The Untouchable Damien Royce

Chapter 5

The Master of Shadows

The first thing Amelia felt was nothing, no sound; she opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the soft, warm light coming from the ceiling.

She wasn't dead. She took a breath, expecting the pain in her chest, but it was gone.

She sat up on a very soft sofa that made her feel warm, her hand immediately flying to her wrist. The black, spider-web veins that had been crawling up her arm were gone. Her skin was pale and clear again. She felt a slight sting where a needle had entered her arm, but the fire in her blood had vanished.

She looked around the room, and her mouth fell slightly open; she had grown up around wealth, but this was different. The apartment was massive, with walls the color of charcoal and floors that shone like glass. There were no bulky decorations, just sleek furniture and glowing screens in the corner that displayed maps and numbers moving too fast for her to read.

"You're awake," a voice said.

Amelia jumped, clutching the blanket to her chest.

Damien was standing by a window, looking out at the city. He had showered and changed. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest, and his damp hair was pushed back.

In the dim light, Amelia couldn't help but stare; this man was handsome. She never guessed she would actually find someone this attractive. His jaw was sharp, and his eyes had a depth to them that made her heart race for a completely different reason than before. He looked like a king hiding in the skin of a stranger.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, not turning around yet.

"I... I feel fine," Amelia whispered. "The poison. It was Night-Shade. Nobody survives that without a specialized lab. I’ve lived in Oak Haven my whole life, and I’ve never heard of anyone with this kind of power. Or this kind of home."

Damien slowly turned, his face unreadable.

"It's just an apartment. And I happen to know a bit about medicine. Prison teaches you how to patch a man up when the guards aren't looking."

Amelia blinked.

"That’s a lie, and what do you mean by prison?" She said, her voice getting stronger. "No prison doctor can cure a military-grade toxin in a living room. Who are you really? You look like a laborer, but you live like a god."

Damien tilted his head slightly, watching her. He walked over to a small silver console and tapped it. A door slid open automatically. "I’m just a man who knows how to fix things. My name is Damien, and I'm an ex-convict. I don't need to go into details about why I was kept there; just know I stole something. Now, let's talk about you. Who are you, and why were four professional hitters trying to end your life in a gutter?"

Amelia looked down at her lap, her fingers tensing. She couldn't tell him. Not yet. If he knew who her father was, he might hand her back, or worse. And hearing him talk about being an ex-convict didn't change anything; she was still wary of whom to trust now.

"My name is Amelia," she said, her voice small. "I don't have any family left. My parents died a long time ago. Those men... they just wanted money. They thought I had something valuable in my bag. It was just a mugging gone wrong."

Damien stared at her for a long beat. The silence stretched until Amelia felt like she was under a microscope. He didn't call her out, but the way his eyes narrowed told her everything. He knew she was lying. He knew "just Amelia" didn't get hunted by assassins with black-market poison.

Finally, he gave a short, slow nod.

"Money. Right. They used a thousand-dollar toxin to steal a leather purse. Makes perfect sense."

Amelia bit her lip. "I'm telling the truth."

"If you say so," Damien said, his voice cold. He gestured toward the door. "The toxin is out of your system. You’re free to leave today. There’s a car waiting downstairs. Tell the driver where you want to go, and he’ll drop you off. No questions asked."

Amelia’s heart sank. She looked at the door, then back at him. She couldn't go home; her father’s enemies would be waiting. And she was curious. This man was a mystery; she wasn't ready to leave.

"I... I can't leave," she said, her voice shaking. "I have nowhere to go. My apartment isn't safe. Please. Let me stay here. Just for a few days."

Damien crossed his arms, his brow raising, "I don't run a hotel, Amelia."

"I can help you!" she pleaded, standing up. "I can cook, I can clean, I can do anything you need. You saved my life, let me at least repay the debt. Please. I have no one else to turn to."

Damien walked closer, stopping just a few feet away. He was much taller than her, and his presence seemed to fill the entire room.

"You want to be of help?"

"Yes. Anything."

"I don't need a maid," Damien said. "But I do need something for tomorrow night. There is a Gala. The Pierce Group and the Sterling family are celebrating a new merger. It’s a room full of people who think I’m a dog."

Amelia blinked. "The Pierce? Why would you go there?"

"Because I'm going to burn their world down," Damien said simply. "But a man of my 'stature' needs a beautiful date. Someone who can hold her head high and look like she belongs among the elite, while I pull the rug out from under them."

Amelia looked into his dark eyes. She felt a shiver run down her spine, and she swallowed hard.

"A Gala? You want me to go as your date?"

"If you want to stay here, that is the price," Damien said.

He stepped even closer; his body closer to her. The handsome face she had been admiring seconds ago suddenly looked terrifyingly cold. It was the face of a man who had seen the bottom of the world and was ready to tear it apart.

"But listen to me closely, Amelia," he warned, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, "You can be my ally in that room, or you can just be a witness to what happens. But you should never, ever be my foe."

He leaned in, his breath hitting her ear, making her skin tingle.

"Because the man you see standing here now? I’m just the shadow of the monster I can become if someone crosses me. Don't let that person be you."

Amelia couldn't even nod. She just stared at him, trapped between fear and a strange, powerful attraction. She realized then that she hadn't been saved by a hero. She had been saved by something much more dangerous, and she was about to walk right into the middle of his war.

"I'll go," she whispered.

"Good," Damien said, turning away as if the conversation was over. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we go to work."