“I guess you are,” I retorted, trying to mask my inner turmoil with an indifferent façade. My eyes scanned the garden, taking in the vibrant flowers and the intricate designs of the hedge mazes, anything to avoid looking directly at him and confronting the complex emotions he stirred. Because I’d be damned if I admitted anything to him.
I remained seated on the cold stone bench, my posture stiff, every sense heightened and attuned to the environment and the man standing persistently before me.When will this bastard leave, already?I wanted to lock myself in my room and wallow. If only Elaria had Wi-Fi, I’d be binge watchingGrey’s Anatomy. Because no one’s life was worse than Meredith Grey and everyone else on that show.
Damien’s figure blocked the soft light of the sun, his long shadow falling across the pebbled path leading to the garden. He watched me with an intensity that felt as palpable as the dew on the grass.
“Come have breakfast with me,” he suggested, his voice smooth, almost coaxing, yet tinged with an edge, a firmness that suggested it was less of an invitation and more of a directive.
I looked up at him, my gaze guarded. “I’m not hungry.” I hoped he would take the hint and leave me alone, but Damien was not one to give up easily, especially not today.
As I stood to leave, my stomach decided to grumble so loudly, I’m sure it could have been heard in the Southern District. I’d never wanted to stab myself more than in that moment. My body betrayed me in the worst way possible.Traitor.
Damien’s chuckle, both mirthful and chilling, halted me. “Cat, I didn’t realize I was asking. I promise that where I plan to take you, the food is far better than what you’ve had so far in Elaria. Besides, it’s just breakfast. Indulge me.”
“I’d rather slit my wrists,” I deadpanned, the irritation clear in my voice. When I turned away, Damien’s grip tightened on my arm. His touch was firm but not painful, effectively stopping me in my tracks.
“Cat,” he growled, his voice low and laced with frustration. “Please don’t test my patience. I’m just asking to share a meal, and you’re obviously hungry. There areotherthings we must discuss. Other vampire-related matters,” he urgently whispered.
The mention of vampires deflated my resolve. I had forgotten about the obligations that awaited me later that day. Today was the third Sunday of the month, and I was due to deliver another painting to the vampires tonight. The realization that I might still be entangled in these matters by nightfall weighed heavily on me.
“Fine,” I gritted between clenched teeth. “Breakfast. But after that, I want to be brought straight home and left alone. I don’t want to see you.” Because the good Lord only knew what would happen if we kept spending time together. I honestly didn’t even want to think about it.
He snorted dismissively. “We’ll see about that.”
A short carriage ride later,we arrived in front of Shuyan restaurant. The building appeared plain—a utilitarian, functional structure, but its size was imposing. It spanned two floors with ornate balconies adorning the second level, hinting at a grandeur that likely came to life under the evening lights. A line was already forming at the entrance, a testament to its popularity among the locals.
“It looks like it’ll be a while,” I murmured as we alighted from the carriage, nodding toward the crowd.
“It will be for them,” Damien agreed, his voice faintly softening. “But I always have a private room reserved on the third Sunday of every month when I’m on the mainland. Come on.” He took my hand and led me toward the restaurant.
As we approached, the rich aroma of spices wafted from the open windows, mingling with the morning air. Lively chatter and clinking dishes resonated from inside, inviting yet overwhelming in its intensity.
The entrance of Shuyan restaurant was framed by traditional wooden arches, intricately carved and polished to a gleaming shine. Burgundy velvet ropes cordoned off the line, and the buzz of anticipation from the waiting patrons filled the space. Damien led me past the queue, straight to the front where a host stood, greeting guests with practiced politeness.
The host recognized Damien and nodded, then removed the rope and allowed us inside. Damien didn’t need an escort as he knew which room to go to.
The interior was a blend of rustic charm and elegant decor. The walls were adorned with delicate tapestries and paintingsthat captured scenes of Elarian landscapes and historical moments. A trio of musicians played soft music that soothed the senses and added to the serene ambiance.
Our private room was upstairs, a secluded area that offered a view of the bustling street below through double doors that opened onto a small balcony. The space was furnished with a polished wooden table, cushioned chairs, and fine silverware place settings staged in anticipation of our meal.
As we settled in, the subtle scents of jasmine tea and fresh pastries filled the room. Buttery beams of sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, radiating a warm glow I felt deep in my bones.
Damien pulled out my chair with a flourish that felt oddly out of character, highlighting a side of him I wasn't accustomed to seeing. I hesitantly took a seat and picked up the faint scent of lemon polish used on the wooden frame. He then moved gracefully to the opposite side of the table and sat with an air of formality.
As he poured the tea, steam rose in gentle swirls, carrying with it the delicate aroma of bergamot and spices. I absently stirred the liquid, the clinking of the spoon against the cup filling the awkward silence between us. Despite the inviting smell, I knew I wouldn’t enjoy it—I still hadn’t developed a taste for tea.
“Talk,” I demanded sharply, breaking the calm. “You wanted me here to discuss the vampire issue, so let’s get it over with.”
Damien’s expression tightened momentarily. He took a measured sip of his tea, perhaps to gather his thoughts. After a brief pause, he set down his cup with a soft clink against the saucer. “My uncle infiltrated their compound. We know where the noblemen meet to watch the fight through the painting. You were right.”
“I knew it,” I grumbled, a mix of vindication and frustration threading my voice. “So what’s the plan, Superman?” I added, ahalf-hearted attempt at lightening the mood with a pop culture reference I knew would sail over his head.
As expected, Damien furrowed his brows, puzzled by the unfamiliar reference. “We’re going to burn it down,” he stated plainly, bringing the conversation back to the grim reality of our plan.
“The compound?” I clarified.
“And the fighting ring,” he added. “We’re pretty sure their money is also stored at the estate, so with one strategically placed blaze, we would destroy it all.”
“And no one will get hurt?” I asked, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. The gravity of the proposal made me pause. I needed to be sure of the consequences.
