Call You Mine (Servite Academy)

Chapter One

WYNTER

Hillcrest Hills - Hours later

“Ms. Servite. Excuse me,” the flight attendant quietly calls out, gently tapping me on my shoulder and startling me from my sleep. “Miss, I apologize for waking you, but we’ve landed.”

Forcing my groggy eyes open, I try to focus my vision as I look around the small charter plane I took from New York back to California, a plane that is now disturbingly empty.

My stomach clenches, anxiety crippling me as bile rises in my throat from the nightmare I just awoke from. I guess it wasn’t a nightmare, more a replay of what took place just a mere six hours ago—a conjuring of sorts.

My memory comes rushing back to me, flooding me with the agony I felt as my world came crumbling. I notice the handful of passengers aboard when we took off from a private landing strip outside of John F. Kennedy airport are no longer here. It’s a habit I’ve developed—to make sure I’m always acutely aware of my surroundings. You learn to be incredibly vigilant when you’re always in the line of danger, never knowing who might hurt you.

Words Enzo once meant as a warning are now crucial to my current situation. At least that’s a valuable lesson he’d taught me.

“Our enemies are many, Snow. Always sleep with one eye open and a finger on the trigger, carina. You never know when they’ll come for you.”

It’s funny how the only advice he ever gave me is what I used against him. The last words I uttered to a dead man were those he threw at me every chance he had.

In the plane there were two suspicious men in expensive suits, each carrying a silver portfolio surely full of cash or drugs, a couple wearing matching beachwear who looked to be going to a five-star beach resort for their honeymoon, and another faceless couple with an infant daughter. I only remember the baby girl because she had the same dark hair and blue eyes as my niece Caeli, who was about the same age last time I saw her. Now, she’s surely a toddler wreaking havoc around her house with her cousins.

It’s the little things that made me miss home. The insignificant moments I never imagined I’d crave because I’d never experienced them. A family, real friends. Peace. Never having to look over my shoulder in fear.

My twin brother, whom I was once close with when we were kids, was the only constant in my life. Even his three best friends, who were practically my extended brothers, were some people I was missing.

Then there was Stella, a loyal friend I once had, but was now strangers with after the ordeals my so-called friends and I had caused her. We’d shunned her, made her an outcast amongst our peers at Servite Academy after she, in theory, betrayed our friendship. It wasn't directly my fault, but I didn’t stand up for her either when my posse of self-absorbed prom queens turned their backs on her.

Stella and I were thick as thieves when we were younger, the two of us always getting into trouble, mostly sneaking into my mother’s closet and playing dress up for hours with her various designer pieces. However, it was when her mother died things took a turn. Instead of being there for her like I should have been, I shut her out, not understanding how to deal with someone else’s grief.

Emotions in my household were suppressed, forgotten, and never shown, regardless of the situation. Servites were raised to be strong, and emotions were nothing more than a display of weakness our enemies could use against us.

The only emotion that warranted any type of attention from my family was to instill fear in others. Typically, for me, indifference was the way to achieve it. No one dared to mess with the Ice Princess. My bitter heart and even frostier demeanor ensured it.

From then on, Carrington, the daughter of a family friend who’d recently been spending a lot more time at my house thanks to our family’s business dealings, became the person I spent most of my day with. She didn’t likee Stella, and I never questioned why she didn’t want her hanging out with us. It didn’t matter, though. I had more in common with Carrington, and after a while, we became inseparable. My friendship with Stella dwindled until there was nothing but sweet memories left.

Carrington understood me in a way no one else could. We lived in the same world, intrigued by the same wealth and riches Stella usually stayed away from. She was the obvious choice for my best friend, even if ?I could barely stand her brutal attitude. Yet she wore her cruelty with pride and although everyone else around me seemed to hate her for it, it was also something I was used to being around.

It wasn’t until the first time I came back to Hillcrest Hills, a year after I first moved to New York and could finally convince Enzo to allow me a quick visit, that I finally saw Carrington for what she really was—a fake. Despite everyone else warning me and knowing exactly who she was at first glance, I didn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.

The moment I arrived at Carrington’s engagement party, the people I once considered friends met with snide glares and hushed whisperings. At that moment, I knew my old life was over. All those who I once believed to be my equals looked down on me because of what my family had gone through. Because of what they turned out to be.

