The door opened and her breath caught.
Damien stood in the entrance, still in the clothes from earlier — shirt untucked now, sleeves rolled up, hair disheveled like he'd been running his hands through it for hours. His eyes found hers immediately, cutting through the dim light of the chamber.
Neither of them spoke.
He crossed the room in long strides. She barely had time to sit up before his hands were cupping her face, his mouth crashing into hers. The kiss was bruising. Desperate. Hours of frustration poured into a single point of contact.
Cora grabbed his shirt, pulling him down onto the bed with her. He went willingly, his body covering hers, pressing her into the mattress. The weight of him was grounding and Real.
"Couldn't focus," he growled against her lips. "Couldn't think about anything but this."
"Good."
She kissed him harder. Tried to pour everything she was feeling into it — the ache that had been building since the training room, the need that pulsed through the bond, the desperate want that made her feel like she'd die if he didn't touch her.
His hand found the strap of her slip. Slid it down her shoulder. His mouth followed, trailing fire across her collarbone.
"This thing," he muttered against her skin. "I like it."
"Mira made me buy it."
"Remind me to thank her."
The slip disappeared somewhere over the side of the bed.
Cora lay beneath him in nothing but thin underwear, exposed in a way she'd never been with anyone. But she didn't feel vulnerable. She felt powerful. The way his eyes devoured her like she was something precious and devastating all at once made her feel like the most dangerous thing in the room.
His hand traced down her body. Between her breasts. Over her stomach. Fingers hooking into the waistband of her underwear.
The fabric slid down her legs. Joined the slip on the floor.
Now she was bare. Completely. And he was still fully dressed.
"That's not fair," she said.
"Life isn't fair."
But he pulled his shirt over his head anyway. Then his pants. Until he was as exposed as she was, all hard muscle and scarred skin and the evidence of how much he wanted her straining between them.
He settled over her again. Skin to skin. The contact made her gasp — so much heat with so much sensation
His thigh pressed between hers. She arched into him automatically, seeking friction, seeking relief from the ache building low in her belly.
"Patience," he murmured.
"I don't have any."
"Then learn."
He took his time.
Kissing down her throat. Her chest. Taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking until she cried out, then moving to the other. His hands explored everywhere.
She was trembling by the time his mouth reached her stomach. Shaking with need. Every touch wound her tighter, pushed her closer to an edge she'd never experienced before.
"Damien—"
"Not yet."
His fingers brushed between her thighs. Light. Teasing. She whimpered, her hips lifting, chasing the contact.
"Please."
"Please what?"
"Touch me. Really touch me."
He did.
His fingers slid through her wetness, finding the spot that made her see stars. He stroked her slowly at first, learning her responses, adjusting his rhythm to match her gasps and moans.
"That's it," he breathed. "Let me hear you."
She couldn't have stayed quiet if she tried. The sounds spilling from her lips were obscene , desperate, needy, nothing like her normal voice. But she didn't care. Not when his fingers were doing things she'd never imagined, pushing her higher and higher—
His body shifted. His hips settled between her thighs.
She felt him there. Hard. Pressing against her entrance.
And something cracked inside her.
"The hallway was dark."
She was twelve. Or maybe thirteen. The years blurred together at St. Jude's, each one identical to the last, grey walls, grey food, grey faces of children who'd stopped hoping for anything better.
"Footsteps behind her. Heavy. Familiar."
*She walked faster. The dormitory was just ahead. If she could reach it—*
*A hand closed around her arm.*
"Where are you going in such a hurry, girl?"
*Mr. Abernathy's voice was oil-slick. His fingers dug into her flesh, bruising. He smelled like cigarettes and something sour underneath. His nails were yellow, long, scraping against her skin as he pulled her backward.*
*"wasn't doing anything wrong," she whispered. "I was just—"
"Shhh." His other hand covered her mouth. Calloused palm, nicotine-stained fingers. "You know better than to make noise. You know what happens when you make noise."*
He dragged her into his office. The same office. Always the same.
The door locked behind them.
"On your knees."
She didn't move fast enough. He shoved her down, her knees cracking against the hard floor. Tears burned in her eyes but she didn't let them fall. Crying made it worse. Crying made him laugh.
His hand fisted in her hair. Yanked her head back.
"You're nothing," he said. "You know that, don't you? Nobody wants you. Nobody's coming for you. You belong to me."
His other hand went to his belt.
She squeezed her eyes shut and went somewhere else. Somewhere far away where none of this was happening. Where she was just a girl. Just a normal girl with a normal life and people who loved her.
But she always came back.
And he was always there.
"Cora."
Damien's voice cut through the darkness. Distant at first,Then closer.
"Cora. Look at me."
She blinked. The memory shattered like glass, fragments scattering as the present rushed back in. She was in the chamber. In the bed. Damien was above her — but not pressing down anymore. He'd pulled back, his weight on his forearms, his face inches from hers.
His eyes were silver. Blazing.
"Where did you go?"
Her chest was heaving. When had she started shaking? Her whole body trembled, a fine vibration she couldn't control.
"I'm fine," she said automatically. "I'm sorry, I don't know what—"
"Don't." His voice was sharp. "Don't lie to me. I felt it through the bond. You were terrified. You went somewhere else." His jaw tightened. "Who were you seeing when you looked at me?"
She couldn't answer. The words stuck in her throat, blocked by years of silence, years of burying it so deep she'd almost convinced herself it wasn't real.
"Cora."
"I can't." Her voice broke. "Please. I can't."
The silver in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something she couldn't name.
He rolled off her. She felt the absence of his warmth like a wound.
But he didn't leave.
He pulled her against him.
his arms wrapped around her with the same intensity as everything else he did. He tucked her into his chest, her back against his front, his body curving around hers like a shield.
She was still shaking. Still falling apart.
"You don't have to tell me," he said against her hair. "Not tonight."
A sob escaped her. Then another. The tears she'd held back for years finally breaking free, soaking into the pillow, into his skin where his arm pressed against her cheek.
He didn't tell her to stop. Didn't shush her or offer meaningless comfort. He just held her, solid and present, while she cried for the girl she used to be.
"Someone hurt you," he said quietly. Not a question.
She nodded. Couldn't speak.
His arm tightened around her. She felt his rage , cold and deep, an ocean of it churning beneath his surface calm.
But his voice stayed even.
"And I would make whoever pay." he said,
It should have scared her. The certainty in his voice. The promise of violence lurking beneath the words.
Instead, she felt something she hadn't felt in years.
Safe.
She fell asleep in his arms, the tears drying on her cheeks, the nightmares held at bay by the monster who'd claimed her.