"Then tell her the truth. Trust her with the fall."
"You really have turned yourself into the gloom to my happiness," Damien said with a huff of amusement, shaking his head as he moved toward the kitchen counter He reached for the kettle, filled it with fresh water, and flicked it on.
Veyron didn't dignify that with a response. He knew Damien was deflecting, and he'd let it slide—just for now.
"How is the pain?" Veyron finally asked, lowering himself into the armchair.
Damien returned moments later with a steaming mug, a curl of vapor rising from its surface. The aroma was rich—coffee laced with blood syrup, a concoction that smelled oddly comforting. He handed it to Veyron.
"I haven't felt any pain in a while," Damien said.
