Chapter 4
CELINE
“Who’s ready for turkey?” I say, carrying the tray into the dining room.
Mom and Dad are spending Christmas in Australia this year, but they still decorated their whole house before leaving—glitter, garlands, and enough Christmas cheer to blind a sane person.
I set the turkey down as Mom, Dad, and Julian cheer. Dad carves as I sit down, a warm glow filling my chest. The warmth dims when my thoughts slip to Damian, to the quiet library I found, to the way he smiled as if it hurt.
Then after… the way it vanished. The darkness underneath. He looked like he hated himself for being human for even one second.
“So, how’s work, Julian?” Mom asks as we tuck into our meals.
“Good, good,” Julian mutters, looking down at his plate.
Julian “works in private security,” which is the line we give our parents and the line they accept without question.
They adore him too much to imagine anything darker.
But I’ve seen more than they have—the late-night disappearances, the tension in his jaw, the guilty glances.
Maybe “vibes” isn’t scientific, but a sister knows.
And I never pushed. School, residency, shifts—it was always easy to pretend I didn’t see the cracks. Until Damian blew them open.
It’s just that I’ve never been brave enough to do anything about it. Plus, I’ve been busy with school and now with work.
That was before he dragged me into his world.
I push all of that away and focus on the here and now. That warm glow spreads through me when Mom starts singing me praises. “I always knew you were going to be a kick-ass nurse, Celine. I knew it ever since you were a little girl.”
I smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
If only I could stop nursing suspicion instead of patients.
“Do you hate us for disappearing for Christmas?” Mom asks, seeming genuinely concerned. “I know how much you love this holiday.”
“I want you both to enjoy yourselves,” I say, and I mean it.
Still, maybe everything with Damian feels heavier because they aren’t here. Christmas has always been a family thing—and now there’s this broody, complicated man taking up too much space in my head.
There he is, popping up in my head again.
Once we’re done eating, I pack up some leftovers, hug Mom and Dad, then walk out to my car.
“How is he?” Julian asks quietly outside, snowflakes catching on his shoulders like tiny white warnings. He looks neat again—always neat—which makes the memory of him torn and bloodied at The Crow feel even stranger.
“He’s your friend,” I say. “Ask him yourself.”
“I’ve been busy,” he replies defensively.
“With work?” I snap.
He flinches. “Yes, Celine, with work. Is there a problem with that?”
“I don’t know how he is,” I mutter. “I don’t know him.”
In the car, the moment Damian took the book from my hand flashes through my mind—the heat, the spark—and the terrifying possibility that he felt it too.
Snow thickens as I drive. I should go home. I should. But my hands steer toward Damian’s street anyway. I try to call it autopilot. It isn’t. A few minutes later, I’m parked outside his house.
It’s still difficult to believe how luxurious that big house is inside. The windows are almost black with grime. The garden is an overgrown jungle, and the path is all broken brickwork and clawing weeds. A fortress pretending to be ruins.
Maybe just like him? Gruff and dangerous on the outside, but warm and bright on the inside? That might just be wishful thinking.
No, no, no.
Wishful thinking? Why would I wish for him to be bright on the inside?
I grip the steering wheel and lean back, taking slow, even breaths.
It’s time to be honest with myself. I didn’t drive here by accident. Autopilot wasn’t something I went into. I came here because Damian is interesting to me. I like his broodiness. I enjoy earning his smiles and laughs.
Am I being pushy, being weird? We haven’t exchanged phone numbers, and he hasn’t given me any indication he wants me to return. He only let me decorate because I refused to leave it. Suddenly, I feel like the world’s biggest idiot.
If he wants nothing to do with me, I should just go—
A loud knock on the window jolts me from my thoughts.
I turn to find a big, bearded man glaring at me through the glass. He gestures for me to roll down the window.
I do so just an inch, enough to hear him but not enough for him to try any funny business.
“Yes, can I help you?” I ask.
He takes a step back as if to give himself more room to glare at me.
“Do you know the person who lives there?” He points his thumb over his shoulder at Damian’s house.
Before I can even formulate a response, he goes on.
“If you do… which you seem to, sweetheart. I saw you here the other day. And you’re parked up outside the place. So that seems reasonable, right?”
“I’m sorry, but could you please lower your voi—”
“It’s a simple question,” he grunts. “Don’t you think? No? Yes? Hello? Is it a simple question or not? Do you know the person who lives there?”
Somehow, working in a busy and stressful emergency room is easier to conquer than going head-to-head with this jerkoff. I try to remain calm, but my heart pounds in my chest.
“Jesus Christ. What’s so complicated?” he demands.
“Enough.”
The voice comes from behind him. I was so concerned with what this man was going to do that I didn’t even see Damian walking up the path. He moves like a warning you only notice when it’s already too close.
He approaches the man, causing him to turn. They stand side-on, so I can see them both, see the fact that the man is almost as tall as Damian, but nowhere near as wide, nowhere near as thick. Damian looks to me like he’s ready to take the man’s head off.
“What right do you have to talk to her like that?” Damian says, his voice low, but there’s an edge to it.
“I—I…” The man fumbles, trying to recover some of his bravado. He glances at the house, at the open doorway. “Are you the owner?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” Damian snarls, his scar puckering as he scowls. “All that matters is you’ve got no right to speak to her like that. It’s time for you to leave.”
“I’ve left notes,” the man says, his voice cracking. “On your doorstep. Through your letterbox too. Notes asking you to do something about that place. It affects our property prices.”
“I’m not answering your damn questions,” Damian grits out. “Turn around and walk away. I won’t tell you again.”
Damian clenches his fists, and the man spins and basically runs back toward his house. As he flees, Damian watches him, his fists remaining clenched tight with tension.“Damian,” I whisper. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
He slowly turns to me, but it’s clear there’s a part of him that wants to chase after that man. I almost tell him I don’t need protecting, but the truth?
I like it. A shiver dances down my spine, warm phantom kisses fluttering between my legs. I press my thighs together, lying to myself, claiming I can’t feel it, can’t feel anything.
“I guess you’re going to snap at me now, huh?” I say. “Demand to know why I’m here?”
I throw that out there like a shield, as if the question wouldn’t be perfectly valid.
He flinches, hurt flickering across his face as if I stabbed him with my words.
“No, Celine,” he says gruffly.
What’s that I spy? A spark of humanity?
There it is. A crack in the armor, small but real.
“I brought leftovers,” I tell him. “Turkey, stuffing, all the trimmings. Would you like some?”
Indecision flickers across his face. I almost snap at him. If he doesn’t want me to keep coming by, then fine. But I also want to help him, to make him see Christmas doesn’t have to be depressing.
It can be and should be a time of joy.
A smile, rare and handsome, comes over his face. “I’d love some.”