Frauds. Criminals who were caught, cowards who fled when the truth came to light. In theory, I’d been one of them. At least that’s how they saw it.

When Enzo came for me after my graduation from Servite Academy, I left without saying goodbye to anyone. I thought no one would care or even notice. I had little friends. Unlike my brother, I didn’t have anyone who would fight to protect me. So, for me, there really wasn’t any other option. No one would believe me if I told them the truth of what was happening.

It wasn’t until six months later when Enzo finally let me have a phone—after he’d threatened me to the point I wouldn’t run—that I reached out to Carrington.

However, she didn’t meet me with open arms nor with joy after discovering I was, in fact, alive and well. She and the other three girls I thought to be my best friends met me with bitterness and betrayal. They wanted nothing to do with me and that’s when I concluded they were only my friends because of my family’s status and all it could offer them.

Cynicism was something I was all too familiar with. Fake friends who wanted nothing more from me than the power that came with knowing me. There was no use in opening up and baring what little soul I had to those I considered friends, if they weren’t interested in any of it.

The Servites were the beginning and end of Hillcrest Hills and when my family became nothing but a joke, they all turned their backs and crucified us, although they were just as guilty of the same sins. Martyrs who acted like the Servites had fooled and taken them advantage of.

I’d like to say we didn’t deserve it, but I’ve never been a liar.

Stepping out of the plane and onto the tarmac, I try my hardest to keep my head down, hiding the bruises painting my face behind dark sunglasses. The sky is a clear blue with sparse clouds perfectly placed, making it look like an impressionist painting of heaven. Trees with bright green leaves and flowers blooming, welcoming me to a perfect California Spring. It had been raining when my plane departed from New York and although it was slightly cooler than usual for this time of the year, there wasn’t a gray cloud to be seen.

I take the tunnel toward the Galen Grove airport, a small airport about twenty minutes from Hillcrest Hills with only three terminals and a handful of airlines used only for business class commercial and private flights.

The brisk air flows through the black long wig I’m wearing to disguise myself as I make my way into the large building before me and head down to the airport lobby with nothing but the clothes on my back and a small duffle bag of necessities Luke grabbed from my suite before I left. Closing my eyes, I lose myself to the rampant noise of the busy airport, letting it consume me as it reminds me all of this is real.

It’s really happening.

I escaped my kidnapper and am finally free. At least until they come looking for me once they find out what I’d done. They had to have found his body by now, having gone to look for him when he didn’t check in for his nightly meetings with the other heads of his family.

After sleeping only three hours in the last twenty-four, I’m terrified to see my reflection in the mirror and catch sight of the complete mess I must currently look like.

“Why did I come here?” I murmur to myself, rushing into the bathroom to my right when my paranoia of being followed becomes suffocating. Quickly, I rush into a stall to relieve myself, cringing at the bloodied sequined dress I’m still wearing under a black coat, cursing myself for not stopping to change and wash the blood off me before leaving.

Dried blood stains run down my neck and chest, his and mine combined, but Luke was right, I didn’t have the time.

I tear open the duffel bag eager to get out of this filthy dress, but to my surprise, there’s nothing in this bag that resembles leisure or what anyone would wear unless they were going out to an elusive nightclub. The few garments Luke snagged from my room are designer pieces similar to what I’m currently wearing, but at least they’re clean.

Just as I’m about to slip out of my coat to change, I hear the door of the restroom creak open and a woman currently on the phone enters the stall beside me. If I change now, she might see the bloodied dress fall to my feet. I can’t risk the attention and getting caught. Instead, I rush out of the stall, wash my hands as fast as I can, and button my coat before hurrying back into the airport lobby.

I’ll have to wait to discard these clothes until I get to the hotel I’ll be staying at.

I don’t know why I came back home. Maybe it’s the stupid notion I’ll be safer in plain sight. They won’t come looking for me here, not when they know this is the last place I’d ever come back to. I have no one here who gives a damn about what’s happening to me, and they know that.

