chapter 7

Damon slowly paced the width of his study, his hands buried in his pockets as he stopped to stare out the window.

It was still early in the morning. The sun was just making its way to the middle of the sky, making everything warm and overshadowing the fog of dawn.

His eyes scanned the grounds outside his window, his thoughts far beyond them.

Damon's mind was still very much occupied with thoughts of her. He needed answers, most of which only she could give him.

“Ava Mitchell Smith of mist wood,” Damon muttered under his breath.

She was gorgeous. He could still remember her standing there in the crowd while he struggled to keep his head straight and give the freaking speech.

Her scent, he could still remember vividly the strong mix of cinnamon, clove, and vanilla.

The silky black hair that looked like they had known no bad days, the tender-looking skin of her cleavage.

Slim long legs that were perfectly accentuated in those black heels and the dress that did justice to her curves.

Hers