Page 17 of Sticks & Serpents

As I drove through familiar streets lit by streetlamps casting warm glows on dark pavement, each turn led me further away from chaos—but also deeper into dread. The looming shadows of uncertainty filled every crevice of my mind as thoughts spiraled around Logan’s safety and Damien's unpredictable nature.

I had to breathe through it all—just get home and regroup before facing whatever came next.

I finally pulled into the driveway, relief flooding my senses as I parked the car. The familiar surroundings wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Here, the world felt safe, cocooned from whatever chaos swirled outside these walls.

But just as I settled into that moment of peace, my phone buzzed against the console, shattering the stillness. My heart lurched as I grabbed it, hoping for a message from Logan—a sign that he was okay.

Instead, I found a text from an unknown number.

You’re going to regret that smile, little lamb.

Everything inside me turned cold. The breath caught in my throat as I stared at those words, pulse pounding in my ears like a drum.

Damien.

He knew. He planned this.

Panic rushed through me like ice water. I sank back against the seat, staring at the screen with disbelief and dread pooling in my stomach. My mind raced through all the moments that had led to this—his mocking wave at the rink, how easily he had shifted from playful to predatory in an instant.

I should be afraid.

But as fear clawed at my chest, I felt something else stir beneath it—a twisted sense of thrill mixed with dread. My heart pounded not just from fear but from a recognition of Damien's power over me. The intensity of his presence ignited a strange response deep within me that both terrified and intrigued me.

Why was I feeling this way?

I forced myself to take slow breaths, grounding myself in reality. This was not just some game; this was serious. He could do anything now—cross lines that shouldn’t be crossed because he was Damien Sinclaire, and he had always been unpredictable.

A rush of nausea churned in my gut as I imagined him lurking just outside my line of sight, waiting for his moment to strike.

And yet...

I couldn't shake the unease that settled like a weight on my chest—not entirely fear but something darker and more complex swirling beneath it all. It felt like stepping into shadows that danced on the edge of light—familiar yet foreign—and it unsettled me even more than Damien’s words ever could.

With trembling fingers, I typed out a reply but hesitated before hitting send. What did I want to say? Did it even matter?

Instead, I deleted the text and forced myself to go inside.

I didn't want to think about Damien or how he made me feel. It was too dangerous.

Chapter6

Damien

The text came through at 8 AM sharp.

Report to the dean’s office immediately.

I tossed my phone on the bed and laughed. Of course, Logan Hartley couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He’d run to the dean, squealing like a rat caught in a trap. I could picture him sitting there, all bruised and pathetic, trying to paint me as the villain.

But I didn’t give a fuck.

I stretched out, took my time getting ready. The morning sunlight filtered through the window, spilling across my floor like liquid gold. I glanced at myself in the mirror—silver-blond hair tousled just right, stormy blue eyes glaring back with that familiar intensity.

I pulled on a black hoodie and some worn jeans, relishing the feeling of rebellion against whatever bullshit awaited me. With a quick glance at the clock, I headed out without rushing.

I pushed through the kitchen door, craving the bitter bite of coffee to jolt me awake. But then I froze, my entire body tensing at the sight of her.

My mother.

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