I stared at my
y small hands, angrily digging my nails into my palm, then curled my fingers into fists, silently sobbing.
I arrived home, my eyes swollen raw, like bruised fruit.
Damian was sitting on the sofa, his expression impatient and chillingly cold.
“What took you so long? Do you know I’m starving?”
I sniffled, my emotions, just barely controlled, surged up again.
“Til order you some takeout later, I’m a little tired”
He scoffed, “Ha, you want me to eat takeout?”
Not wanting to argue , I sighed.
My foot, already stepping towards the bathroom, changed direction, heading to the kitchen instead.
I usually cooked for Damian. He never lifted a finger in the kitchen. Even with a fridge full of ingredients, he was too pampered to dirty his precious hands.
Once before, I’d come home late, and Damian had thrown a terrible fit because he was hungry.
I thought he was specially waiting for me to eat, and, filled with guilt and a tiny bit of joy, I cooked him a huge meal.
But as I pulled out a chair, about to sit down, he threw cold water on my hopes.
“You reek of cooking oil. Go take a shower.”
Snapping back to reality, I placed the prepared meal in front of him, but Damian didn’t touch it.
“Why do you smell like another shifter?”
Traised my arm and sniffed. It was probably from the clothing store earlier.
I suddenly remembered when I was little and had no money, I had to hike up the mountain to hunt wild rabbits and pheasants to feed him.
He’d grumble, chewing on the tough, stringy meat.
He’d complain about the mud on my face and the scent of other shifters on me, always keeping his distance.
“I’ll go shower now.”
I set the cutlery on the table and walked towards the bathroom, but Damian swept the cooked meal onto the floor with a single arm.
“Audrey Miller, aren’t you going to explain yourself?”
A shard of ceramic from the shattered bowl cut my calf, and the pain instantly sharpened my
Some p
mind.
people are just so strange. They don’t love you, but they still want to possess you. They give you the illusion of being cherished, of being cared for, when all they truly want is to extract more love from “you“.
Damian was exactly like that.
For the first time, I looked at him with a cold face.
“Explain what?
“It’s fine for you to smell like other people, but I can’t?”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
But it was quickly replaced by anger.
“You’re doubting me?
“Don’t forget who p presumptuously saved you?”
I didn’t answer, stepping past him to get the first–aid kit.
I brushed past his arm, and he immediately flinched back, the sharp edges of his scales scraping me.
His voice was colder than his expression. “Don’t touch me.”
Right. He barely let me touch him oven during bonding training
Outside of training? That was a pipe dream.
