Page 10 of Daman

Gray waddled into the room, his earlier energy zapped. He curled up in front of the lit fireplace and snuggled into his cat-eared hoodie. “Can we put up the Christmas tree now?”

Alastair’s lips twitched. “It’s too early.”

“Nuh-uh,” Gray countered. “After Thanksgiving. That’s what you told me. We’ve already eaten dinner, so it’s over. I want my sparkly tree now.”

I knew Alastair was going to give in before he even opened his mouth. Our little Sloth was spoiled rotten.

“Fine,” he said. “Let me finish my drink first.”

If it wasn’t for Gray, we wouldn’t decorate at all for holidays. But he loved it. Raiden did too, probably because it was another family bonding thing.

Yeah. I was going to miss them.

***

The week before my wedding, I was grinding on a stripper pole in the nightclub of the damned.

The bass rumbled in my chest as I spread my wings and let them lift me off the raised platform. As lights flashed above me, I wrapped my leg around the pole, hooking my ankle in place, and fell backward, my bare torso stretching as I hung upside down.

I felt the eyes on me. Heard the catcalls. And I drank it all in.

My days of being single were numbered. My wild nights at the club were too. I rebelled against the idea of being tied down to someone, let alone someone I didn’t even know. So much of my life had been taken from me. My childhood. Hell, even my own decisions.

Lazarus had turned me into his perfect little warrior who had no choice but to follow orders. If I wanted to keep my head anyway.

But when I was here at Krave, dancing beneath the neon lights, the vibrations of the music rattling my bones, I didn’t think about Lazarus or the chains he’d placed on me.

I felt free.

When the song ended, I slid down the pole and stepped off the platform, tucking my wings back into my shoulder blades.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Taeden, one of my favorite playthings, asked, slipping his arms around my waist. He was a reaper with a bad-boy reputation. Rumor had it that he got a sick enjoyment when he had to transport souls to the underworld. A fucking sadist who got off on people’s fear.

But he was amazing in bed, so whatever.

“You shouldn’t have to ask.” I caught the back of his hair in a tight grip. “You should already know the answer.”

Taeden smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

He blinked out of sight and reappeared next to the bar across the room a second later.

“And you callmea fuckboy,” Bellamy said, coming to stand beside me. “What, since you’re leaving for Russia tomorrow, you wanted to have one last night of random sex and debauchery?”

“Who said anything about sex?”

Bellamy arched a fine brow.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can keep it in my pants when I want to.” I shoved past him and headed toward the lounge area. He followed. When I sat on the couch, he dropped down beside me. “Go away, Bell.”

“No. It’s good to talk this shit out sometimes, D.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to get fucking wasted and forget about it for one goddamn night. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Okay. But I’m gonna sit here with you.”

I turned away from him and tried to keep my emotions in check. No matter how bitter I was, he had my back. Bellamy and I bickered and butted heads a lot, but he understood me in ways the others didn’t. I understood him too.

Taeden returned and handed me a cranberry vodka with ambrosia. His yellow eyes narrowed at Bellamy. “You’re in my spot.”