Standing to the side of everyone throughout the entire wedding, Davian Cross was dressed to impress in a fitted suit, his raven locks swept back if only for a few stray hairs remained against his forehead. He felt lost and unsure while watching everybody.
He'd lived many years, most of which he'd spent loathing himself and Cassius, who had been forcing him to do his bidding.
Though there wasn't much Cass really did ask of him. The point of it was Davian did not have a choice in the matter. Now it was strange that he had that freedom he once lost and watched how the others in the Silver Crescent pack and friends of Aila and Damon chose to spend their time.
It all looked quite marvellous, really. But Davian didn't have a mate; he didn't really have friends unless he counted Aila, who was his blood, or Harry, who he spent some time with. In some strange way that pissed him off, Cassius was also his friend. But he was gone now.
