Lana’s POV
The morning sun was barely spilling through the heavy curtains when a loud, booming voice shattered the fragile quiet.
“Damon! Damon!”
I stirred, blinking against the dim light. Damon groaned beside me, one arm thrown across his eyes. His voice was rough, low, still thick with sleep. “Damn, Norman…”
I knew that voice too. Norman had a way of calling someone’s name like he was summoning them to war though he fidgets upon facing Damon.
Damon pushed himself upright, running a hand over his face. I followed suit, sitting up on the edge of the bed. My feet sank into the soft rug as I reached for my robe. He muttered something under his breath, then swung his legs to the floor.
We went downstairs together, the scent of wood polish and early morning air filling the wide hallway.
