Chapter 39 40

Chapter 39 40

I wanted to vomit. The very idea of Silas—the man who had shattered my soul—touching me again should have been repulsive.

And yet, for some dark, sickening reason, my traitorous body ached with a phantom memory of his heat. I felt like a hypocrite, standing there in my stained uniform while my skin screamed for a touch I had spent five years cursing.

Not wanting to listen to their gossip for another second, I threw myself into my work, wishing for the hours to bleed away. I just wanted to go home, lock the door, and see that beautiful black wolf waiting for me in the garden. He was the only thing in this world that didn't want to take something from me.

The shift finally ended, and the sun began to dip behind the jagged peaks of the mountains, casting long, bruised shadows across the village.

As I stepped out of the restaurant, the air felt strangely heavy. Usually, the walk home was my time to breathe, but today, the wind carried a sour, metallic scent that made the hair on my arms stand up.

I hurried my pace, my boots thudding against the dirt path. I felt eyes on me—not the golden, protective gaze of my forest friend, but something oily and unwelcome. I clutched my bag tighter, my mind racing to the boys. Were they safe with the sitter? Was the door locked?

“Just paranoia,” I whispered to the trees. “It’s just the stress.”

But my wolf was pacing in the back of my mind, her hackles raised. Danger, she whimpered. The rot is close.

Finally, when I reached the edge of my property, I tried to force a smile. I looked toward the bushes, expecting the massive black head of the wolf to pop up. However, as I reached the garden, I froze. My blood turned to ice in my veins.

Damian was standing right at my front door, blocking the entrance to my sanctuary.

“Damian? What are you doing here?” I asked, a grimace of pure distaste forming on my face. He looked pathetic—disheveled, his hair a matted mess, and his clothes wrinkled as if he’d slept in a ditch.

“I see you've forgotten me...” he said, his voice slurred and heavy.

I didn't even need to be close to smell the disgusting, fermented stench of cheap alcohol on his breath. It rolled off him in waves, mixing with the sweat of a man who had lost his grip.

“Damian... I think you're a little drunk,” I said, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. I tried to move around him, reaching for the doorknob, but he stepped into my path, his large frame looming over me.

“No, Lyra! I came here to talk... you... you don't answer my messages!” he blurted out. He ended the sentence with a sharp, angry roar of frustration that put every nerve in my body on high alert.

I wasn't a girl who went after men, and Damian's messages had never been anything I wanted to read.

They weren't sweet or gentle; they were crude demands, talk of how much he desired my body and the graphic, territorial things he wanted to do to me. They made me feel hunted in my own skin.

“I'm sorry... I've been too busy to respond,” I said flatly, trying to keep my voice devoid of the fear licking at my insides.

Damian began to laugh, a loud, barking sound that made him look like a complete lunatic. The moonlight caught the crazed glint in his eyes.

“Oh, really? Busy? Well, I know a different story... one where you bring naked men into your house every damn night!” he snapped, his face contorting into a mask of jealous rage.

My eyes widened. My breath hitched. What the hell? Had he seen Silas? Did he know about the wolf?

“What? What the hell are you talking about?” I replied, my fists clenching at my sides.

“Enough games, Lyra!” he exclaimed, taking a sudden, aggressive step toward me.

His dangerous, alcohol-soaked aura emanated from his pores, thick and suffocating. My body instinctively recoiled, and unfortunately for me, my back hit the solid wood of the closed door. I was trapped.

“Tell me now, why the hell are you letting men into your house at midnight?” he shouted, his voice echoing off the porch. Before I could move, he reached out and grabbed my chin, his fingers digging into my jaw with bruising force.

I felt his rough, calloused grip on my face. I clawed at his arm, trying to pry his hand away, but he was a man fueled by liquor and wounded pride. He squeezed harder, making me gasp as a sharp bolt of pain shot through my jaw.

“Answer me... who the hell are you seeing?” His shout rang in my ears like a funeral bell, while his stinking breath hit my face, making me gag.

“Let go of me! I haven't been with anyone! I've never brought men into my house!” I yelled back at him, my fury finally beginning to outweigh my fear.

His abrupt, violent attitude infuriated me, but just when I thought he couldn't be any more despicable, he leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“Listen to me carefully, Lyra... I don't accept any of my other females seeing other men,” he said, his voice dripping with a disgusting, archaic possessiveness.

I froze. The words felt like a slap. “Other females?”

My question was enough for Damian to let go of my chin with a scoff, shaking his head in mock disdain. “Come on, honey... do you think I only date you? There are lots of girls in this town who know how to treat a man like me,” he said, his tone turning cruel and mocking.

I remained silent, my mind reeling. This felt like a nightmare; it was illogical, even for a drunk, to act like such a complete degenerate.

“Come on, Lyra... I'm a man... I have a libido to satisfy... and you... you haven't spread your legs for me yet. Unless you do, I'll have to look elsewhere. But I won't have you shaming me by taking other lovers in my town,” he said with a careless shrug.

“How can you be such an idiot? I would never sleep with a man on the first date!” I growled at him, my voice trembling not with fear, but with a simmering, jagged indignation.