Chapter 37 Felt small
Blue lights illuminated the dashboard, reflecting off Damien’s rings. I watched him through the rearview mirror, moonlight catching in his green eyes, making them glow almost unreal.
Our gazes met.
My breath stuttered.
I looked away quickly, cheeks burning.
As the car pulled away, I rested my head against the window, staring at the stars blazing above—too bright, too distant as I cradled my sore hand.
And for the first time that night, I allowed myself to shake.
~
I limped away quietly while Damien was distracted, his deep voice carrying faintly from the living room as he spoke to Richelle. Every step sent a sharp reminder up my leg, but I welcomed the pain—it grounded me, kept my head clear.
I didn’t need him carrying me again.
I didn’t need the strange, unsettling warmth that flooded my body every time his hands found me. It was foreign, unwanted, and entirely too consuming.
The way my skin reacted to him scared me more than it should have. I couldn’t afford to lose my composure—not now, not when everything felt so precarious already.
I needed to think
.
I needed to breathe.
And most importantly, I needed to get in touch with my uncle.
I reached my room and shut the door softly behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I exhaled shakily. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Uncle Tom’s number for what felt like the hundredth time.
Straight to voicemail.
Again.
I tried once more.
And again.
Nothing.
My chest tightened as frustration settled in. This always happened when he went into what he jokingly called “hiding.”
No calls.
No texts.
No trace of him until he decided it was safe to resurface.
With his current mission—tracking down my sperm donor—I doubted he’d be back anytime soon.
And that terrified me.
Because it meant I was alone in this.
For the first time, I had to make a decision without my uncle’s steady voice guiding me. Without my mother’s quiet reassurance whispering what was right and what was wrong.
I felt lost.
Confused.
Small.
Dropping onto my bed, I groaned as my exhausted body sank into the cool, smooth fabric beneath me. The softness felt foreign after the chaos of the night. I stretched instinctively, desperate to release the tension knotted into my muscles—
Pain exploded through my leg.
A sharp cry tore from my throat as I recoiled, my hands flying to my ankle. It burned viciously, the ache deep and relentless, forcing tears to sting the corners of my eyes.
“Damn it,” I hissed under my breath.
I drew my foot closer, gently massaging it despite the way my hands shook. The skin was already tender, swollen beneath my fingers.
Every touch sent a wave of discomfort through me, and eventually I had to let it drop back onto the bed with a defeated sigh.
I’d deal with it later.
Pushing myself upright, I limped toward the bathroom, each step measured and careful. I picked out mother's necklace from my pockets and placed it in one of the drawers.
I peeled out of my hoodie and biker shorts, letting them fall in a heap on the floor before stepping into the shower.
The moment the hot water hit my skin, a long, satisfied sigh escaped me.
It washed over me like a balm, loosening the tight grip anxiety had around my chest.
I leaned my forehead against the tiled wall, letting the water cascade down my back as I slid my fingers through my damp curls slowly, methodically.
For a moment, I let myself forget.
Forget the contract.
Forget Damien, if that was possible.
Forget Jace.
I breathed deeply, savoring the quiet, the privacy, the warmth. As though this calm was fragile. Temporary. Something I needed to absorb fully before it vanished.
When I finally stepped out, a small towel wrapped loosely around my body, the room felt colder without the steam clinging to my skin. I dressed quickly—just a singlet and biker shorts—too tired to care about anything else.
Collapsing back onto the bed, I lifted my foot into my lap.
It looked worse.
Purple and red bloomed angrily around my ankle, the swelling unmistakable. I winced as I applied even the slightest pressure, my breath catching painfully.
“Tesoro?”
His voice.
My head snapped up instantly.
Damien stood in the doorway, his gaze locked on my injured foot like it had personally offended him. The air in the room shifted, thickened, and suddenly breathing felt like work.
I dropped my leg immediately, awkwardly shifting. “Uh—wh-what are you doing here?”
I tried to stand, panic creeping in, but my balance wavered and I nearly toppled over. I picked at my lower lip, my eyes darting anywhere but his face.
He moved. Stalked toward me with purpose, his presence overwhelming. My heart hammered as I shut my eyes tightly, bracing myself for whatever came next.
But instead of anger—
Hands settled firmly on my shoulders.
I opened my eyes.
His gaze met mine, intense and unreadable, before he pushed me back gently but decisively onto the bed. He crouched in front of me, one knee to the ground, his green eyes—algae-deep and dangerous—studying me with something that looked disturbingly like concern.
Without a word, he lifted my foot and rested it on his lap.
I flinched as his fingers brushed the tender skin, a sharp gasp slipping from me before I could stop it. He paused, looking up at me briefly with an expression I couldn’t decipher, before focusing again.
My skin burned everywhere he touched.
“I-it’s okay,” I stammered, cheeks heating. “I-I’m sure it’s fine.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he stood abruptly and walked out of the room.
Relief washed over me—short-lived.
Seconds later, he returned with a first aid kit.
My stomach twisted.
He resumed his position, methodical and focused as he pulled out a spray bottle and bandages. The cold mist hit my ankle first—then the burn followed almost instantly.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, eyes squeezing shut as a muffled moan escaped despite my efforts to suppress it. He worked in silence, careful but firm, as the sting slowly dulled beneath his touch.
When he wrapped the bandage snugly around my ankle, the pain finally eased.
He dropped my foot.
I waited for him to leave.