Hell Hath No Fury

"Oh, you have eyes, I hadn't noticed," I retorted, my hands clenched tightly enough that my fingernails were digging crescents into the skin of my palms.

"Well, you were plenty distracted by Damon's other attributes," Blaise smiled winningly. "It's a common mistake to make, I assure you." Beside him, Damon's eyes flashed with displeasure at my sarcastic reply.

I sucked in a deep breath, closing my eyes as I mentally counted to ten so that I didn't do something as futile as leaping over the table to wring Damon's thick neck with my bare hands. 

Oh, I was alive and well alright, no thanks to our mate bond. Everyone else who wasn't as fortunate as me ended up on the sharp end of his claws, six feet underground― assuming Damon and his men even bothered to bury them. They might have just left their bodies lying around the packhouse for the wendigos to devour afterward, saving themselves the trouble of body disposal.