Damon Degrassi Novels & Stories

I was more determined than that though, I'd go all night if I had too. It was 3 am and Max was passed out on the sofa. Still no sign of a single Megestanis, but I had found Postestas Loren's mate. Her name was written as Donatia Chiaramonti Loren and unlike every other name, it was in red ink. Her birth date, April 16th 44 AD, was also in red. "Max , wake up," I said. "Bloody hell, Max! I said wake up!" I repeated after he didn't reply.

he begins to protest again. “Shush. Let me see,” I interject. I close my eyes and let Astrid do her work. We try to reach out to Clement, to communicate all the while healing him. Tears threaten to fall from my eyes because he is internally injured. He sustained so many injuries which have caused so much damage. Astrid tries to reach out to Dyson. He rumbles after her repeated attempts. ‘He is too weak… too weak to come back,’ he whispers. I gasp, and so does Isaac. Both of us know who Dyson is talking about.

I didn't waste another minute as I quickly walked out of our patient section and rushed out into the waiting area. Damon was pacing the floor and running his fingers through his short scarlet hair. He had decided that he wanted to keep the stubble on his face to appear more intimidating, but it honestly did nothing for him. "Damon," I said as I approached. He stopped pacing and turned towards me. His brow was pinched, and his emerald eyes were troubled. "We have to go. Someone was delivered here by your Dragon friend with specific instruction only to have him released into your care." I furrowed my brow.

he smiled widely. The only thing I got from that was that the tall piece of man meat was going to be staying with us and I've just been dumped, it's the best thing that could ever happen, I mean, just imagine waking up and walking into the bathroom to see him, shirtless, towel wrapped around his waist, exposing his v-line a little, the messy wet hair and the water sliding down his body. "Go say hi." Jonathan said, pulling me from my thoughts. My mum had already left and he was looking straight at me and him, "Okay." I said and began walking towards him, "Hi," I extended my arm, "I'm Jade."

The photo showed a man with dark hair silvering at the temples, sharp features, eyes that looked like they calculated every variable in a room. DAMIAN CROSS (39) — The charming one, at least in photographs. Tech entrepreneur, founder of CrossTech Industries. Net worth $5.7 billion. Several high-profile affairs before he apparently disappeared from public dating. The dossier described him as "seductive," "possessive," and "theatrical." The photo showed a man with blonde hair, blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when smiling, the kind of face that could convince you to do things you'd regret.

of the planet. Dominic Thorne stood at the top of the marble steps, his silhouette a "Vantablack-Anchor" against the brilliance of the morning. His charcoal suit was torn, his skin marred by the "Somatic-Friction" of the "Void-Strike," but his "Ice-Blue" eyes were clear. The "Ice-King" had died in the server room, and in his place stood the "Architect of the Open-Source."He looked down at his hands, where the silver-haze of his grafts had settled into a permanent, quiet glow—a "Paid-in-Full" signature.

His expression was unreadable, but his sharp green eyes flickered between me and Isla, something unreadable flashing in them. For a long moment, no one spoke. “What is going on?” “The little pup has been going restless without her mother. We believe that it is good for her to be feeding from her mother directly.” The nurse said. And for a few moments he did not speak. Neither one of us spoke. Then, Damon took a step inside, his presence consuming the air around us. “You can leave,” he told the nurse, his voice quiet but firm. The nurse hesitated, looking between us, then gave a small nod before slipping past him and closing the door behind her.

The door opened again before I could speak. Damon walked in. His large Alpha body overwhelmed the small room, his presence filling the entire space with a new scent. His eyes flipped from Cassandra to me, then to the cribs where both twins were resting and growling. “Cassandra,” he charged, his voice cold. “Leave right now!” Cassandra was angry, but she later walked out. As soon she left, Damon shut the door and turned to me. “They are growing too fast,” he whispered to my ears. “And they carry a scent that does not belong only to you… don’t lie to me.”

His voice made her nipples tighten under her blouse. “Elena,” he snapped suddenly through the intercom. “In here. Now.” She jumped up, smoothing her tight pencil skirt, and walked in. Damon sat behind his massive desk in a perfectly tailored black suit, looking every inch the ruthless billionaire. His eyes flicked over her body like he owned it. Which, after last night, he kind of did. “Yes, Mr. Voss?” she asked, trying to sound professional. Her voice came out breathy. He leaned back, staring. “You’re walking funny today. Sore, are we?”

What kind of men were they? He spent hours researching them, poring over articles, interviews, and social media profiles. Damon, the CEO, a financial titan with an ice-cold gaze. Elias, the enigmatic artist, his sculptures commanding astronomical prices, his interviews rare and philosophical. Kael, the athletic one, a former Olympian turned sports magnate, his smile a blinding flash. Three distinct personalities, yet all sharing that same dangerous aura, that same undeniable power. He memorized their faces, their public personas, trying to reconcile them with the faceless, primal forces that had consumed him. It was impossible. The public image was too polished, too controlled. The memory wa