DAMIAN’S POV
“My, my, Damian,” Astrid tutted, eyeing me with what an obtuse would have called sympathy but I knew to be poorly disguised amusement, “you’ve definitely seen better days.”
My knuckles blanched as I strangled the armrests, the leather protesting beneath my grip. “I did not come here to be mocked, Volker.”
She smirked, leaning back in her plush leather seat. “No, Rooke, you came here to hide.”
I gritted my teeth, struggling to keep my fangs from sliding out. The pressure was the only thing holding me together.
Hide. As if I were prey. As if I were a child cowering under the bed, terrified of imaginary monsters.
Except my monsters weren’t imaginary.
No, Kieran and Seraphina Blackthorne were real—as real as the scent of cardamom and vanilla that had clung to Seraphina on that cursed island—and they’d stolen from me and driven me underground like a fucking rat.
