~Lyra~
I was running.
Like, really actually running. Not the cutesy kind of jog you do on a treadmill when you’re pretending to be fit.
Not a t****k-worthy, slow-motion bounce with a ponytail swishing and butterflies fluttering around you. No.
I was running like my life depended on it. Like the man I just called Daddy told me to run or he was going to f**k me up against the kitchen counter until I forgot my name, my address, and every single vowel in the English alphabet.
And oh my God, the worst part?
I wanted to be caught.
Like, I was literally sprinting through the woods barefoot with twigs scratching my ankles and branches tugging at my hair, and all I could think about was his voice—Damon’s voice—in my head, dark and feral and so f*****g hot it made my spine curl.
“Ten secon
