The penthouse felt wrong after Damien left.
Too quiet.
Too large.
Too empty.
Rain lashed endlessly against the windows while Ashbourne glowed beneath storm clouds, all silver light and hidden violence. Somewhere down in the Black Quarter, men were preparing for war.
And Damien was walking directly into it.
I hated how badly that thought sat in my chest.
“You’re pacing,” Elara observed from the couch.
I looked down.
Right.
Apparently I’d been wearing a path into Damien’s marble floors for the last ten minutes.
“I’m not pacing.”
“You passed that lamp six times.”
The lamp had indeed become emotionally familiar.
I exhaled sharply and crossed my arms.
The kiss still lingered on my mouth.
That was the problem.
Damien kissed like a man who meant things.
Nothing about him felt ca