Even if Enzo’s father suspects home is where I’ve fled, he wouldn’t dare step foot into a territory he no longer has jurisdiction in. Thanks to my brother and his associates, this is the newly improved Hillcrest Hills, free of all crime and corruption. Ace had no other choice but to take over after Wesley’s death and his accomplice’s capture. It was that or let it fall into even dirtier hands. The only scumbags who once ruled this town are buried six feet under, rotting in a high-security prison cell, or on the run.

Now Ace rules this town, or what’s left of it, with an iron, uncorrupted fist. His wealth and power, self-made in the last three years, rivals what my family once had. And he did it all on his own merits, reforming the legal business my family had first built.

Regardless, I don’t know what I was thinking returning home where I’m surely unwelcomed given my strained relationship with my brother Ace because of my sheer dislike of his wife Scarlett. It’s nothing personal, honestly I just never understood why he was so enthralled with the girl. She’s gorgeous, I'll give her that, but she’s nothing like him, nothing like us.

It’s no surprise they didn’t invite me to their wedding. I’ll admit it bothered me at first—to think my brother would take such an important step in his life and not even think about having me there with him by his side, but I expected my invitation would get lost in translation.

Ace and I haven’t spoken since we found out the truth about our lineage. Nothing more than a text to say, “Yes, I’m still alive”, or a wave hello the few times Enzo allowed me to visit.

When the news came out that my uncle Wesley wasn’t my uncle but actually my biological father, I can’t say it surprised me as it had everyone else. I never felt no connection to my supposed father Warren, who, turns out, was actually my uncle. It all feels a little too endogamous to me. That truth bomb was the end of my parents only on paper marriage.

The end of my less than perfect family.

Warren fled town when the truth about his and Wesley’s corruption came to light after his death, and is surely basking in glory somewhere in South America or what not, where extradition back to the states is non-existent, while my mother Willa is off with her flavor of the month living her previously crushed dreams of being a model in Paris. Or is it Italy this week?

For someone who wishes not to be found, she’s quite active on her social media.

It’s the reason no one has found it odd I’ve been away for three years without so much as a postcard from my travels.

Us Servites keep to ourselves and our private lives are usually kept private, unless it’s our dirty laundry being air dried for all to see. Scandal is our family name and corruption, our motto.

I only kept in touch with one person from my life in Hillcrest Hills, but we haven’t spoken in far too long.

Scrambling back out into the airport lobby, trying to avoid all contact with the few people rushing about to make their flights, I quickly risk blowing my cover to grab an iced latte from a Starbucks by the entrance and I head toward the front concierge desk to get an Uber to take me to the hotel Luke made accommodations for me at.

It was too risky to use any of my credit cards, so the stack of cash I had hidden under my mattress, a measly ten thousand dollars I gathered in the last week, is all I brought with me.

Thanks to Luke, I don’t have to spend any of it until I figure out what my next step is. He paid for the plane ticket, for my ride, and the hotel I’ll be staying at for the next week. It was a risky move I almost didn’t let him make, but the fact he showed up after all this time willing to betray his Capo and put his own life at risk to help me escape and cover up what I did, is still mind-boggling.

After Wesley’s death, his greatest accomplice, Stephan Silver—Stella’s uncle and a family friend who always gave me the creeps when he looked my way—took over his illicit affairs. Wesley’s closest associates and all those who were under his command either fled or were silenced, to ensure they were no longer a threat. Getting involved with the mafia was something neither of them should have done. And now they weren’t the only ones paying for it.

Wesley was a monster in his own way, but my dear father was nothing compared to the ruthless devils I’ve dealt with in the time since his death.

After my graduation from Servite Academy, Wesley’s number one enemy visited me. With Wesley dead, Warren and Willa living their own lives, and my brother too busy shoving his dick into Scarlett Steele to even bother with the rest of the world, I found myself utterly alone. No one was around to protect me, which left me with no other choice. Leave with him, or suffer the consequences of saying no.

Turns out I was better off dead. The only silver lining, now he is.

Hopping into the silver sedan pulling up on the side of the road, I’m suddenly overtaken by a sheer panic.

What if they come looking for me, or worse, what will I do when they find me? I can’t be alone, unable to protect myself. What if Luke betrays me and tells them exactly where I am?

He owes me nothing, and I’d be a fucking fool to trust him. Torture has a funny way of making the most loyal turn into rats. I bear witness.

