Page 21 of Claimed By the Damned
The first guy scoffs. “Relax, man. Just making conversation.”
I take a step closer, forcing him to tilt his head up to meet my gaze. “She’s not interested.”
Lila makes a small, broken sound behind me. I don’t dare turn. I know that sound—she’s spiraling. This isn't just creeps harassing her. This triggers something deep in her past.
The guy’s smirk falters. Smart man.
He mutters something under his breath and backs off, his friend following.
I wait until they are gone before I turn to Lila. She is shaking, arms wrapped so tightly around herself her knuckles are white.
The look in her eyes—vacant, lost—it is the same look my brother sometimes got after Dad was done with him. The look of someone retreating so far inside themselves you weren't sure they could find their way back. And just like then, a fierce, almost savage, protectiveness surges through me.
“Lila.”
She doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t even flinch.
I reach out, hesitate, then settle for touching her wrist lightly. "Angel."
She jerks like I’ve burned her, sucking in a breath the moment the word leaves my lips. Her gaze snaps to mine, and for a second, recognition isn't there. Then something shifts. The panic recedes, just enough for awareness to flicker back.
“Ethan.”
“Yeah.” My voice is quiet. Steady. “You’re safe.”
Her throat works as she tries to swallow back everything threatening to spill out. “I—”
“It’s okay,” I say softly, cutting off whatever excuse or lie she was about to offer. Because she isn’t fine. Not even close. "Hey," I add, keeping my tone gentle but firm, "Let's just grab a few things for you from this last place quickly, alright? Then we head straight back to the house."
She exhales shakily, relief warring with the lingering panic in her eyes. For the first time since we left, she doesn’t argue or pull away. She just nods, a small, jerky movement.
Taking that as acceptance, I gently guide her toward the entrance of the store.
By the time we get back to the house, the weight of the day has settled over Lila. She isn’t clinging to herself as much, and she isn’t flinching at every passing shadow, but her exhaustion is plain. Physically and mentally.
I set the shopping bags down near the couch and turn to her. "Go lay down for a bit, Angel. I’ll come get you when dinner’s ready."
She hesitates for only a second before nodding. That alone feels like progress. No protest, no wary glances—just quiet acceptance. She turns and disappears down the hall, shutting the door behind her.
When I turn back, Bastian and Ryker are both watching me.
Bastian’s brow furrows. "Okay… what the hell was that?"
Ryker crosses his arms, eyes narrowing. "She didn’t argue with you. She didn’t fight you. That’s new."
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "She let me in today. Not all the way, but… more than before."
Bastian’s expression sharpens. "What happened?"
I lean against the counter, crossing my arms. "She held back when we found her."
Ryker’s posture stiffens, his green eyes darkening, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "What do you mean?"
"She’s hurt worse than we thought," I say quietly. "Her ribs… they’re bruised Badly. A few are probably broken."
The room goes silent, the air suddenly charged. Protecting those who can't protect themselves is core to the code we all live by, and the thought of someone deliberately harming Lila like this violates it on a fundamental level.
Ryker’s entire body goes rigid, his nostrils flaring as his fists clench. He thrives in chaos, but calculated cruelty against someone helpless? That ignites a different, colder fire in him. His own history with helplessness makes the injustice burn hotter. "That motherfucker—" he spits out, the word full of venom.
