Master of Death (Hollow #2)

CHAPTER 17

Damon left.

The scent of his cologne lingered this morning, but he wasn’t there.

When I arrive at work, I feel better than the last few days.

Maybe because I all but remember him telling me he wouldn’t touch another woman. It gives me hope. Hope that there’s still an us. Hope that we can overcome this.

The entire day goes by, and he doesn’t show up. I text him, asking if everything is okay, but he doesn’t answer.

Which is why I drive to his house, to ensure he’s okay. When Damon lets me in and I see that he’s drunk, a glass dangling from his hand, real fear grips my insides.

This is exactly what ruined us last time—drunk Damon. When I’m under the influence, I want him closer to me, while Damon prefers pushing me away.

Still, I’m not here for a fight. I just want to make sure he’s all right, then I’ll leave.

He already left me. What more can he possibly do or say?

“What? I can’t have one day off?” He shakes his head, a bitter laugh resonating from him. “If I recall, you were high last night—with another man .”

“Damon. What’s wrong?”

I walk to his living room and remove my coat, throwing it over the couch. He hungrily eyes my black leather skirt, tipping his head back to pour the rest of the amber liquid in his mouth while I sit on the couch.

Then he takes the glass and chucks it against the wall, far away from me.

What the hell . . .

The glass breaks in several pieces, and something that looks a lot like regret passes through his beautiful eyes.

“That fucking bitch !” He clutches his hair as if he’s hoping it’ll calm the storm bristling through him. He looks lost. So, so lost.

And I don’t know if he wants to be found tonight.

“I loved her ... and she cheated on me!”

Tears brim in the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill. I keep it together, forcing myself to stay rooted on the couch. I can’t provoke him, can’t invade his space, or he’ll push me further away.

So, I settle for listening.

His chuckling hits me right in the center of my core. “The baby wasn’t mine.”

What?

I hadn’t read about a baby in her diary. When his eyes finally dart to mine, he answers my silent question. “There’s another journal, but you won’t read that one.”

I was right. The purple journal is hers too.

“Okay,” I murmur.

“It’s not okay. None of this is okay.” He drops to the floor on bent knees.

“Did you ... did you know she was pregnant?”

When his eyes leave the safety of his arms, I see the pain in them. “Sutton told me. The first time she came to the office and we left together ... that’s when she told me. But as it turns out, Palmer lost the baby, and it wasn’t mine.”

That was the weeknight he was drunk. The night he ended our affair.

I move over to sit on my knees next to him, my hands tucked underneath to make sure I don’t touch him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” He rubs his eyes. “You probably wanted me to find out, didn’t you? To tarnish my memory of her.” I shake my head, but he grabs my arm, hauling me into his lap. “Well, mission accomplished, Gemma,” he whispers in my ear. “Why did you come? You want to get fucked?” His cruelty taints each word coming out of his mouth.

“Damon, stop.”

“Stop what? You don’t want me to finger you?” In the swiftest of motions, he pushes my skirt up and moves my thong aside, doing just that. “How are you always wet for me, baby?” He closes his eyes like he’s taking it in.

When he presses on my clit, a whimper passes through my lips, rumbling in Damon’s mouth when he kisses me.

Finally.

All week I’ve been thinking of being in his arms, of experiencing the magic through his kiss.

“You fucked with my memories of her,” Damon says in my ear right as I’m about to reach my peak. “I can fuck you, but you’ll never have my trust again.”

The darkness of his words chills me. I push away from him, stopping mid-orgasm.

“You don’t have to be disrespectful.”

“You shouldn’t have gone through my shit,” he says through gritted teeth.

I hate that he cares this much for her still. He’ll never let her go the way I can let Harvey go. “Just last week you asked me to move in with you! Did you even mean it?” I kneel back down, my hands holding his arm, seeking an answer. “Damon, answer me.” I cradle his cheeks in my hand.

“Doesn’t. Fucking. Matter. Gemma.”

“Yes, it does—”

“I’m so mad at you.”

“That’s okay,” I whisper. “I deserve it.”

When he stays silent, I tell him, “She spoke of you like you were a monster.”