Deep down I know there’s only one place I’ll be safe. Only one person I can truly trust and it’s the last place they’d ever think to look. The only problem, after the last time we saw each other, I’m not sure it really is the safest place to go.

When I boarded the plane in the early hours of the morning, I didn’t know what to expect when I landed back home.

Did I really think it was going to be easy coming back unannounced and with nowhere to call home?

Especially after the way I’d left things.

The last time I drove by Servite Manor, there was a giant Real Estate Sale sign sitting on the front lawn, and another posted outside the gates. Afraid their corruption would eventually come to light and they’d risk losing everything, Warren and Wesley signed the estate over to my brother as a precaution. This was when they believed he was on their side and wouldn’t betray them.

After the explosion, the cause of Wesley’s demise, Ace had it rebuilt to its original fame and glory, minus the crooked devils that once strolled through the halls. He texted me a few months ago to let me know he was planning to sell our childhood home. Apparently, the devils who once roamed turned into ghosts who still haunted the halls despite how brand new and pristine the place was. Ace and I were to split the money fifty/fifty once the sale went through. I had paid little attention to his decision, ?but now I could really use the cash to get away.

Luckily, when I could finally access my bank account, I had some money saved from a few photoshoots I’d done as a teen. Other than that small amount, I’d have to wait a few months until I could access my trust. Although I’m already twenty-one, the one stipulation my grandfather added to all our inheritances, access to our money was put on hold. Since Warren is still a fugitive and all our assets were frozen during the investigation into Wesley’s illegal dealings, the court added a six-month stipulation of their own. In order to receive any of my grandfather’s inheritance, there has to be proof of no other living relatives of his, other than my brother, of course. This shouldn’t be an issue with Wesley dead, so long as Warren remains hidden away and dead to the outside world.

July can’t come fast enough.

Exiting my Uber, I take the stairwell at the far end of his apartment complex, hoping even in the long coat and black wig I’m wearing I won’t be recognized. I wasn’t here often, and in places like these, the same people rarely last more than a few months. However, it’s early spring and although I probably look like a psycho wearing a fucking winter coat, I had nothing better to disguise myself with on such short notice.

My feet ache in the heels I’ve been wearing for over sixteen hours as the straps cut into my ankles, marking them with a nearly bloody red line.

It’s been a year since I last came to Hillcrest to see him. Since the day I left, we’d kept in touch, though we limited our interactions to text messages and late-night phone calls I could make when Enzo was out late.

The unlikely friendship we’d formed in recent years, one we not only kept hidden from everyone around us but strictly platonic after the first drunken night we spent together—which we refused to talk about—was one of the few things left in life I truly cherished.

On the outside, we were complete opposites, yet we had so much in common. Both living in solitary even though we were supposed to have a forever friend in our twin, both hated and abandoned by our parents, and both left to fend for themselves, walking through this wretched life unable to trust, unable to truly live in peace.

The dark shadows which lingered around us had become the best of friends and although they were what brought us together, they also were what kept us apart.

Two individuals designed to be sworn enemies helplessly roamed the same forgotten world in search of one another.

I hadn’t reached out afraid something would happen to him if I did. I had a good reason, one he’d never understand unless he discovered the secret I was hiding from him, and I couldn’t let that happen.

The last time I came home, Enzo had me followed. He’d sent a few of his men to spy on me, paranoid I was coming home so often to a secret lover. Not that he cared, but it would bring him shame if his soldiers discovered he couldn’t keep me on a tight leash.

His men discovered I’d come to this very apartment and whose unit I was staying in. When I headed back to New York, Enzo picked me up from the airport in his private car and showed me footage of three of his men paying him a visit. I watched as the three men tried, and at first failed to hurt him, until they pulled out a gun and shot him in the shoulder.

A sharp shriek left me when suddenly the footage went black.

I thought I’d lost him. For three whole days, I cried myself to sleep with visions of him falling to the ground like he had in the video. It wasn’t until I snagged a burner phone from a maid that I called home to see if there was any news. Good or bad, they must have heard something.

The person I called was Stella. Not sure why I’d chosen her, but I figured she’d be the only one forgiving enough to answer without asking too many questions. I'd asked her how everyone was and she’d mentioned they were all at her house celebrating the New Year.

