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“Were you flying outside my bedroom?”

“You weren't there when I woke up.”

Damian storms into my bedroom. And he looks furious.

No, furious doesn't cover it.

His red-and-black eyes are blazing. His wings are spread wide enough to nearly scrape both walls, his tail lashes behind him, and his chest is heaving, and his skin is lit up like some Demonic neon sign.

He isn't wearing a shirt.

Naturally.

Because apparently my emotional breakdown needs abs.

“What?”

“I said you left me.”

“Yes?”

“I woke up, and you were gone.”

“That's generally how leaving works.”

“Belinda.”

The way he says my name makes my stomach flip despite everything. And in this moment, I think I hate my body.

“Damian, I just had a pretty awful conversation with my mother, and I cannot deal with whatever this is right now.”

I wave at all six-foot-whatever of furious Jersey Devil. His expression changes instantly.

“Your mother?”

“Not now.”

“What did she do?”

“Damian.”

“Did she upset you?”

My eyes narrow.

“No. I routinely shake and cry for recreation.”

His face goes terrifyingly still.

“Who the fuck do I need to kill?”

And there it is. The final straw.

“Oh my Goddess!”

I push past him.

Or try to.