Damon leaned against the door, his body slowly sliding down until he sat on the cold floor, his back pressed against the door. His usually composed expression crumbled as he let out a shuddering breath, the weight of his emotions crashing down on him all at once. For a moment, he just sat there, feeling the ache in his chest grow stronger with each passing second.
He thought he had good self-control—he prided himself on it, in fact. But tonight, as he inhaled the scent of Lucas all over Kyra, it took everything he had not to lose himself to the rage simmering beneath the surface. He didn't join them at dinner, couldn't bring himself to sit there and pretend everything was fine. The mere thought of Kyra with Lucas tore at him, a silent torture he couldn't escape.
