Page 57 of Aine

“Calm down, Aine. Why don’t you take the binder off my desk?” he whispers, inching us forward a few steps. “You can take it with you. I won’t look.”

I nod, the blinding panic I felt after he dropped the files on his desk shifting into remorse and embarrassment.

Damien scoots us closer to his desk, his movements slow as he attempts to keep me calm.

He’s going to snatch the binder out of my hand the second I release him. My peaceful argument is no longer valid after having just attempted to attack him, and my backup plan of running to Alex won’t work when I’m unable to even leave Damien’s office.

I begin to panic as the knowledge that I’m stuck between only shitty outcomes cements itself inside of me. It’s that thought alone that drives me to jerk and bite down.

The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, signaling I’ve broken the skin. I open my mouth and release him at the exact moment his knees buckle. My arms flail in an attempt to catch myself as his weight drops on my back, his hand landing painfully on top of mine as he also reaches out to catch us. The room is dead silent as Damien unwraps his arm from my belly and steps away.

“You fucking…fuck!” he shouts.

I spin and jerk away just as he moves to grab me once more. His face is red and full of anger as he snatches my wrist and yanks me into his chest. I cry out as I stumble and smack my face into his hard body.

“What the fuck, Aine?”

The tears in my eyes make everything blurry as I try to push away from him. He releases me just as quickly as he grabbed me, his actions sporadic as he struggles to settle on an emotion.

I back up against his desk and watch as he lifts his arm and begins inspecting the mark.

He uses his good arm to wipe away the saliva and blood, revealing an already healed scar. Every tooth, from my molars to my canines, was able to dig in enough to puncture the skin, but there’s a clear gap where my front teeth weren’t able to.

“You didn’t even do a good job,” he grumbles, tilting his arm in different directions so he can see at it from every angle. “It looks like you’ve mauled me.”

I can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by my inability to leave an adequate mark, but I don’t dwell on that as I eye the door. Is he distracted enough that I can slip away?

Taking a slow inhale, I tentatively step around him. He doesn’t seem to notice, his attention tied to the mark I left on him. Despite his complaints, the bond between us says something different. He’s excited, the emotion leaking through before Damien realizes what he’s doing and it once more vanishes.

Damien continues to insult my work as I inch closer to the door. The binder still sits on his desk, ready to be viewed at any moment, but it’s too risky to grab it.

“I know you killed your husband.” He huffs as I reach for the handle.

My hand freezes midair. He’s still not paying me any attention, his arm inches from his face as he pokes at my mark. I stiffen, feeling pleasure every time he makes contact with it. Can he feel whenever I touch mine?

“I looked before calling you to my office,” he continues, finally looking at me. He gestures for me to sit. “I was hoping you’d admit to it, though.”

He lowers himself into the chair I was in earlier, a quiet sigh slipping from his lips as he reaches over and grabs the binder. I glance at the door one last time, my chest deflating as I realize he locked it. It would take a few seconds to unlock, and he’d no doubt catch me before I’m even able to get it open.

“Sit, Aine,” Damien orders, his voice firm.

Tensing, I clench my hands into fists and make my way to the empty chair next to him. My mark on his arm is barely visible as he flips through the binder, but it’s definitely there.

I’ll admit the placement is less than ideal. It’s right in the crook of his elbow and will probably press against his bicep whenever he folds his arm. It’ll be an adjustment for him to learn how to move without triggering it.

He watches me as I evaluate the small bite, his expression unreadable.

“Do you want to see it?” he asks.

I shake my head, uninterested in getting an up-close look at the mark further tying us together. I already regret doing it, but maybe now his beast will push him to be lenient with me.

I hurry to defend myself. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

Damien hums, his face flat as he mulls over my words. He doesn’t say anything before returning his attention to the binder. I assume he’s reading what’s written about me, and I watch intently for any sort of reaction.

“Care to elaborate?” he eventually asks.

“Henry came home drunk. He was trying to hold me down so he could try for another child.” My voice trickles out as I crane my neck in an attempt to read what’s written on the paper Damien’s fact-checking my story with. He’s quick to notice and adjusts his hold so I can no longer see the words.

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