Relief washed over me, but I made Stella promise she wouldn’t tell anyone I’d called. I was worried someone else would get hurt because of me and I couldn’t risk that happening.

That night was the first time in years I didn’t cry myself to sleep, knowing that despite Enzo’s attempt to hurt him, he’d failed.

Just as I take the last step on the stairwell, two kids come rushing toward me, laughing and running from an older woman chasing after them. I move to the side just in time before they come tumbling into me. The woman stops and mutters an apology before continuing after them.

A pained smile crosses my lips at the sight of what I’m sure is a grandmother chasing after her troublesome grandsons. The look of love on the woman’s face, despite the agony the two troublemakers are causing, is completely foreign to me.

As I continue down the walkway, a shiver crawls up my spine as the slight breeze picks up, rushing up my bare legs. Clutching my arms across my chest, I look over my shoulder to ensure no one has followed me, but before I can turn back around, a hard body comes crashing right into me. The cold coffee in my hand splashes onto my coat, drenching me in oat milk.

“Ugh, are you fucking kidding me?” I cry out in anger, the insignificant accident apparently the last straw holding my sanity together.

The asshole who’s about to get a thousand-dollar heel shoved up his cocky ass doesn’t even bother to look up from his phone. He just scowls behind dark sunglasses and walks away with a simple shrug of his shoulders, ignoring the fact he rammed into me, spilled my iced coffee all over my chest.

“Watch it,” he growls, sending a wave of shivers up my spine at how deep and authoritative his tone is. As someone who’s dealt with her fair share of dangerous men high on power and the scent of their own shit, the tone shouldn’t surprise me, but there’s something different about this guy. Something familiar, although he’s currently acting like a Class-A douche. “Stupid bitch,” he mutters under his breath and suddenly I stand corrected.

Son of a bitch. There’s nothing different about this jerk. “Excuse me, asshole,” I shout out on instinct. No one is calling me a bitch today and getting away with it, not with the shit I’ve dealt with in the last twenty-four hours.

Of course he doesn’t stop, just shakes his head, which is currently stuffed in a black beanie, and quickens his pace like he’s got somewhere more important to be. Without thinking twice, I rush after him, grabbing him by his arm and pulling him toward me.

He doesn’t budge and in the blink of an eye, I’m pushed back against a brick wall to my left, hard muscles pressed against my body while hot cigarette breath tickles my skin. “Careful there, little girl, you don’t want to piss me off, not today.” Both his arms are up against the wall on either side of me, caging me in.

My chest heaves as my breathing quickens. I want to scream and shout out for help, but no sound leaves my lips. The stranger moves in slightly closer, and the feel of the thick hair on his chin pricking my cheek accompanied by his broad shoulders and muscular chest pressing against me, sends a sudden jolt of desire through me making me inhale a sharp breath and forcing me to hold it in to suppress the moan I’m afraid I’ll let out.

This can’t be happening right now. Get a hold of yourself, Wynter.

“Now, touch me again and let’s see what happens,” he warns, yet instead of sounding like a threat, the humorous tone hidden under his breathy command makes it seem like he’s challenging me. Daring me to lay another hand on him.

I must still be suicidal because I don’t scream for help nor push back and run away from him. Bringing my hands up between us, I trail my shaky fingers up his chest, beneath the thin material of his t-shirt, and feel his hardened muscles against my fingertips.

“Like this,” I murmur, breathier than I’d planned, my eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses focused on his chest, afraid to meet his gaze. But it’s the way my voice comes out, barely a whisper able to escape me that has me trembling.

I can’t gauge his full reaction. His eyes are hidden behind dark Ray-Ban sunglasses, but his mouth twitches like he’s biting down from the inside. Probably trying to hold back from murdering me in plain sight.

It’s obvious the assholes got a temper. Lucky for him, there’s no one in sight.

Suddenly, the scene before me is all too familiar—the feel of Enzo’s body pressed against me as his hands roamed my body, still fresh in my mind. He’d never forced himself on me, not like he tried to last night, and the moment I’d refused him, he fell into madness.

Mystery man lets out another guttural groan, bringing me out of my wretched memories and back to the current dilemma I face. Right, it’s time to scream for help Wyn.

