The Quiet Before the Storm

Nova didn't want to admit that leaving the house felt… good.

Not just the fresh air or the faint warmth of sunlight through the tinted glass, but the distance. Nova needed space from the curated silence. From the wildflowers that were beginning to multiply. From the note she kept tucked in her journal drawer:

You're not her.

Now, she was in the backseat of a black town car with seats too soft and windows too dark, driving past streets she used to know. Damian sat beside her quietly, legs crossed and eyes forward, like he wasn't responsible for turning her life upside down.

Damian hadn't touched her since the atrium. He hadn't tried. But she could feel the gravity between them.

Like a storm slowly circling.

"I thought we'd have lunch before seeing your mother," Damian said.

Nova blinked. "Wait—lunch? Like in public?"

He looked over, amused. "You're married to me. You're not a prisoner. You can eat in daylight."

"I didn't know vampires came with black cards and emotional damage," Nova said.

Damian smiled. "I've also got excellent taste in wine."

The restaurant was sleek and expensive, tucked inside a boutique hotel that she'd never been able to afford. The hostess didn't ask for a reservation. Damian's name was enough. Nova wore a simple wrap dress he'd left for her that morning. It was cream-colored, soft on her skin, and tailored to her curves like it had been chosen with worship in mind. It probably had. People stared. He didn't.

Not once did Damian look away from Nova during the meal, not when the waitress leaned a little too close, nor when the table beside them whispered behind their menus.

"You're staring," Nova said, sipping her wine.

"You're glowing," Damian replied.

She rolled her eyes. "That's the soup."

"No," he said quietly. "That's you… slowly starting to trust me."

Nova didn't correct him.

After lunch, the town car rolled down a quiet residential street. Her mother's house appeared at the end of it, familiar yet older, as if time had curled its edges.

"I haven't told her anything," Nova said.

"You don't have to."

"She'll ask questions."

"Then lie," Damian said simply. "Or tell her you married a man who pays his debts."

Nova turned toward him. "And what do you think I owe you now?"

He didn't smile this time.

"Everything. But I'm willing to earn it."

The visit was brief.

Nova stepped inside alone. Her mother was sitting in her favorite chair, her cheeks softer than Nova remembered. They hugged and spoke for a few minutes. Nova handed her an envelope, Damian had prepared, containing cleared medical bills, prepaid utilities, and a statement that the mortgage had been bought and paid through next year.

Her mother cried.

Nova didn't.

Not until she got back in the car and closed the door.

Damian didn't say anything when he saw her wiping her eyes. He reached across the seat, gently took her hand, and kissed her knuckles.

"I can do more," he said.

Nova didn't pull away.

"I don't want you to buy everything," she murmured. "I want you to understand what it costs to mean something to someone."

His thumb brushed her wrist. "Then teach me."

The car was quiet.

Then slower.

Nova's brow furrowed as she looked out the tinted window. They weren't turning onto the main road home—they were pulling off to a shaded cul-de-sac lined with trees and long stretches of quiet.

Damian reached forward, pressed a button, and the privacy partition slid shut with a soft click.

"What are you doing?" she asked, voice breathier than she meant.

He turned toward her slowly, eyes heavy with restraint. And something else he hadn't let show since the night in the kitchen.

"You're soft when you cry," he murmured. "But you're even more beautiful when you fight it."

Her pulse jumped.

"I've been patient," Damian continued. "Haven't touched you since the kitchen. I let you breathe. I gave you the distance."

Nova swallowed, her knees shifting together. "You've been good."

"But you keep looking at me like you want me to be bad again."

She didn't deny it.

He reached for her—slowly—giving her time to stop him. But he gently pulled her onto his lap when she didn't move.

The dress rode up as she straddled him, knees planted on either side of his thighs, the hem slipping higher.

His hands slid up the backs of her legs.

Over her thighs, to the swell of her hips.

Nova let out a soft gasp when he pulled her closer so she could feel all of him pressed beneath her.

"This okay?" he asked, voice low and ragged.

She nodded.

That was all he needed.

His mouth was on her neck instantly, kissing, sucking, leaving behind a path of slow-burning heat. She tilted her head, breath catching as he whispered something in Romanian against her collarbone—something that sounded like worship.

His hands roamed beneath the dress now, fingers brushing the bare skin of her inner thighs, then higher.

Nova's head fell back against the seat as his palm cupped her heat through her panties, his touch firm and deliberate.

"You're soaked," he whispered against her skin. "Is that all for me?"

She whimpered when his fingers slipped under the lace and found her center, slow, slow strokes that turned her legs to water.

Damian watched her the whole time.

Every moan. Every twitch. Every gasp.

He pressed his lips to her ear when she rocked against his hand, chasing the edge.

"Let go for me," Damian growled. "Right here. Right now."

And she did.

Her cry was muffled against his mouth as he kissed her through it, holding her steady, keeping her grounded as her body shattered in his lap.

Nova didn't realize she was shaking until he gathered her into his arms and wrapped her robe around her legs. They didn't speak on the ride back.

Her head rested on his chest. His thumb traced lazy circles on her knee like nothing had changed.

But it had.

Everything had.

That night, Nova stood at her window with the lights off.

The house didn't feel so big anymore.

The silence didn't feel like a warning.

It felt like a breath between words.

She turned back toward the bed.

The vase of wildflowers was still there.

Still only one.

But she was sure there were more stems than there had been yesterday.

And this time, she didn't feel afraid.