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Startled, I turn, catching Damon as he steps inside. He’s still dressed in black, dinner jacket undone, tie removed, with his sleeves rolled up his forearm showing the tattoo on his wrist. His eyes flick to mine, then down to my disheveled dress, then back up again.

Somehow he knows.

“I saw your uncle leave.” He stands in the doorway like he might change his mind and leave again, but he doesn’t. Just looks at me with that strange, unreadable face of his. His lip is curled at the edge, the piercing glinting, like he’s half-disgusted with something. I don’t think it’s me, not entirely. But maybe. “For what it’s worth, Hunter was also leaving, on his way to the station. Ares chased the Dean’s fat ass all the way to his car.”

I laugh, but it feels hollow. Somehow, I’ll get blamed.

“You just going to sit here the rest of the night?”

“I don’t know.” My voice is too soft, too weak. I clear my throat and try again. “They just left. No one told me where to go.”

There’s a pause. Then Damon exhales sharply through his nose and steps into the room. “Something happened. After we left.”

My stomach twists.

He looks down at me, voice flat. “Did he touch you?”

My eyes flick to the fire. “Why would you care?”

“Don’t start with me, doll baby.”

“Don’t call me that.” It’s too close to how I feel. Like a plaything for men to manipulate, arms and legs and…

He kneels in front of the chaise and stares at me, all sharp cheekbones and harsh judgment. “Answer me. Did he?”

I hold his gaze. My mouth opens but no words come out.

His jaw tightens. “Hunter said Graves stayed behind, too. So whatever it was, it was official.”

I swallow hard. “They had to check,” I whisper. “To make sure I was still...”

Damon’s face twists. “You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“So they don’t trust us either,” he says, because if anyone would have broken the rules it would have been him. He could have done it easily, so many times. During the hunt. At the party in the crypt. By the riverbank. “And he just stood there and let it happen?”

Damon doesn’t give me time to answer, just standing abruptly and pacing to the far end of the room. He runs a hand through his dark hair. This bothers him, although I’m not sure why.

“He stopped the Dean,” I say, softly. “The King… he stepped in.”

“Yeah?” Damon snaps. “And did it himself, is that supposed to be better?”

I know he’s thinking about trust. How the King put his faith in the Barons, but for me it’s just another violation on top of all the others.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I think it was. I think… it may have been worse.” I look up at Damon. “That’s not how he was supposed to touch me for the first time. It should have been on our wedding night. It should have been as man and wife, not some…”

“Perfunctory act.” He assesses me, teeth tugging at that lip ring, like he’s trying to make a decision. Finally he asks, “Do you want to get out of here for a bit?”

I blink. “What?”

He shrugs, trying to sound casual but failing. “An errand. Something small. You look like you need air. And I need a pair of hands.”

I hesitate. “It’s the night before the wedding.”

“All the more reason, doll.”

“Won’t we get in trouble?” My heart flutters under my ribs, like wings in a cage.