“Now get off me unless you want me to scream so loud that not only your eardrums burst, but all the glass windows in the building shatter to pieces.”

The fucker chuckles, tilting his head lower so his glasses slightly shift, exposing the clearest shade of green eyes I’ve ever seen. Eucalyptus, that’s the color. A grayish green shade with specks of blue marbled around the center of his irises. I swallow hard, almost forgetting what it is I just demanded he do, losing myself in the way his pupils dilate, consuming the green behind a dark cloud. The familiar green.

“Scream baby, I dare you.” Well, that’s not what I was expecting. “But first you’ll have to drop yours from mine.”

I look down at my hands flat against his chest and quickly drop them to my side, not realizing I was still touching him, my palms instantly missing the heat of his body, but he doesn’t drop his. A loud laugh comes from behind him, shifting his attention as he turns to see what’s happened. I take advantage of the distraction, thank God for those damn little kids, and lift my leg between us, ramming my knee into his groin.

Immediately he groans, hunching forward as he drops his hands to cup his prized jewels. Take that fucker. That’s what he gets for not recognizing me.

“Ugh. Fucking bitch,” he wheezes between staggered breaths.

I lean forward to meet him, cupping my hand around my ear and aiming it toward him. “A little louder, asshole. I didn’t hear you.” Of course, he doesn’t respond, still currently writhing in agony before me.

Deciding this was a mistake and that I’m done with this exchange, I stand up straight and damn fucking proud of myself as I turn to walk away, tossing my fake hair over my shoulder.

“Not so fast,” he calls out, chasing after me. Fear prickles my skin as he trails behind me, fury blazing in his eyes. Suddenly, I’m once again transported back to New York, flooded with vivid flashes of the time I spent running from him .

I run faster, as fast as I can in these goddamn heels, my breathing quickening as panic threatens to immobilize me.

“Run, Snow, as fast as you can. I will always find you.”

Enzo’s threat burns so fresh in my mind I can practically hear his shrill voice taunting me.

Before I can process what’s happening, he grabs me by my arm, yanking me down the hallway and through a door, slamming and locking it behind us. My back hits the door as he once again cages me against his body. This time my arms are up on either side of my head, held down by the force of his grip around my wrists.

Pain creeps up my spine. The hours I’ve spent on my feet are nearly too much to bear. “Let go of me,” I shriek as loud as humanly possible, but it only makes his tattooed fingers wrap tighter around me. Someone has to have seen him drag me in here. I’m going to be rescued.

“You think it’s okay to play little games and not be punished for them?” he mutters into the crook of my neck, rubbing the bristles of his beard along my skin.

“Please don’t…” My plea dies on my lips and I close my eyes as panic consumes me and once again my mind is transported back to my bedroom, flooded with memories of begging him not to touch me.

“So, you can hurt me, but I can’t touch you?” he asks, almost in disbelief, like he can’t fathom the reason this is not appropriate. I was the one who grabbed his arm first, but it was only because the asshole crashed into me and walked away, pretending like nothing had happened.

“I didn’t…You don't know who I am. I…”

He laughs, “Is that it? Are you the type of girl who has daddy throw money to make all her problems go away, Princess?”

Dread fills my entire body from my head to my toes. Princess . One simple word and my resolve comes tumbling down. He’s the only one determined to call me by that nickname. What the fuck is the matter with me? How can he not realize it’s me?

The scent of cinnamon and cigarettes tingles my nose as I breathe in deep. That’s when I know for a fact it’s him.

“Damon,” I whisper so low I’m not sure I’ve said it out loud.

Though he promptly answers my question, when he abruptly releases me, turning and walking away so fast, I catch nothing more but a glimpse of his shadow when I open my eyes. I find him across the room, leaning over a table, gripping the edge like he’s about to fall if he lets go.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, removing his sunglasses before looking back at me through the mirror on the wall in front of him.

The room is dark, all lights turned off and blinds closed shut over the windows. Pulling my own sunglasses down to the bridge of my nose, my breath hitches as I catch his reflection. Our eyes connect through the lighted mirror, and the last of my breath leaves my lungs as I watch realization consume him.

