Now the tears were back, blurring her vision as she rushed out, “Mason, I don’t know how he put it in my arm. I don’t remember it ever hurting or—”
“Swear to me you didn’t do this, Clara. Swear it!”
“I swear I had nothing to do with hurting him, Mason! I never would! I love him! I love him more than my own fucking life. He’s the air—” Her voice cracked, so she swallowed hard and continued in a ragged whisper. “He’s the air I breathe. I don’t know how Marcus did it. I have no memory of it.”
A long, low rumble sounded from the other side of Damon’s bedroom doors, and Mason gave her one last questioning look before his gaze fell to her bare feet. He turned his head, exposing his neck. “I beg your apology. He’s my best friend.”
“I understand,” she said, her voice nothing more than a wisp of air with her throat so tight. “You care for him, too. You’re the first person I thought of when I wanted to get him help. Please help him.”
Mason nodded once and strode into Damon’s room. Clara followed.
Damon was sitting on the edge of his bed, hand clenched in his lap and a dangerous growl emanating from his chest. His eyes looked like swirling mercury, and his long pupils were so contracted, they were nothing but slivers of dark in all of that brilliant color. Her bear begged her to run from the power that emanated from him. Her skin prickled with the urge to defend herself, but Damon wasn’t posing any threat to her. He was sitting on the bed, his focus on Mason.
His lip twitched, and he tilted his chin upward as Mason approached with his head lowered and his gaze on the ground. “She’s forgiven me. I misspoke. Please, may I see it?”
Silence descended on the room for the span of three slow breaths, and then Damon nodded his head once and offered his palm, unfurling his fingers slowly from the mangled flesh. It was still open and raw. Skinless. The pain he’d shown her earlier was no longer there. He’d gone cold again, and his eyes hollow.
Clara looked away to save her insides from being shredded. The empty look didn’t belong on her warm dragon’s face.
Mason studied it carefully and murmured a curse. “I need to call Diem.”
“I’ll call her,” Clara rushed out, desperate for a way to help.
“Tell her what’s happened and ask if Danielle has anything made up for burns. And I need water and clean cloths. Lots of them.”
“Okay,” she huffed out, relieved for a job to do. After snatching her phone off the nightstand, she ran back down the hall toward the kitchen and dialed the number off the it was so nice to meet you text Diem had sent her after they’d met.
“Hello?” Diem asked on the second ring. Sleep filled her voice.
“Diem, it’s Clara. It’s late, and I’m so sorry for calling you right now, but your father has been burned badly by dragon’s fire, and Mason said Danielle might have something made up for it.”
“Dragon’s fire? What do you mean? No, no time. Explain it to me when I get there. I’ll wake Danielle. If she doesn’t have anything made up, I’ll help her. I’ll text you on how long it will be. Clara?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.” Clara slowed and slammed her shoulder blades against the wall as a wave of emotion took her. “I almost wasn’t. Damon saved me. He protected me.”
Diem let off a stressed out sigh and said, “Clara, I’ll be there as soon as I can to help.”
“Thank you,” she squeaked out right before the call ended.
Thank God for Mason and Diem being so close. Clara was in over her head and had no idea what to do for Damon, but he’d built a family and friends around him who could help. With a sniffle, Clara wiped her damp lashes with her shaking knuckles and made her way into the kitchen. Supplies gathered, she bolted for Damon’s room as fast as the giant bowl of water allowed without sloshing out the sides. When she returned, Mason had been banished to a corner chair, and Damon was pacing in front of the window panels he’d opened. Outside, the starry sky stretched on forever. The forest in front of them was bathed in hues of purple under the half moon.
“I don’t understand why he’s waited all this time,” Mason murmured.
“Because he was waiting for her,” Damon gritted out, more growl than words. “He’s been waiting for Feyadine’s line to produce a doppelganger. And not just any doppelganger. There could have been tens of them, but I wasn’t interested. He could’ve put a kill switch in all of them for all we know. From birth! All he needed for me to do was to find her, so he could rip her away. And he almost succeeded!” he yelled in a booming voice. “I could’ve lost her!” Damon spun around, and his gaze collided with Clara’s. His voice dipped lower. “I could’ve lost you. If I wasn’t sleeping right beside you—”