Page 10 of Violet

“It’s the uniform, bud.” Bert pats me on the shoulder, sensing my building rage. When I start to calm down, he turns to Amber. “You own Jewels Cafe, right?”

“I do.” She nods. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around, though it’s hard to tell.” She gestures vaguely at his face, which is completely covered.

“Right.” He pulls off his sunglasses and pockets them. “I’ve been by a few times with Liam. Name’s Bert.”

“Amber.” She shakes his gloved hand, though she keeps sending me nervous looks. Then her eyes widen, and next thing I know, she shifts into... me?

“Great parlor trick.” Bert claps his hands. Or, claps one gloved hand against the plastic audiobook case, but the fact that he’s amused is pretty clear.

“I-I’m so sorry.” Amber backs away from me, eyes wide. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose, Officer Liam. I would never impersonate a police officer.”

“He doesn’t mind, do you, Liam?”

I start to shake my head no when my eyes drift past Amber and land on someone else.

“Mate?” The word escapes my lips before I can think better of it. Before I can hide the fact that my fated mate is as old as Gran. Scratch that, older.

“Mate?” Amber spins around and looks past me, at the old woman. “Wait, you mean Violet?”

“Violet.” As in Gran’s friend, Violet. The sweet old librarian who helped Gran set up an email account. The old lady who spent a few years in a nursing home after losing her husband and daughter. The one who’d one day decided to come out of retirement and come work in Silver Springs.

She almost looks like she’s in a trance with the way she’s gaping at me through cat-eye glasses. I don’t doubt that the shocked expression on her face is mirrored on my own.

I want to look away, but at the same time I don’t. It’s not that I’m actually attracted to her—she’s older than Gran!—but I still can’t look away.

How is that possible?

I’d heard so many stories of other trolls meeting their mates. Their one true love. Gramps had taken one look at Gran and proclaimed his love before he even knew her name. He’d waxed poetically about her beauty—her hair, her curves, her luscious lips—and won her over on their first date. Married her after their third, got her pregnant by their fourth, before she even knew he was a troll. Long story.

And the thought of Gramps getting Gran pregnant is kind of gross... but I can’t deny that their story is romantic. And that I’d always assumed that when I finally met my mate, I’d turn into a poetry-spouting love-sick fool who married the girl, too.

Except my mate’s not a girl—she’s an old woman. Her hair is short, gray, and thinning. Her shoulders are hunched. Her skin is wrinkled with age—with life, with experience, with years she’s spent on this earth without knowing me.

“The librarian’s your mate?” Bert asks. He doesn’t sound shocked—or horrified—merely curious. Like in his world, falling for old ladies isn’t that big a deal. Then again, the man is over three centuries old, and I’ve never seen him date. For all I know, older than Gran is his type.

Usually, I’d rib him over it, but my heart isn’t in it. Not when I found Violet way too late.

“Congratulations, bud.” Bert chuckles, and I see red.

How dare he laugh at me and this mess of a situation? This is my life we’re talking about—Violet’s and mine—not that there’ll ever be a Violet and me. Not in this lifetime.

The pain coursing through me transforms into a murderous rage, and I advance on the vampire with a growl. Pummeling a fellow officer in a public space isn’t recommended, but the Silver Springs force is pretty lenient about that sort of thing. At least when it comes to trolls. Hard not to be, with how many of us they’ve got on the force.

Worst case scenario, I’ll get written up and spend a few weeks in anger management. Had to do it after the first time I got called on a domestic assault case. Guess I’ll do it again after I work out my frustration on Bert’s vampire mug.

“Whoa there, buddy.” He raises his hands in surrender and starts backing away from me. Smart move, vampire, smart move—but far, far too late.

I growl and grab him by the collar, lifting him straight off the ground.

I’m over a foot taller than the vampire, but not stronger, so he’ll put up a good fight. And I can let out my anger without worrying about causing permanent damage.

“Come on now, Liam,” Bert protests, hanging limply in my grip.

“Fight me, old man,” I growl. The words—so normal between us—remind me of my mate, and my anger grows.

“Remember where you are,” Bert says, sounding calm. It’s that calm that pierces my anger.

Where am I?