Page 37 of Exile
"Hello wife."
My eyes snap open, flinging myself upright so quickly that my tailbone rubs uncomfortably against the thin mattress.
There's no mistaking it, not a single doubt that I'm imagining the voice that came from the shadows.
"Damon?" I ask warily, pushing to my feet.
Well, this is going to be awkward if the shadow evaporates when I reach the corner. But as I approach, a more solid outline comes into view.
My hands brush against a tall frame, body jerking slightly from my touch. But I feel it—soft padding like a bandage on his torso.
It's him.
Damon lets out a grunt as I throw my arms around him, squeezing his body in a tight hug. Hands snake around my back and I bury my face into his chest.
"You're back," I mutter into his shirt.
"You seem surprised," he teases. "You were told, weren't you?"
Laughing quietly in relief, I shake my head. "Yeah. I'm just so glad to see you."
The faint smell of lemons hits me and I recognize it as the cheap hospital soap. It doesn't feel like he's in the usual Lilydale attire, probably gifted with new clothing like I was. My fingers trace the outline of a zipper—a hoodie I suspect—and when they reach the bottom of the material, grazing against his lower abdomen, he grabs my hand gently.
"I can't leave you alone for five minutes apparently," he says, indicating my current predicament.
"I was overdue for a trip to solitary confinement," I joke dryly. "Blame Whitface."
Damon hums in agreement. "Yes, I've been informed of the situation. You stabbed him."
Amusement coats his tone, and I almost recoil at the perplexing feeling of pride I feel. That can't be a normalreaction—what type of sick person has a praise kink over stabbing someone?
Well, obviously Grey would. That man and his strange stabbing kink. Part of me jokingly wonders if he was jealous that I didn't stabhiminstead. He's been literally begging for it since day one.
"He deserved it," I answer. "Wanted me to sign an annulment."
"I thought you would have run from me at the first possible opportunity."
I link our hands. "You said you'd just chase me if I did."
"That I did," he agrees fondly. "But I suspect you'dwantme to catch you."
"Always," I breathe out, pushing up on my tippy-toes to find his lips.
When our mouths touch, suddenly solitary confinement is the least of my thoughts. He tastes exquisite, my body bursting with excitement and energy that Damon is right in front of me.
Alive.
In perfect Damon fashion, he takes control, gripping me tight around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His tongue demands entrance, and I give it without hesitation.
I'm on the verge of climbing him like a tree when I remember his wound, pulling back. "Does it still hurt?"
He lets out a disgruntled sound at the sudden breakage, hands yanking me forward again until I'm pressed against him. "Stop worrying about it for a minute and just kiss me."
I don't need to be told twice, though I am planning to circle back to the pain discussion at a later time. Whether or not Damon admits it, he went through a lot. And even him, with his Superman powers, isn't immune to bullet wounds. But he has Grey to protect him, even if Damon insists he's fine.
I wouldn't put it past Alexander to try to take advantage of his weakened physical state. But we have a whole goddamn circus of survivors to defend our territory.
My tongue presses against his as my body pushes up as I try to hold my balance. I hate that we're in the dark, and I have a million more questions for him, but right now… this is perfect.
