Katrina ‘s POV
The scent of smoke clung to him.
I woke before dawn, the glass wall of the penthouse washed pale with early light, and I knew before I opened my eyes that Damon had returned from somewhere he hadn’t told me about.
The air was thick with it—smoke, iron, leather, and something darker.
Blood.
It was in his shirt, his skin, his breath when he moved.
I rolled onto my side, careful not to stir him. He was half-sprawled in the chair near the bed, head tilted back, jaw shadowed, his hands loose at his sides.
But even in sleep—or whatever approximation of it he allowed himself—he was dangerous. His fingers were split and raw, knuckles stained dark. The evidence of what he’d done was painted on his body like war paint.
I should have been afraid.
I was.
But when my eyes l
