Elena’s POV

The sound of the slap still seemed to hang in the cold night air long after my palm left his face.

Damien’s head had turned slightly from the force, a red mark rising clearly against his skin, but his fingers never loosened around my wrist. His grip remained firm, controlled, almost frighteningly steady.

I struggled once. Twice.

It was useless.

Alcohol burned in my veins, turning my already pale face hot and feverish. My vision swam, yet everything felt painfully sharp at ...