The Scorned Luna-Chapter 28: Undress

As Damien pulled her along with him, he couldn’t understand the unease and fear twisting in his chest.

He was not supposed to care.

He was supposed to leave her in her room and walk away.

But the thought of what she might do if left alone terrified him.

And that was when he realized it.

He couldn’t let her out of his sight.

Reaching his chamber, Damien yanked the door open and pulled Sofia inside, slamming it shut behind them. He didn’t speak. Not a single word.

He dragged her straight across the room and into the bathroom.

Sofia stumbled, barely able to keep up.

When they reached the shower, Damien shoved her under it and turned the handle sharply.

Cold water burst down.

Sofia gasped as the freezing spray hit her skin. Her breath caught painfully in her chest as the shock made her knees buckle.

She cried out, her body shaking instantly.

Damien stood there, watching, his fists clenched at his sides, a big frown plastered across his face.

"This," he said coldly, "is to clear your head."

The water kept pouring, icy and fast. Sofia wrapped her arms around herself, teeth chattering as her body trembled.

"You are bound to me for life," Damien growled, more to himself than to her. "And there is nothing you can do to change that."

For a moment, he almost stepped forward.

But he stopped himself.

After several long seconds, he reached out and turned the water off. Silence rushed back into the room, broken only by Sofia’s ragged breathing.

She slid down against the tiled wall, soaked and shaking.

Damien grabbed a towel and tossed it at her without looking.

"Dry yourself," he ordered. "You’re staying here tonight."

Sofia clutched the towel with weak hands, her head bowed.

Damien turned away, his reflection staring back at him in the mirror. Angry, unsettled, and afraid.

Afraid of the thought that he had almost lost her tonight.

With shaky hands, Sofia tried to dry her hair, but her wet clothes clung tightly to her body. The cold still seeped into her bones, but her mind was clearer now.

And with that clarity came fear.

She had almost jumped.

She had almost died.

Her stomach twisted as the weight of what she had nearly done settled on her chest. Slowly, she pushed herself up from the bathroom floor and stepped out.

The room was dim.

The fireplace was lit.

Damien stood by it, a glass of wine in his hand. The flames cast shadows across his face, making his expression hard and unreadable.

The moment he saw her, his eyes darkened.

He set the glass down and straightened.

Sofia froze.

Her heart began to race.

This is it, she thought.

The punishment.

She closed her eyes, bracing herself. Waiting for a shout. A slap. Pain.

But none came.

Instead—something soft hit her chest.

She gasped and opened her eyes.

It was a shirt.

Damien’s.

"Change into that," he said flatly.

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. Humiliated, shaken, she turned instinctively toward the door, intending to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Damien asked sharply.

She stopped.

"I—I just thought—" Her voice faltered.

"Here," he said coldly.

Her breath caught.

"Change in front of me."

Sofia swallowed hard, the sound loud in the heavy silence of the room. Her throat felt like it was lined with glass, and her heart hammered against her ribs with such force she was sure he could see it through her soaked bodice.

"Now," Damien prompted, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in the air between them.

With trembling fingers, Sofia reached for the first button of her dress. The fabric was heavy, sodden with icy water, and it clung to her like a second skin. As she fumbled with the fastenings, a deep, hot flush rushed down her cheeks, staining her neck and chest a dusty rose. She felt exposed, not just physically, but also under the heavy weight of his piercing gaze.

She let the wet fabric slip from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet with a wet thud.

Damien didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He told himself he was doing this to ensure she didn’t run, to assert his control—but as the layers fell away, his excuses vanished.

His eyes tracked the curve of her shoulders, moving down to the generous swell of her breasts and the soft, aching fullness of her hips. She was plush, her skin pale and glistening with droplets of water that caught the orange glow of the fire.

To Damien, she looked like a masterpiece carved from marble and heat. His wolf snarled at the back of his mind, a feral, territorial sound that demanded he bridge the gap and claim every inch of that soft, damp skin. He felt a sudden, agonizing tightness in his trousers, a physical ache that made his knuckles turn white as he gripped the edge of the mantelpiece to keep from lunging at her.

Go to her, the wolf growled. She is yours.

Sofia, however, felt only the biting chill of the air and the crushing weight of her own insecurity. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, her hands shaking as she moved to her undergarments. She was painfully aware of the softness of her stomach, the marks on her thighs, and the way her body didn’t fit the lean, athletic mold of the women she usually saw in his world.

He’s staring because he’s disgusted, she thought, a fresh wave of humiliation burning behind her eyes.

She didn’t know that Damien was actually struggling to breathe. He wasn’t looking at imperfections; he was mesmerized by the sheer, feminine abundance of her. He watched the way the firelight danced over the dip of her waist and the heavy, tempting curve of her thighs. It was torture.

"The shirt, Sofia," he managed to grit out, his voice sounding strangled, as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. "Put it on. Now."

He had to stop her. If she stayed standing there for one more second, the thin thread of his self-control was going to snap, and he would devour her right there on the rug.