Isabella
Damon placed a soft kiss on my lips and then on my forehead again before speaking into my ear.
"Go back to sleep. I'm here," he said, and like the trickster he was, his voice lured me back into sleep like a lullaby.
By the time I opened my eyes, it was bright outside, and Damon was still inside the room. He was seated on the couch that was placed beside a door that I figured led to the bathroom.
Most importantly, my throat felt as though it was made of sandpaper, and my tongue was so dry I thought I was in a desert.
I looked beside me to the dresser table and saw a jug of water with a glass beside it. Just as I was reaching for the glass, I felt a hand on mine, lowering it. It was warm, comforting, and large as it enveloped mine gently. Suddenly, I was exhausted by the little
