Damion's Rib Haven Novels & Stories

Damian makes the call the way he makes all of them, fast and final and without asking the room to agree. “Down,” he says. Sarah does not turn from the hull where she is listening to the plate. “I gave you two doors. You want the one where we sink faster into the thing that cracked us.” “I want the only door that doesn’t end in the net.” He has bound his shoulder with a strip of his own ruined shirt, one-handed, and he is already back to the cold arithmetic that is the truest thing about him.

Damian’s Pov The air stank of smoke and rust in the old mill. A place long abandoned, swallowed by weeds and silence. I hated being here, but secrecy demanded it. If the pack caught me meeting with him, whispers would spread like fire. Damon was already there, lounging against a rusted beam as if he owned the place. His smirk cut through the dim light like a blade. “Brother,” he drawled. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

Before I could respond, Damian approached, his expression somber despite the celebratory atmosphere. He waited until a small circle of close advisors had gathered nearby, then spoke in a low, strained voice that only we could hear. “Lizabella… Damon… I must speak with you both. Now, if possible.” We excused ourselves gracefully and moved to a quieter alcove draped in heavy velvet curtains, the moonlight filtering through a narrow window. Damian’s shoulders were tense, his hands clenched at his sides. The loss of his brother Donald had carved deep lines into his face, lines that no amount of time seemed to soften.

He rushed towards the scene with Emberlynn, slicing and beheading. Fuck Damien grunted, killing anybody in his path. His priority, however, was to find Roy. He hadn't seen him, and he wondered if he was dead. But no, he doubted it. He felt him. Damien scanned the area frantically until his eyes landed on Roy, sprawled out and heavily wounded, at the entrance of the pack house. "Roy!" Damien growled, pushing his sword into a rogue gut and pulling it out before going for his head.

Damian ran his fingers through his hair in frustration when he realized that for the very first time he's unable to find his wife but of course he didn't give up as he kept searching for the Van … “ See if there's any abandoned factory, warehouses or buildings around this place ..” Ramon suddenly pointed a spot on the screen because he noticed there was a Blind Spot before the tunnel so it's highly possible they could be in any building in that area.. Damian of course wasted no Time as he began searching but unfortunately for them there were alot of factories and abandoned warehouses over there and they really didn't have time to search through the warehouse.. He took a deep breath to calm h

She stood, the cool air of the penthouse a stark contrast to the burning in her chest. She needed air. Water. Something to ground her. Something real. She walked to the kitchen, the marble floor cold beneath her bare feet. And stopped. Damian stood by the island, a glass of amber juice in one hand, his other braced against the counter. He was barefoot, shirtless, and devastatingly real. The morning light spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, gilding the sharp lines of his torso—lean muscle, faint, silvery scars along his ribs (from emergency injections, she realized, a sudden flash of knowledge). He was a quiet, living testament to the decade he had spent fighting his own body.

Alex urged him to speak up and Damien finally decided to tell them what was wrong. "So…" he started slowly and Tobias patiently waited for him to continue, while Alex just kept on urging him to go on. "I just got the news that there is a fire on the east coast of this pack house." He spilled the whole beans about the news and he watched their faces, to gauge their reactions. Alex and Tobias just stood still, watching Damien . Damien was confused. He didn't know what their reactions meant, so he asked them if they heard him correctly. "Guys? I'm sure you heard me." Alex blinked at Damien , while Tobias just looked on.

He snapped. Tensed, Damien 's gaze focused on busted knuckles on Christian’s tanned skin as that looked like he must have punched at a wall while at his office, a feeling of anger rolled off the latter as he hated the fact that his emotions were so transparent. “I am fine." He puffs out a smoke finally Damien would have gone on with asking but had a different thought as he fell all quiet. A phone beeped with a notification, and both men stared at the Reservation number that popped up on the screen, from De les Vegas, one of the most prominent restaurants in New York.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Damien ignored the gesture, instead shifting his attention back to me. “What can I offer you both? Tea? Coffee?” “Water will be fine,” Liam answered quickly, breaking the awkward silence. Damien nodded, motioning for one of the house staff to bring it over. As the glasses were placed on the table before us, Damien folded his hands and leaned forward. “So, Ruby,” he began, “how have you been? Seven years, wasn’t it?” I nodded, meeting his gaze. “Yes, seven years.”

I call after him, smirking, “slow down before you bite the plates too. I’ll add those to the menu tomorrow.” “Careful, princess,” he calls back. “Keep talking and I’ll make sure there'll be none left for you.” His laugh follows the clatter of dishes. Then my gaze caught it…the glass door leading downstairs, left slightly open from when Jaxon came up. A sliver of hope seeped through the gap, like an invitation I wasn’t sure I wanted to accept. Damien isn’t home. Not till midnight. My heart leaped into my throat. What if I just ran?