Chapter 8
"He's asleep, sir," Sylvie whispered, stepping away from the bed. "He was entirely exhausted. The adrenaline wore off the moment his head hit the pillow."
Damon stood up slowly, the tension returning to his broad shoulders. He walked over to Sylvie, stopping just a few feet away. His cold, perceptive eyes searched her softly rounded face.
"How long have you known what she did?" Damon asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the quiet nursery.
"He only told me a week ago, sir," Sylvie answered, her voice barely a whisper. "He woke up from a nightmare screaming. When I went in to calm him, he just kept repeating that Coralie's hands were on her back. I didn't know if it was just a bad dream or a memory. But when she reached for him tonight... the sheer terror in his eyes confirmed it."
"Did you consider the danger you were putting yourself in by crossing her in front of the entire commission?" Damon asked, the extremely short stubble on his jaw catching the lamplight.
"I only considered that he was terrified," Sylvie said, her expressive brows drawing together. "I couldn't walk away from that."
"Do you realize you are the only reason my wife's murder will not go unpunished?" Damon asked, his gaze intensifying, a dark, terrifying warmth bleeding into his cold eyes.
"I just did what anyone should have done," Sylvie breathed, her heart fluttering wildly at his proximity.
"Have you met many people in my world who do what they should, Sylvie?" Damon inquired. He reached out, his refined, tattooed hand hovering for a fraction of a second before he gently tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core. Sylvie swallowed hard, looking up at his angular face. The danger surrounding them was absolute, but the safety she felt in his presence was undeniable.
Before Damon could offer another question, the heavy, encrypted radio clipped to his belt crackled to life with sudden, violent static.
"Boss?" Marcus's gruff voice called out over the comms. "We have a major situation at the front gates."
Damon did not flinch. He slowly pulled his hand away from Sylvie’s face, his posture instantly shifting back into that of a wartime commander.
"Are the Voss convoys already here, Marcus?" Damon asked into the radio.
"Yes, sir," Marcus reported, his voice tight with tension. "It's Victor Voss himself. He has thirty heavily armed men with him. He is demanding you hand over his daughter immediately, or they breach the walls."
Sylvie gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. The war had arrived faster than anyone anticipated.
"Will you wait here and lock the door behind me?" Damon asked, looking back at Sylvie.
"You can't go down there!" Sylvie pleaded in a harsh whisper. "They will kill you!"
"Do you think an army of cowards can break a fortress built by kings?" Damon asked softly, turning toward the heavy oak door.
"Will you come back?" Sylvie asked, her voice cracking with sudden, overwhelming emotion.
May you like
Damon paused with his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at the beautiful housemaid guarding his sleeping son.
"Have I ever failed to protect what belongs to me?" Damon asked, before slipping out into the hallway and walking toward the war.
