by Vic Tyler
I’m addicted to the feel of her against my skin, to breathing her scent like it’s the only oxygen I’ve ever known, to wrapping myself around her and wanting to never let go.
Her eyes hood hypnotically. The tips of our noses almost brush against each other’s. Her silky, thick hair tickles my rough hands. Her lips look like divine pillows to fall into.
“Adriana.” The voice behind me is sharp, low, and reprimanding.
We rip from each other’s grasps.
How the hell did I not hear Jura sneak up on us?
My stomach knots into itself.
Because I fucking lost myself.
Adriana’s face flushes, and Jura’s lips are pressed in a tight line as he looks at her. “People are looking for you. It’s time to cut the cake.”
“Right,” she mumbles. “I’ll go right now.”
Without looking at me or Jura, she leaves with a hurried jog in her step.
We both watch her go, and the moment she steps indoors, Jura shoots me a deathly cold look.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I harden my expression. “It’s not what it looks like.”
His eyes narrow. “So you know what it looks like?”
I don’t respond, clenching my fists.
“Don’t kid yourself, Damien.” He scoffs. “I saw what happened.”
“I always knew you were a voyeur.” My words shoot out sarcastically. “Lurking behind all those cameras and screens. Or does that make you a stalker?”
Goddammit. I know I’m being unfair, but my head’s spinning, drunk from the alcohol and from Adriana. I need a solitary moment to myself first to process what just happened.
He doesn’t even flinch as he coolly says, “She’s not even eighteen yet. What does that make you?”
My jaw snaps shut. I know he’s right, but hearing it said aloud makes me feel nauseous and adds fuel to the rage inside me.
“Nothing happened, and nothing’s going to happen,” I say hoarsely. Failure weighs heavily in my chest. No matter how much I lie about wanting her, I can’t seem to make it a truth. “I plan on staying far away from her.”
I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or myself, but my voice isn’t reassuring either of us.
“Didn’t look like you were doing that just now,” Jura grits. “What would’ve happened if I didn’t say anything?”
I honestly don’t know, and I dread to think he’s right.
His eyes flash dangerously. Protectively. “She’s not just another woman for you to fuck and lay by the wayside, Damien. Don’t break her heart just because you’re entertaining your lust. This is Adriana we’re talking about. The same Adriana from before you left. The same Adriana we’ve watched grow up.”
“Yeah, I’ve missed a few years of that, haven’t I?” I snap. Like it’s her fault for growing up.
Regret fills me even before Jura’s eyes narrow.
If he punches me, I’d deserve it.
God, he should fucking punch me.
I drag my hands over my face. “No, I know. I know I fucked up. I know Adriana deserves better. Of me and for herself. I’m going to stay away from her. For both our sakes.”
He stares at me, a muscle in his jaw twitching like he wants to say something.
A few long moments pass before he finally says, “She’s not moving with us.” When I don’t respond, he clarifies. As though I don’t know what he’s talking about. “When we move to the next estate.”
She’s going to be eighteen, finishing up high school. Maybe she’ll go to college, but that’d be in the fall.
The western faction is supposed to move locations in a few months, shortly after her graduation. So where the hell would she go? “What are you talking about?”
Jura’s expression blanks, and the air around him stiffens as he raises his guard. “West has already arranged for her accommodations to live elsewhere. She won’t be staying with us any longer. She won’t be anywhere near Venti.”
Immediately, suspicion rages through me. “Why? What’s West planning?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Why does West do anything?”
West is letting her go? Really?
I must look dumbfounded because Jura’s expression turns cool and pointed as he reminds me of the obvious. “She doesn’t belong here.”
I run my hand through my hair.
“But she doesn’t know anything else.” I’m not protesting, just stating it. My words catch in my throat as I freeze. “Does she know?”
Jura’s silence is enough of an answer.
What the hell?
Jutting my hand towards the mansion, I snarl, “Then what’s all that? It’s heartless to lavish her with attention, throw her a fucking celebration, and then dump her without warning.”
“Think of it as a goodbye party,” Jura says detachedly. But his jaw tightens, remorse filling his eyes.
It’s the most heartless thing any of us could do to her. For all of us to disappear without a trace.
But…
Jura and I share a look before both our faces mask the inexplicable emotions threatening to drown us.
He turns swiftly to return to the manor, but I stay outside, trying to make sense of the news I just received.
It’s true that Adriana doesn’t belong in our world. She shouldn’t even witness our lives. She’s been around longer than she should’ve been.
But if she wasn’t being sent off like this, she wouldn’t ever go on her own accord.
For once, maybe West is doing the right thing.
Cruel.
But right.
chapter thirty-two
Even though it’s way past midnight, I’m too energized to sleep. After eating the decadent chocolate cake that Hilda made, everyone stuck around for a while longer, drinking and talking.
They gradually filed out, taking the party back to the barracks where I assume they’re going to get really wild and crazy, but I turned down their invitation to join.
Instead, I went looking for Damien. But he was nowhere to be found. Not on the lawn, not in his room, not in the gym, garage, banquet hall, kitchen, dungeon, attic, roof, anywhere.
