Page 46 of Dragonfly

Let’s put it out there. We’re almost at the week mark since my life got flipped upside-down. And apart from the flash of temper he showed after my escape attempt, he’s been nothing but cordial. He’s been kind.

And, damn it, he’s been seductive.

Is this Damien’s way of getting back at me for how I made it seem like I was into him so I could steal his knife? For a split second there, even I’d admit there was a spark… some chemistry even… before my revenge list popped into my brain and I remembered in the next instant who I am—now—and why I was as close to him as I got.

I’ve run that altercation in the alley over and over again. Hundreds of times since I’ve been basically trapped in Damien’s manor. I don’t doubt that he was attracted to the vibes I was giving off. But after I stabbed him?

The crazy bastard seemed even more attracted…

How else can I explain the way he’s treated me since. With fresh stitches in his side, he would’ve fucked me that same night if I didn’t refuse. The fact that I did and he didn’t push it? That sex owuldn’t have been a punishment, not like the way I thought of him fucking my mouth. It would’ve been because getting stabbed was like foreplay for him, and since I was the one wielding the knife, Damien Libellula locked on me.

But it’s only been a week. To my shock, he’s done everything he could to make me feel comfortable here. Mainly because the mafia leader one hundred percent means it when he says that he won’t allow me to leave him. If I’m his prisoner, at least I’m a well-treated one.

Consider I tried to assassinate him? I should be lucky he hasn’t just gotten sick of me, summoned Vin, and left him to it.

I haven’t seen the big guy since since that first night. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, either. Now that I have a tracker in my arm, it’s not like I need to be guarded, right? And if he’s still pissy over Damien’s stab wound, oh well. Damien doesn’t seem to care.

Oh, no. Because my ‘husband’ has finally caught on to the fact that I’m amazed by the body he hides beneath his suits, he spends more time parading around our room both before and after his share than is good for my mental health. He preens like a fucking peacock—and it works. I can’t deny I find him good-looking, and when he checks his stitches and changes his bandages, looking at the slowly healing wound with something that might shockingly be pride, I don’t know how I feel.

So I do what I did when shit got rough in prison. I shut down, keep my mouth shut, and just try to survive.

Having Orion near helps. Being able to finally shower, brush my teeth, and change into fresh clothes helps even more. I know this can’t last. One way or another, something has to give. I can’t spend the rest of my life in Damien Libellula’s bedroom, even if he sees that as a just punishment for my attempted murder on him.

In the end, it’s because of Orion that I finally get the nerve to leave the room. After two days of him exploring every corner of the bedroom, my curious cat finally figures out that the door to the bedroom is different from the one in my apartment. At the apartment, he knew better than to leave so he rarely scratched at that door.

Here? Because of Damien comings and goings, plus his staff coming in to bring food or make his bed or put the grown man’s laundry away, the single brain cell in my orange and white cat’s head flares as he discovers that there’s more to this place than this one room.

And once he does, he wants to explore out there.

Since I’d rather not see Orion scratch the shit out of Damien’s fancy wood door—or have my ‘husband’ tell me how I can make it up to him since I sure as hell can’t pay for any damage—I open the door. He bolts, I chase, and the rest is history.

It didn’t take me long before I saw my mistake. Damien warned me away from the first floor by mentioning that Vin resides down there, but he was very clear: the third floor is off-limits. And where does Orion go as soon as my fluffy idiot as free rein of the house?

Right up the stairs to the third floor.

I can’t let him. Music is filtering down from upstairs, and during one of the dinners Damien insisted we share, he let slip that his sister is a professional dancer. Her studio is kept on the third floor, and when I hear music, it means she’s rehearsing.

Here’s hoping that she can’t hear me running up the stairs, hissing my cat’s name over the sound of?—

Shit.

The music turns off the exact moment that Orion reaches the landing.

“Orion! Get over here.”

He looks behind him at me, sees I’m chasing, and decides it’s a game. I swear, he has a grin on his face, whiskers twitching, before he starts to run down the hall.

Orion, you asshole.

On the plus side, he doesn’t get that far—but that’s the downside. Because, just as he’s about to dash past an open doorway, someone comes walking out of it.

It’s a stranger. Orion’s gotten used to Damien being in our space—because, to my cat, that room is our space—but he wasn’t expecting someone else to move in front of him.

Especially not someone who looks down, squeals, and immediately drops to pet him.

Orion hisses, batting at the air because he’s not a bad boy who’ll actually scratch a human.

The girl laughs. “Nice to meet you, too.”

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