaze forward, my voice dropping to a quiet murmur. “I think—I know she wants me to marry Marcus Murray. We got into a particularly awful row about it. It’s the reason I went out to the cliffs the day you returned—why we haven’t been talking. I can’t stand this sort box she’s trying to fit me in. I won’t fit. I never have.”

There’s a tense pause before Finn speaks. His tone is softer, but there is an unmistakable edge. “And you? What is it you want?”

I swallow, not daring to meet his gaze. “I don’t know.” The words fall out in a hesitant whisper.

The quiet stretches, taut as a pulled thread. Then Finn shifts, his hand reaching out—slow, deliberate—and he gently tilts my chin toward him.

“Look at me,” he says, voice barely above a breath.

And I do.

His eyes search mine, as if he’s trying to see through the fog. My heart stammers beneath the power of his gaze—and if I hold it for too long, I’ll say everything I’ve tried so hard not to feel.

A sharp, chaotic clamour erupting from behind us abruptly interrupts our conversation.

The piercing, desperate whinny of a horse in full panic cuts through the air, reverberating across the yard and setting every nerve in my body alight.

Shadow.

He’s thrashing violently in his stall, hooves pounding against the wooden walls like a battering ram. The entire building shudders with the force of his panic. Splinters fly. Dust rains from the rafters. The sound is unbearable—desperate and wild, the cry of a creature gripped by a fear beyond reason.

Without hesitation, I run toward him, skirts clutched in my fists, boots thudding over the packed earth. Logic flees. Instinct takes over.

“Triona, stay back!” Finn’s voice is sharp, panicked—but I’m already halfway there.

The air is electric, crackling with something unnatural. Shadow seems more beast than being, his eyes wild, his body trembling with restless energy. His hooves slam dangerously close to the stall door just as I reach for him.

For a moment, he seems to settle, nostrils flaring, the whites of his eyes beginning to fade as I edge closer—calm, steady.

Then—movement behind me. A sudden rush of air.

Finn barrels into me, arms locking tight around my waist.

The world lurches, tilting off its axis. In the next breath, I’m pulled against him—his grip fierce as he hauls me back. Shadow’s hooves crash down exactly where I’d been standing only heartbeats before.

My back presses to his skin, bare and burning. I can feel the rapid thunder of his heartbeat, wild beneath the surface. The heat of him pours into me, chasing away the cold bite of fear. His breath grazes my ear, ragged and warm, stirring loose strands of my hair.

And clinging to him is the scent of sweat, leather, and earth. I can’t tell if it’s the danger still pulsing through me or the nearness of him that makes my knees threaten to give.

My fingers curl around his forearm, still braced tightly across my waist. For a moment, neither of us moves, the world narrows to breath and heartbeat.