Green eyes diligently watching me, jet black hair slightly curling as it sneaks out of his beanie, and tattoos covering the entirety of his visible skin and trailing under his dark clothes.

Yet something about him looks different. The dark scruff along his chin is fuller, and although he’s always had the facial hair of a grown man, this time it’s overgrown like he hasn’t shaved in weeks. Add that to his unusual attire, a dark gray suit with a black overcoat, and he’s nothing like the man I knew who wore oversized sweatshirts and ripped jeans.

Recognition flares in his eyes but there’s still a certain air of hesitation, like if he were to reach out and touch me, I’d disappear. Like I’m nothing more than a figment of his imagination who’s come back to haunt him.

Obviously, I look different too. My platinum hair is disguised under this tacky black wig, but the flicker of realization in his eyes and the way his demeanor shifts, prove he knows it’s me.

“Damon,” I murmur once more, though not making a move either toward him or away. This is my chance to flee, to unlock the door behind me and take off after realizing how much of a mistake it was to come back here again, but the way his gaze holds mine keeps me frozen in place.

The iciness of my glare mixed with the blazing heat radiating from his deadly scowl is practically fogging up all the windows in the room. My eyes flicker back and forth around the room, and that’s when I notice it’s completely vacant.

Damon shifts toward me, taking four long strides before he’s once again pressed against me. “What the hell are you doing here, Wyn?” he asks, a mixture of anger and confusion heard in his daunting tone.

“I need your help,” I croak, instinctively brushing my fingers over the dark bruise I’m sure is forming along my cheek. It aches under my touch, and I flinch when his hand comes up to cover mine, his calloused fingertips tracing softly along my flesh and down to the dried blood on the edge of my lip where Enzo’s silver ring cut me.

His eyes crease and drop to my lips. “Tell me what happened, Princess?”

I turn away from him, unable to handle the tension currently building in the room around us and deep inside me at the way his demeanor shifted so suddenly. This isn’t what I came here for. I’m supposed to hold myself together, put up a front of a strong woman with nothing to hide, yet the first moment I run into him, I’m ready to spill out every secret. I’m seconds from falling apart in his hands.

I guess some things never change. Damon could always bring out the worst in me.

His stiff fingers grip my chin, turning me toward him, forcing me to meet his gaze. I open my eyes as he tilts my chin forward, pulling the sunglasses further off me. “Tell me why you’re here.”

My gaze drops to the collar of my coat, suddenly remembering what I’m hiding beneath it. What if he’s not willing to help me? What if he freaks out and turns me in instead?

I hadn’t considered the possibility he'd refuse to help me, turn me away, and throw me out on my ass for not speaking to him in over a year. Not to mention I’m almost one hundred percent sure he knows the attack on him was my fault.

What if he wants nothing to do with me once he learns what I’ve done?

Damon’s eyes follow mine and without warning he undoes the buttons of my coat, only unbuttoning the top two before he tears the coat open in one swift tug. The round, gold buttons clatter on the wood floor where they fall, echoing in the surrounding emptiness.

“Wynter, what the fuck?” he shouts, his eyes ablaze with a deep rage I’ve never seen before as he tugs the coat off my body, letting it fall in a pool of black wool at my feet. Bold eyes look me up and down, focusing on the dark red stains over my neck, chest, and stomach. It’s dried now but the stench of it makes him wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Are you injured?” he asks, suddenly realizing all this blood can only mean one thing.

“It’s not mine, not all of it,” I whimper, instantly regretting my decision to come here. What the hell was I thinking?

He lets out a sharp, almost maniacal laugh making my brows furrow at his response. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Embarrassed and unable to look him in the eye without the possibility of breaking down like a fucking lunatic, I take the opportunity he’s stepped away to grab my coat from the floor and throw it back on. I cross my arms across my chest, wrapping the coat around my body.

“You know what? Forget it. I don’t know why I even came here.”

Without warning, he turns abruptly, realizing I purposefully came to him. Did he really think I was just wandering outside his apartment in search of someone else?

“Why did you come here, Princess?”

A sharp pang of electricity rushes through me, down my spine and in between my legs at the sound of the word princess leaving his pursed lips. It always was one of my favorite things, because from him it didn’t sound like an insult but more of a term of endearment as opposed to those who previously referred to me as the Ice Princess .

