Rejected, Abused, I Fall for the Forbidden Alpha (by Riley Scott) novel Chapter 45

Chapter 45

Raven POV

Damien’s eyes twinkled as he looked at me. “Don’t worry, I won’t spill your secret. I guessed, judging by the way he looks at you and the murderous way he’s looking at me, it’s clear that he’s into you. I’ve been around the block a few times myself,” he exhaled, “and I see things others can’t. I’m assuming Aeress doesn’t know, does she? Otherwise, she never would have bothered to introduce us to each other.”

“No,” I stammered, “nobody else knows.”

He nods. “It’s fine. I like you,” he said calmly, “but not in a romantic way. It feels like you’re familiar to me. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “you kind of remind me of my mother. Maybe it’s the hair and eyes,” he said, “she had the same kind of waves and her eyes were a vivid green too. I think she would have loved to have met you.”

“She sounds like a great mother to have had and a wife,” I smile, relaxing. “Aeress seems to have adored her.”

“She was easy to love. She was the type of person to give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. She thrived on helping people. I guess when she lost her daughter, it was the only thing that kept her going. Her and my father. They’ve had to deal with their loss and still keep the pack running smoothly.”

His voice was tinged with regret and a slight hint of pain.

“I’m so sorry. Are there no leads at all?” I asked in a hushed whisper as we began to walk again, Damien putting his hands in his pockets.

“No,” he said heavily, “Suspects maybe, but no real concrete evidence. She had a sister who held a grudge against her but I don’t know the reason. She and my father never divulged that to me.”

“Who was the sister?”

My voice was filled with curiosity.

“I don’t know. Father seems to think it’s better I don’t. Says that’s a chapter of their life he would rather forget. I think he had something to do with the sister first before he met mother, but fathers never admitted to it.”

“He’s trying to protect you,” I smiled, “that’s what father’s do.”

At least that’s what I imagined. I wouldn’t know. Mine and Marissa’s died when we were little and I had

no real memories of him.

“What are your parents like?” he asked with interest.

“My father died when I was a baby, and my mother,” I swallowed hard, “is not exactly the maternal type,

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