Chapter 30
Emelia's POV.
The calm I had embodied in the face of crisis faded, left me empty and exhausted. I looked down, and my hands were shaking. My eyes felt wet, but there were no tears.
A hand reached over my shoulder to turn the deadbolt. I turned.
Damon stood tall. Safe. Alive. His suit was clean and unwrinkled. His hair was perfect. The shine in his eyes spoke of both pride and adoration. Before he could weaken my resolve with soft kisses and flowery prose, I asked, “Why didn’t you stop him?”
Damon blinked, curious. Not ashamed. Never ashamed. “I’m sorry?”
“I've seen you fight, Damon. You’re stronger than anyone. Faster than anyone. Hell, if we’re going by straight IQ and strategic analysis, you’re smarter than everyone, too. So why didn’t you disarm him when you had the chance?” I held up a finger before he could open his mouth. “And don’t you dare give me some damn excuse about waiting for the right moment. I know you.”
Damon's body language remained open and neutral. He stared at me the same way I would look at a logic problem. Contemplating. A moment passed in silence.
He canted his head, almost reptilian. “I wanted to see what you would do.”
Rage slammed into me like a wrecking ball: breaking bones and splattering viscera. I snarled. “You risked your life because you wanted to see what I would do? What if you had died? What if I never came? What if Travis wasn't here on time to take him away?”
He accepted my anger with neutrality. Still looking for a way to solve the problem. To hug me, comfort me. His posture gentled, and he reached for me.
I jerked away, shoulder colliding with the door. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. I can’t handle you right now, Damon.”
Damon stilled, the edge of his lips twitching down with genuine concern. “Darling—”
“You berated me once for being reckless. For risking my life when I secretly went to David's place. You begged me not to leave you alone. Well, where’s the reciprocity? You risked your life tonight. And for what? Kicks and giggles? Just because you could? If you die—” I cut myself off, furious, fearful tears flowing over.
Damon's brows furrowed. Remorseful. Still an act. The monster inside him the real him, inside the person suit was pleased beyond measure. He’d loved my violence and considered the experiment a success. He would do it again.
Regret laced Hannibal’s tone: purely aesthetic. “Emelia, I apologize for worrying you, but I was positive he wouldn’t kill me. Just as you were positive he wouldn’t kill you when you stepped into the line of fire.”
“You think I stepped in front of you because I knew he wouldn’t kill?” Disbelief and anger twined together to stab me through the chest. I shook his head, vision blurry. “I had no idea how far David would go. I didn’t get in front of you because I thought it was safe. I got in front of you just in case it wasn’t.”
Damon's demeanor softened. Sincere this time. He raised a hand to caress my face. I shouldered past him, putting space between us. The mud on the floor was a glaring reminder of what had happened, and just looking at it brought anxiety thick to my throat.
Damon said, “You won’t lose me, Darling.”
I spun back around. “You don’t know that! You're arrogant and you hide things from me, you just—” I squeezed my eyes shut, threaded both hands into my hair, and tugged. “Go sit in your study. I need to think.”
“Emelia—”
“Go.”
Damon's lips slanted downward. His shoulders squared. Understanding my plights, but not empathizing. Not capable of empathizing. Rather than heading toward the study, he lowered his voice to something soft and placating. He said, “Why don’t I comfort you?”
Fury and frustration ripped through me, exhaustingly potent. “No. Comforting me is a privilege, Hannibal. What you get to do is go sit at the table and think. And if you get out of that chair before I say so, then I swear to god I’m going straight back to Eli.”
I met his calculating stare dead-on, daring him to push the issue. Daring him to fight so that I could rip him to shreds on a clear conscience. Damon's gaze flicked down my body, taking in my stance. Gauging the seriousness. I clenched his fist, readying for a fight.
Then Damon (Alpha King Damon, the most powerfully authoritative man I had ever met) bowed his head. “Of course, Darling. If that’s what you want.” He met my eyes from beneath his lashes, equal parts monster and man. The single second of eye contact told me that Damon's subservience was born from choice, not force, that he considered it an act of love.
I sneered. I didn’t wait for him to go to the study. Couldn’t wait, just in case my temper got the best of him and I stormed off to Eli regardless. The imminency of possibly losing Damon dropped away, but the anxiety remained.
I was so angry that it hurt and was desperate to continue being angry because what lurked beneath my anger was so much worse. I was afraid.
I closed my eyes and felt my breath hitch. I tried to fend off my emotions, but bottling things up had never come naturally to me. Fear of Damon dying while facing off against a psycho bundled together with the fear of me being left all alone. I could feel an anxiety attack oncoming, but the only person I could turn to was the one who’d caused it. My breaths came harder and quicker, uncontrolled. The word ‘Damon’ stuck like tar to my tongue and got trapped behind my teeth, unspoken.