It makes my body heat up when I think about talking to him now. I still get tongue–tied when I try to simulate conversations in my head.
Yeah, my brain can’t even talk to imaginary–Damien.
I can’t stop thinking about those little words we exchange, the way his arms were around me, and when it seemed like he was going to kiss me…
Ugh, Jura. Why did you have to interrupt us?
Even if Damien wasn’t going to kiss me, I would’ve been content with just being next to him and talking to him.
Well, no. I wouldn’t have been content, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have been happy to finally return to our usual dynamic.
I missed him. I missed him so much.
The second he smiled so warmly, all my anger disappeared. I wanted to seal us into a bubble and never leave, relishing the small moment that I felt like I finally got Damien back. The Damien that I remember and love…
Loved.
My cheeks warm at my own internal monologue.
Two years is a long time. I can’t still love him. It doesn’t work like that. Does it?
I mean, I still like him. I’m still attracted to him. But I was so mad, and we’ve both grown apart.
So how can I love him?
It’s not like I wouldn’t be able to in the future… But I don’t know. I don’t know if I can say that I currently love him.
Argh.
I swat my hands around my head like that’ll get rid of my pesky thoughts.
More importantly, I have something I need to talk to Damien about. I need to make my one last appeal so that maybe — just maybe — he and West don’t have to be stupid and try to kill each other.
Since they’re going to the Cardinal meeting tomorrow, I won’t be able to talk to him. And after what happened earlier, I feel
like I have to ask him right now. While that little bit of Damien — the Damien I remember… My Damien… — is still peeking through.
I have to go find him.
I fling open my door and jump back, my heart flying into my mouth. “Damien.”
He looks startled for once, but he quickly masks his expression. Running his hand through his dark hair, he glances away like he’s contemplating running off.
Before he does, I hurriedly ask, “What are you doing here?”
Exhaling lightly, he bends down to pick up a small box on the floor that I didn’t notice until now.
From the way it was carefully placed in the middle of the doorway, it seems that he was just going to leave it there without saying anything.
“Happy birthday.” He can’t quite meet my eyes. There’s a stiff tension around him that wasn’t there before. It makes me nervous too. “It’s not much. Just something I got last minute.”
He keeps holding it out even though I don’t take it, and when he finally looks at me, I step back, shyly hiding behind the door.
“Actually, there’s something I want to ask you.”
His expression immediately becomes guarded.
“Just hear me out,” I say quickly. “Please.”
Stubbornly, he stands out there, unmoving. “What is it?”
“I promise it’s not a hit on the president or anything.” I pinch my shirt, even though it’s slim–fitting, and wave it. “No padded cash payment.”
One side of his mouth twitches upward, and he sighs before longingly glancing at the hallway again. “Fine.”
Reluctantly, he steps over the threshold.
He watches as I shut the door and lean against it, and he grows more wary by the second.
As a sort of peace offering, I hold out my hand, motioning for him to give me his present.
He’s careful not to touch me as he delicately drops it onto my palm.
It’s a small package tied up with brown paper and string. When I lightly shake it, there’s a rattling sound coming from the bottom. I unwrap it to find two boxes stacked on top of each other.
Peeking at Damien, I find him studying the wall, and a smile tugs at my lips.
He can’t hide how uncomfortable he is. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to mask his feelings.
I open the noisy box first and blink when I see the colorful stones packed inside. They’re all shiny and smooth in a variety of sizes, shapes, patterns, and colors. Picking one up, I rub the sleek and almost slippery surface between my fingers.
“That’s what I brought back from Phoenix,” Damien says gruffly, massaging the back of his neck. “Since you liked making your own jewelry.”
A hard knot twists in my throat. Now that I’m really looking at each stone, some of them are obviously carved into shapes with holes drilled in them to put string through.
“Doesn’t seem like you still do it. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it,” he half–mumbles to himself.
“No. Thank you,” I say softly. My chest feels like it’s hot and overflowing. “Did you buy these?”
His discomfort grows. “No. I was passing through an Indian reservation and saw a woman picking stones up by a river. I tried to buy them off her, but she refused. Told me if I wanted them, I had to pick them up myself.” He chuckles uneasily. “Took them from me when I was done and told me to come back the next day. She polished them, put holes in ‘em, and gave me a bunch more that she apparently traded with other people. So they’re from all over. I think. Who really knows.”
His blue eyes meet mine, and they look solemn as I stare at him, too touched for words.
I can’t imagine Damien picking up rocks by a river, collecting them just to give them to me.
It’s such a funny sight to imagine that I almost laugh, but if I do, I think I might cry too.
Before any tears brim out of my eyes, I quickly look away, opening the second box he gave me.
“Sorry,” he mutters in dread. “I didn’t know what else to get besides jewelry.”
It’s a pair of earrings. They’re a simple bar drop pair with pink teardrop jewels glistening at the ends.