It’s like I punched him in the stomach. His brow arches, his lips thin, and his jaw looks ready to break in half.

I listen to the smooth timbre of his voice as his eyes widen with his reply. “And I tried to be the nice guy with her.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

Suddenly my back hits the ground as he mounts me, our bodies facing the fireplace.

“You don’t try to tame me.” His hand wraps around my neck.

“You’re only a monster when you drink too much,” I say, my words carrying through the room.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He leans forward. “I’m a monster with or without a drop of alcohol.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should. If you knew, Gemma, baby, if only you knew.”

He might as well have.

I repeat Sutton’s words about Damon’s link to Palmer’s death.

What did he do ?

“You always see the worst in yourself,” I say, desperate for self-reassurance.

His sharp laugh breaks me a little. “You’re biased. You always have my back.”

“So then trust me, Damon. Please .” I give my hips a little shove, moving against him. “I love you so, so much.”

Pain crosses his eyes.

“I love you. Move in with me.” He unzips his pants, and in one thrust he’s inside me. “I’m so fucking mad at you , but I’ll always want you.”

His bottle of liquor finally forgotten, he turns to my body instead to chase away the agony. I hope he’s not thinking of her. I hope he loves me and wants me more than he wanted her.

I know I should stop. Comparing myself to a ghost will guarantee a lifetime of disappointment. If only I could help it. If only I weren’t grabbing on to his words telling me how much more we mean to each other.

More than anyone else.

We don’t rest until we’re both spent. We finish one after the other, and he leans down, leaving a trail of kisses near the cum skimming down my sex. “This thing between us. It terrifies me, Red.” Another kiss. “I’m so scared of losing you too.”

Then he cradles me in his arms, holding me so close it’d be impossible to escape, even if I dared.

“The only way you’ll lose me is if you keep pushing me away.”

“Come live with me.”

I don’t answer him. I let his request waver through the silent night. I hold on to the brilliant side of me that tells me not to be an idiot after he left me. Again. That Damon only opens up when he’s bottles-deep in hard liquor.

My heart, though? It’s soaring higher than the sky. And it wants to live with him.

Forever be his.

We fall asleep embracing each other near the fire, with his past a looming shadow we can’t escape.

It’s Friday today.

And I don’t want to leave Damon’s home. I don’t want to go to work.

Not when Damon holds me tight near his fireplace. Not after what he told me last night.

I’ve been staring at him, deciding whether I should move in with him or not. I want to—but should I?

This is where I want to be.

In Damon’s arms.

Forever.

But how long until he fully accepts that?

I want to shut down my qualms, remind them that this man, who not long ago only wanted to sleep with me, now wants to live with me.

He’s committed to us even if his fears keep us away from time to time.

When Damon wakes, confusion suffuses his stare as he takes notice of where we are. “I’m sorry,” he says, and caresses my cheek. “You don’t deserve my anger.”

“You’re grieving. It takes time. You should talk about it.” I don’t pressure him when he shuts his eyes, massaging his neck.

I silence every tiny seed of doubt that objects to me moving in with Damon and I jump headfirst.

“Okay.”

He opens his eyes and lifts his head. “Okay what?”

“I’ll move in with you, Damon. Don’t make me regret it.” The most wonderful thing happens when he gives me the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. I’m melting in his arms as he squeezes me tight before stealing a kiss, deepening it as the seconds tick by.

I tug on his hair, bringing him closer to me, dying to pour the love I feel for him through our joined lips.

“Fuck, I thought it was Saturday,” he says when we break apart. “You should stay home and pack.” His hand wanders down to my ass, and he gives it a light smack. “I want you moved in this weekend.”

“This weekend? What’s the rush?”

“I want you with me.” We’re both quiet before he speaks again. “You know it won’t always be easy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

I’ll always love him though. That won’t ever change. Which is why I’m moving in with him. It won’t matter if I wait a week, a month, a year, a decade.

I could see myself loving Damon—flaws included—for the rest of my life.

Loving Damon is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. It’s easy like a breeze rustling the tree leaves, like the ocean waves crashing against the shore. It’s natural chemistry that forms a tight bond I hope never severs.

I wish to always love him the way I do now.