Damon’s POV:
She jolted with fear which caused the glass to slip from her trembling fingers. My reflexes were faster. I caught the glass mid-air before it could shatter against the tile, the water sloshing over my knuckles. In the same motion, I slammed my other hand over her lips, muffling the scream I knew was clawing its way up her throat.
She was so small. Half her face covered beneath my palm. Her eyes darted back and forth, frantic as she brought her hands up—probably to claw at mine.
At twelve, I was still too young to understand the mechanics of how girls fought. I had grown up in the company of men and the occasional scrap with Maximillian Cardinni; I expected a punch to the gut, a slap, or a desperate kick to the shins. I didn't expect what happened next.
Ophelia didn't pull