Damien’s expression is neutral, but there’s a nervous vibe radiating from him. His words keep spilling out, almost like he’s rambling except he’s not saying enough to ramble.
He motions to my ears. “Since you got them pierced.”
My fingers automatically fly to my pierced lobes.
He noticed.
“Not a pair of wings?” I smile even though my heart’s racing violently.
His gaze falls to the base of my neck before meeting my eyes again. “Figured they might be too childish for you.”
I don’t wear my necklace regularly because I’m afraid the thin chain will snap, not because I don’t like it.
Why, Damien? Why are you being like this when you’ve been gone forever, acting like you don’t care about me and not talking to me for years?
My head is a mess, and my chest is tangled into a bigger mess.
The mood is heavy and tense between us, swirling with confusion and unease.
I’m too stunned to say anything meaningful, so I try to lighten the mood, nervously giggling. “These aren’t blood diamonds or anything, right?”
He doesn’t laugh. “No. Organically sourced.” He shifts self–consciously. “You wouldn’t be happy about it otherwise, right?”
Everything he’s saying is making this worse.
“Damien,” I breathe. Lost for words. “I —” I swallow hard. “Thank you.”
He watches as I take out the studs in my ears and replace them with his gift. I look to him when I’m done, and he stares at me.
Me.
Not my ears.
Me.
He sighs before turning his gaze to the fireplace.
“Looks good.” His words sound awkward and reluctant.
Do they actually look good, or is he just saying that?
As though he can sense my doubt, he says, “That color suits you.”
I instinctively touch my ears, trailing down the chain and the bar of my new earrings. “Yeah, I think silver suits my complexion better.”
He looks blankly at me before his eyes slide to my fingers, watching as I feel the cool metal. “Yeah. Silver.”
The way he says it fills my chest with suffocating awareness.
It’s not silver, is it?
But he doesn’t correct me, and I don’t think I can take any more confirmation that this is way more expensive than I imagined.
We stand in silence for a few moments before he clears his throat. “You wanted to ask me something?”
Dread starts to nudge into all the packed emotions I’m already struggling to deal with. But I take a deep breath and look squarely at him.
“I asked West to adopt me.”
His face immediately clears into unreadable impassivity, and his guard shoots up in an instant.
I knew this would happen. But I still need to say it.
He searches my eyes, and I don’t turn away.
“Please, Damien.” I keep my voice steady. “Don’t take him from me.”
Only the sound of the fire crackling fills the room, and strangely, it’s like Damien disappeared, even though I can see him right in front of me.
I can’t feel him, and he’s dead–still as he watches me. It’s more than a little unnerving.
Suddenly, he asks, “What are you going to do after high school?”
My eyebrows stitch together immediately.
What? What does that have to do with anything?
“Umm…” I bite my lip, confused. “College. I don’t know what I want to study yet. Maybe business.”
He’s silent for a few moments. “Should be fun.” He sounds a little distant. “I’m sure you’ll do great. You’re going to be fine.”
My heart drops. Why is he talking like I’m not going to see him again? “Damien?”
He rubs his jaw, and his demeanor relaxe
s instantly.
What the hell? What’s going on?
“Kind of funny to think that no one here’s gone to college before.” He chuckles lightly. “You’ll be the first out of everyone in the complex.”
The mood’s shifted to something easygoing and light, which only fills me with more alarm.
I’m so confused. Did I miss something?
“Did West say yes?” He looks at me curiously, but he can’t hide the sharpness in his gaze, the slight edge of wariness.
“I —” I pause, thinking back earlier. I mean, we’re not officially filing the paperwork, and he didn’t actually say ‘yes,’ but it seems like he accepted it. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He nods slowly before glancing away.
“Yeah,” he says with a note of uncertainty. “Alright.”
My heartbeat speeds up. “‘Alright’?”
He looks squarely at me. “As long as you’re around, I won’t kill West.”
My breathing quickens. “Really?”
He nods without the slightest bit of doubt.
“Promise?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Promise.”
“I’m going to stay here forever,” I warn. “So you better keep your promise.”
His gaze pierces through me, and I wish I could read his mind right now.
I swallow hard. I want to ask him for something else, but this time, he really might run away. “Can you give me one more thing?”
Now, his guard is completely up. “What?”
“You know my history,” I start slowly and awkwardly. “That I’ve been with men before.” To put it delicately.
Even though we’ve alluded to what happened to me in the past, we’ve never directly talked about it besides that one time I confronted him about the killings. We acknowledge it’s there, but we don’t feed life into it.
His lips tighten into a line.
“My friends talk about the guys they’ve been with and how much they enjoy having sex, but that’s not my experience at all.”
The muscles in his jaw clench, and there’s a hard look in his eyes.
He thinks I’m propositioning him for sex, and even though I would if he were willing, that’s not what I want to ask.
“I’ve never…” This is where my cheeks start to warm. I can talk about what happened to me and the general details about sex, but when it comes to pleasure I’ve never experienced, being vulnerable in the midst of ecstasy, it’s shamefully foreign to me. “I’ve never had an orgasm before.”
