"Damian Fairchild?"
She shot up in bed, the terror from her nightmare not yet fully faded.
The corners of her eyes were flushed red, and the depths of her pupils reflected the figure of Damian Fairchild walking toward her.
He was dressed all in black—a black shirt, black pants, and a long black overcoat. An invisible pressure seemed to emanate from him as he approached.
Seraphina Quinn saw her own disheveled reflection in his eyes, along with something else she couldn't decipher.
"What... what are you doing here?"
Damian Fairchild's gaze lingered on the bite mark on her neck.
It was a deep purple, the teeth marks were deep, and it was clear the bite had drawn blood.
"Something this serious happened, and you didn't call me?" His voice was low and strained, heavy with some suppressed emotion. "If I hadn't come, were you just not going to tell me?"
And that was, in fact, exactly what Seraphina Quinn had planned.
