Page 61 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
“Lilith,” he called after her, his voice laced with amusement. “Wait.”
She ignored him, her pace quickening as she rounded a corner, her destination unclear. But before she could decide where to go, Damon caught up with her, his hand closing gently around her arm.
“If ye’re so eager to get away, ye might as well head to me chambers,” he purred, his smirk deepening. “That is where we’re goin’, after all.”
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Lilith’s eyes flashed with defiance at his revelation, and without thinking, she turned on her heel and strode toward his chambers, her skirts swishing angrily with every step. She could hear his soft laughter behind her, and it only fueled her irritation.
Ach, he’s really enjoyin’ this, that nay good… sorry… daft… brute!
Her thoughts punctuated each furious step she took.
When they reached his room, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, her movements sharp and deliberate. Damon followed, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
He leaned casually against the bedpost, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched her pace the room. “Ye’re in quite the mood tonight,” he remarked, his tone light.
She spun around to face him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Do ye have any idea how infuriating ye can be?” she demanded.
He arched an eyebrow. “Infuriating? How so?”
“Ye embarrassed me back there,” she hissed, her voice rising slightly. “In front of Ryder.”
Damon’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of Ryder, and he pushed off the bedpost, his arms falling to his sides. “And why does it matter what Ryder thinks?”
“Because it does!” she snapped, her frustration boiling over.
He took a step closer, his gaze steady. “Is there somethin’ I need to ken about the two of ye?”
Her eyes widened in shock, and her indignation flared. “What? Nay! Of course nae!”
“Then why are ye so worked up?” he asked, his tone calm but probing.
“Ryder is like the braither I was never so lucky to have. He’s been through unimaginable things with me and Willow and… Magnus. Stop bein’ jealous of something that is of yer own imagination, Damon Aragain!”
“So, ye never kissed him like the way Willow kissed Tristan?” Damon fired back.
Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. She was too flustered, too caught off guard by his question and the implications behind it.
Damon’s expression shifted to nonchalance, though his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her. “It doesnae matter to me either way,” he added, his voice low. “Ye are mine now.”
The statement hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Lilith stared at him, her mind racing as she tried to process his words. She wanted to argue, to deny the claim he had just made, but the conviction in his voice left her momentarily speechless.
Before she could gather her thoughts, Damon closed the distance between them. His hand brushed against her arm, his touch light but enough to make her shiver.
“Ye could have gotten yerself killed,” he said, his tone softer now but still tinged with frustration.
His gaze dropped to the bandage on her arm, and he reached out to gently trace his fingers over it.
The tenderness of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she closed her eyes briefly, overwhelmed by the sensation.
“I’m sorry,” she offered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was only tryin’ to protect ye.”
“That’s nay excuse,” he grunted. “Ye need to listen to me, Lilith. Ye cannae just throw yerself into danger like that. I dinnae need protection—yedo.”
Lilith’s eyes narrowed. “But I managed to protect ye, did I nae?” she argued.
