The night was silent.
Too silent.
Morgana had been lying in bed for… how long? Half an hour? An hour? Maybe three. The room was dark, only the faint moonlight filtering through the window—the same window Damon had entered through.
The mere thought made her stomach churn.
She rolled to one side.
Then to the other.
She pulled the blanket up to her chin.
She let go.
She covered her face.
She uncovered it.
"Ugh…" she murmured, annoyed with herself.
She couldn't sleep.
Not because of fear.
Not because of the threat that loomed over her house.
Not because of the damned engagement her father had forced upon her.
But because of him.
Because of that cheeky, inconvenient, spontaneous intruder… who made her feel things she wasn't prepared to feel.
"Beautiful curves." The memory hit her like a soft, warm punch right in the middle of her chest.
Morgana covered her face with the pillow and screamed softly.
"Idiot…!"
She didn't know what was worse:
