Damien
I had been avoiding her.
That thought had circled for days, coiled tight like wire behind my ribs. I’d buried myself in meetings, patrols, map reviews, anything to keep from seeing her. From feeling this. But the moment the door shut behind me, the stillness hit. Her scent. The faint trace of soap clinging to her skin. The softness of her breath when she spoke my name like a question.
And then she said it “You’ve been gone for days.”
I muttered the truth: “Busy.”
A lie, too. Busy avoiding her. Busy trying not to think about what it meant that I could still feel her warmth on my hands days after touching her. That I’d stood outside her chambers more than once and walked away.
But not tonight.
My hand was already in her hair, fingers threading through it like I’d been starved o
