Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Every head turned.
Damon sat at the head of the table, turning a wineglass in his fingers.
The moment he saw me, his face changed.
"Wren."
He stood up.
"What are you doing here? I told you to rest."
No one else dared breathe.
I smiled, barely.
The tears on my face must have made me ugly.
"Damon. You said I was a pet?"
His mouth opened. "Let me explain."
"Explain what?"
"Explain that I'm just another mouth to feed?"
"Explain that keeping me isn't any trouble?"
"Or explain —"
My voice cracked in my throat. I paused.
The tears came up again.
"Explain that my mother took a bullet for you, and in your eyes she was only a maid?"
His face changed.
It wasn't panic.
It was something else.
I'd seen it before.
When we were kids and a beggar came up to him — that same look.
Annoyed. Disgusted.
Can't you go away.
He frowned.
Looked away from me.
Said nothing.
But the look said more than any word.
Inside the room, someone glanced at his watch.
"Damon. It's almost eight."
He grunted. He didn't move.
He didn't look at me either.
A few minutes later he finally spoke. The dismissal was impossible to miss.
"Wren. Go home first."
"Tomorrow's ceremony is still on."
"Whatever you want, you'll get."
"Stop making a scene."
Whatever I wanted…
I opened my mouth.
I wanted to say something else.
He raised a hand to cut me off, and his eyes dropped to mine.
Red from cold. Still shaking.
Damon frowned, picked up the suit jacket from the back of his chair.
"It's cold."
He draped it over my shoulders.
Quickly.
Like he was afraid he'd change his mind.
The jacket still held his warmth.
I stood there stunned, looking up at him.
He looked at me too.
Something flickered through his eyes.
Too fast.
Too fast for me to tell if it was tenderness or just habit.
"Go home."
His voice had dropped.
"Rest up for the ceremony."
His enforcer stepped forward.
I didn't move.
Wearing his jacket.
Standing there.
Waiting for him to say something else.
Waiting for that look to come back.
It didn't. What came was another nudge from the enforcer.
I let the man steer me out by the arm.
The elevator opened.
Inside stood a girl.
Her phone was lit up in her hand.
A photo. Her kissing Damon.
As we passed each other, she looked at me.
Just once.
"Damon!"
She ran past me and threw herself into his arms.
He caught her.
Ducked his head and smiled — a smile I hadn't seen in a long time.
The elevator doors slid shut.
I couldn't see them anymore.
I could only see my own face reflected in the steel wall.
Tears everywhere.
Really ugly.
The jacket was warm on my shoulders.
I was still shaking anyway.
On the way out, the enforcer offered me an umbrella.
I didn't take it.
The rain slammed down on me.
Cold down to the bone.
I didn't want to hide from it. I wanted to come back to myself.
I wanted to let the last twenty years wash out of me.
By the time I reached the manor, I was soaked through.
His jacket was still on my shoulders.
I peeled it off and lay down on the bed.
I was cold.
My head felt wooden.
I don't know how long I lay there before my eyelids started to weigh a ton.
When I woke, I was burning up.
My head felt like it was splitting.
I reached up and touched my forehead.
Hot.
I had a fever.
Fragments flashed in front of me.
The first time he took my hand.
I was seven. Mom was gone. I had just been brought to the Hawthorne manor.
He was three years older. He stood in the doorway looking at me for a long time.
Like a prince out of a children's book, he held out his hand.
"Don't be scared. I'm here."
He boiled ginger brew for me when I had cramps.
Fed it to me spoonful by spoonful.
The year I turned eighteen, he snuck in a cake.
Just for the two of us.
He lit the candles and said, "Make a wish."
I said, "What should I wish for?"
He looked at me and said, one word at a time: Wish for us to always be together.
Then the scene tipped.
Mom, lying in a pool of blood.
The hunter's car had come out of nowhere. She'd pushed Damon out of the way.
She hadn't been able to dodge the bullet herself.
He knelt on the road with his hands covered in her blood.
I ran over. I held her.
She looked at me one last time.
Little Wren, take care of yourself.
I couldn't stop crying.
The tears were almost burning off my skin now.
I wanted Damon.
Only him.
I wanted to hear I'm here one more time.
The phone by the bed rang. I fumbled for it.
On the other end, a voice — not his.
A woman's.
Small moans, over and over.
I held the phone and the tears ran down.
They soaked a dark patch into the pillow.
Then the line on the other end went quiet.
And then his voice.
Amused. Breathless.
"Sorry. Butt-dialed you."
Click.