But I shouldn't like it so much. “For starters, stop calling me that,” I blurt out, walking over to the window to my left, needing to put some distance between us. It’s like I’m suffocating, the scent of his cologne overwhelming my senses and making my entire being ache.

“Princess?” he asks confused, stepping up behind me and pulling the black wig off of my head, my white hair falling over my shoulders. He takes a strand of my hair that’s covered in dried blood and twirls around his fingers, his eyes meeting mine in our reflection on the glass in front of me. “What do you prefer I call you, Snow ?” he asks, looking down at the strand of white hair in his hand.

My body tenses as the word leaves his lips. There’s no way I’m letting him call me Snow. Not when Enzo has made it so that I tremble in anger and fear at the sound of it.

“Snow? Really, that’s the best you got?” I say, brushing off my genuine reaction as I pull out of his grasp.

“Well, you vetoed Princess, so…”

I turn to face him, shocked by how close he’s standing to me, my chest practically brushing against his. I inhale a sharp breath, causing a wicked smirk to appear over his lips. Running a hand through my hair, trying my best to calm the frizz caused by the synthetic costume wig, I look down at his lips before bringing my gaze back to his.

“You know Snow White is not only still a princess, but is named Snow because of her snow-white complexion, not her hair, which, by the way, is black.”

He chuckles, amused. “Well then, sounds to me you’re more the Wicked Witch type than a princess after all, Servite.”

I roll my eyes at how off topic we’ve gotten. This is wasting precious time, and time isn’t currently on my side. Someone must have found his body by now.

“Ugh, this is going nowhere,” I groan, stalking angrily toward the door, but he reaches an arm out, halting me in my tracks and pulling me toward him. His free hand comes up behind me and rests at the small of my back.

He leans forward, his lips a mere inch away from mine, allowing me to smell the liquor on his tongue. “Where’d you want it to go, Wyn?”

Instead of further complaining about his horrible, unoriginal choices in nicknames he’s determined to give me, I cut straight to the point. “I need somewhere to stay.”

And just like that, he releases me. “You really need to come up with a lame ass excuse to come and see me Wyn? I thought you were better than that.”

I stomp my foot in frustration, behaving like the goddamn spoiled brat he’s accused me of being in the past, but I can't help myself. This man has always brought out that side of me, constantly pushing me toward the edge of madness just to get a rise out of me and prove his point.

“It’s not an excuse, it's the truth,” I groan. “I need a place to crash for a few nights.”

His expression doesn’t change, and I’m not sure why it pisses me off so much. Why is he acting like we’re fucking strangers?

“Why?” he asks, taking a step forward.

I take one backward in response. “What do you mean, why?”

A small smirk appears on his face the second he notices my movement, taking another three strides my way. Without thinking, I pull my coat tighter, unable to fasten it since the buttons are lying scattered along the floor.

“I mean, why do you need somewhere to stay? What are you running from?”

“Nothing…”

“Bullshit,” he shouts, his gravelly tone awakening something strange inside of me. Fear, but not the kind I’ve dealt with the last few years. This is something entirely different, a pleasurable feeling. “There is blood soaking your clothes. Blood you just said isn’t yours. Not to mention you look like shit, Wynter. "

Ouch .

I shake my head, needing to get the hell out of here before my tired, frazzled brain confuses this situation and turns it into something it's not. There is no desire in his eyes, no lust when his eyes trailed over my body. It was a need for information, to know exactly why I was at his doorstep, covered in someone else’s blood.

“Look Damon, I need a shower, a change of clothes, and a fucking bed to lay my head down before it fucking explodes and makes a mess on your precious wooden floor. And I need you to not ask questions. I thought I could at least count on you for that.”

He laughs before his placid smirk settles back in place. “Look around, Princess,” he says with conviction. “Even if I believed you, there isn’t room for you here. I’m turning the keys in for the place today.”

I turn away from him, frustrated I’m still wasting time. “Forget it. I’ll just catch an Uber to a hotel.”

“Wait, Wyn,” he calls out and I halt, my hand on the doorknob. Relief washes over me when I realize he’s about to agree to help me.

But he doesn’t.

“At least let me give you a ride.”