Claim Me(166)

“I want to make love to you,” he says.

“Thank God,” I reply, which makes him laugh.

“But we can’t.”

I look up at him, suddenly afraid that I’ve been wrong and that he’s going to kick me out after all.

“I have to go meet with my attorneys.”

“Oh. Well, later?”

“Most definitely later. And for a very long time. But right now, would you come with me? I want you beside me when I meet with the lawyers.”

“Of course,” I say. “So does this mean I can stay?”

“You damn well better.” He slowly smiles, his eyes bright.

“What?” I say.

“I’m just hoping that you’re not a mirage.”

My smile widens. “I’m real.”

“Prove it,” he says, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the emerald ankle bracelet. I gasp. “Put it on,” he says.

“But how—”

“I went back,” he says, bending to fasten it around my ankle, the light brush of his finger against my skin sending shockwaves rippling through me. “I had to have you with me … even if only a talisman.”

“Damien.” My voice is choked, my heart too full.

He stands, then presses a finger to my lips. “Later. Say too much and we’ll never get out of here. I want you right now—but I can’t miss this meeting.”

I grin and follow him to the door, anticipating later.

He pauses at the threshold. “Just one more thing. When I said you could stay? What I meant to say was I love you.”

I’m looking right at him as he speaks, and his eyes are shining. My mouth curls up into a delighted smile, and I find myself laughing like a child.

So what that we’re facing a murder trial? Damien and I love each other.

And right now, that’s enough for me.





1


Fear yanks me from a deep sleep, and I sit bolt upright in a room shrouded with gray, the muted green light from a digital alarm clock announcing that it is just after midnight. My breath comes in gasps, and my eyes are wide but unseeing. The last remnant of an already forgotten nightmare brushes against me like the tattered hem of a specter’s cloak, powerful enough to fill me with terror, and yet so insubstantial that it evaporates like mist when I try to grasp it.

I do not know what frightened me. I only know that I am alone in an unfamiliar room, and that I am scared.

Alone?

I turn swiftly in bed, shifting my body as I reach out to my right. But I know even before my fingers brush the cool, expensive sheets that he is not there.

I may have fallen asleep in Damien’s arms, but I have awakened alone.

At least now I know the source of the nightmare. It is the same fear I have faced every day and every night for almost two weeks. The fear I try to hide beneath a plastic smile as I sit beside Damien day in and day out as his attorneys go over his defense in meticulous detail. As they explain the procedural ins-and-outs of a murder trial under German law. As they practically beg him to shine a light into the dark corners of his childhood because they know, as I do, that those secrets are his salvation.

But Damien remains stubbornly mute, and I am left huddled against this pervasive fear that I will lose him. That he will be taken from me.

And not just fear. I’m also fighting the damnable, overwhelming, panic-inducing knowledge that there isn’t a goddamn thing in the world I can do. Nothing except wait and watch and hope.

But I do not like waiting, and I have never put my faith in hope. It is a cousin of fate, and both are too mercurial for my taste. What I crave is action, but the only one who can act is Damien, and he has steadfastly refused.