Marcus stood in Damien's study, arms crossed, watching his Alpha pace in front of the unlit fireplace. They'd grown up together. Marcus had seen Damien at his worst and his best, and he'd never once questioned him.
Until now.
"You're keeping a human girl in the west wing." Marcus kept his voice neutral. "A waitress."
Damien didn't stop pacing. "Yes."
"She saw the interrogation."
"Yes."
"And she's still breathing."
Damien's jaw tightened. He stopped at the window, staring out at the forest below. The sun was barely up, pale light filtering through the trees.
"She's not just human."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"Last night. Something happened." Damien turned to face him. "The lamp in her room exploded. I didn't touch it. Neither did she. Not physically."
Understanding dawned in Marcus's eyes. "You think she's—"
"I don't know what she is." Damien moved to his desk, his fingers brushing the surface of the wood without really touching it. Restless. "That's the problem. She doesn't know either. Whatever happened, it wasn't controlled. It was instinct. Reaction."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. Processing.
"If she's a witch," he said slowly, "that changes things."
"I know."
"The Council would want to know. Seraphina would want to know. If word gets out that you're hiding a potential witch in your estate—"
"No one is being informed of anything." Damien's voice was sharp. Final. "Not until I confirm what she is and what she can do."
"And if she is?"
Damien didn't answer immediately. He walked to his desk, picked up the untouched whiskey from last night
"Then she's useful."
Marcus studied his Alpha. Ninety-seven years of friendship. Ninety-seven years of trust, of battles fought side by side, of secrets kept and burdens shared. He knew Damien better than anyone alive.
Which was why he knew there was something else. Something Damien wasn't saying.
"Why are you really keeping her?"
Damien went still"What do you mean?"
"I mean you could have killed her at The Argent. You could have wiped her memory ,we have people who can do that. You could have handed her off to someone else to deal with. Instead, you brought her here. To your home. You put her in the west wing, not the cells. You ordered everyone to stay away from her." Marcus held Damien's gaze.
Damien met his gaze. Held it.
"She's my mate."
Marcus's composure cracked just for a second surprise flashing across his face before he controlled it.
"Your mate," he repeated. "The human waitress. Who might be a witch."
"Yes."
"Damien—"
"I know." Damien's hands curled into fists at his sides. "I know what it sounds like. I know what it means. But the bond doesn't lie. The moment I caught her scent, I knew."
Marcus exhaled slowly. "Does she know?"
"No. And she won't. Not yet."
"So what's the plan?"
Damien's expression hardened. "I confirm what she is. And then I decide what to do with her."
They came for her after dawn.
Cora had been sitting in the armchair, watching the door, waiting for something to happen. She hadn't slept.
So she waited.
When the lock clicked and the door swung open, she was almost relieved. At least the waiting was over.
Two big men, Faces she didn't recognize. They just grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet.
"Where are we going?" Her voice came out thin. Scared. "What's happening?"
Nothing.
They dragged her out of the room, into the hallway, down a staircase she hadn't seen before. The walls changed as they descended, from polished wood and soft lighting to bare concrete and flickering fluorescent bulbs. The air grew colder. Damper. It smelled like rust and something underneath. Something old.
Cora's heart was hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat.
They reached a heavy , metal door , one of the men pulled it open, and Cora saw what was inside.
A small room , Concrete walls, concrete floor, a drain in the center. No windows. A single light hung from the ceiling, casting harsh shadows. And in the middle of the room—
A Metal chair Bolted to the floor.
Cora started to struggle.
It didn't matter , they were Stronger than her after all .They shoved her into the chair, and before she could scream, leather straps were being tightened around her wrists, her ankles, her chest. She thrashed, pulling against the restraints, but they didn't give. Didn't budge.
She was trapped.
The men stepped back, positioning themselves by the door. Their faces were blank.
Cora's breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. The leather bit into her skin. The chair was cold beneath her, seeping through her thin clothes.
She heard footsteps. Slow and Measured. Getting closer.
Then he walked in.
Damien looked different down here.
Upstairs, in the dim light of her room, there had been moments where he'd seemed almost human. That man was gone.
The man who stood before her now was something else entirely. His face was carved from stone, his eyes flat and cold, his body radiating a stillness. He'd rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing forearms roped with muscle, and his hands hung loose at his sides.
He didn't speak,Just looked at her. Studied her like she was a specimen.
"Please." The word fell out of her before she could stop it. "I don't know what you want. I don't know anything. Just tell me what you want and I'll—"
"Quiet."
her mouth snapping shut, her whole body trembling.
Damien walked toward her. His footsteps echoed in the small space, each one deliberate and unhurried. He stopped in front of her chair, close enough that she could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the darker ring around his irises.
"Last night," he said, "something happened in your room."
She shook her head. "I don't know what that was. I didn't mean to—"
"I didn't ask what you meant to do." He crouched down in front of her, bringing his face level with hers. This close, she could smell him. "I asked what happened."
"The lamp exploded. I don't know how. I don't know why. My hands—" Her voice cracked.
"They were glowing. But I didn't do anything. I swear I didn't—"
"You did." His voice was calm. Almost gentle. It made her skin crawl. "You just don't know how. Which means we need to find out."
He stood. Walked to a small table against the wall that she hadn't noticed before. There were things on it. Metal things. She couldn't see clearly, but the light glinted off edges and points, and her stomach dropped.
"What are you doing?"
He picked something up. Turned back to her.
A knife. Simple. Sharp. The blade caught the light.
" need to understand what you are," he said. "What triggers your power. Fear? Pain? Anger?"
He walked toward her, the knife held loosely in his hand. "We're going to find out."
The first cut was shallow.
He made it on her forearm, just above the leather strap. A thin line that bloomed red almost instantly. The pain was sharp, bright, and Cora gasped, her body jerking against the
restraints.
Damien watched and Waited. His eyes were fixed on her, not the wound, like he was looking for something beneath her skin.
Nothing happened.
"Again," he murmured, almost to himself.
The second cut was deeper.
Cora screamed. She couldn't help it. The blade bit into her arm, parting flesh, and the pain was blinding, whiting out her vision for a moment. Blood ran down her arm, dripping onto the concrete floor. She could hear it. Drip. Drip. Drip.
She waited for the heat. The crack in her chest. The light.
Nothing.
Damien's jaw tightened. He set the knife down, picked up something else. A cloth. He pressed it to her arm, hard enough to hurt, stopping the blood flow.
"It's not enough," he said Not to her but to himself. "Pain isn't enough."
He released her arm. Walked to the door. Said something to one of the guards, too low for her to hear. The guard nodded and left.
Damien turned back to her.
"Do you know what happens when a wolf shifts?"
She shook her head. Tears were streaming down her face. She couldn't stop them.
"It's not like the movies. Not a slow transformation, not something you can see coming." He walked toward her, his steps slow, his voice conversational. "It happens fast. One second, a man. The next, a predator. Eight hundred pounds of muscle and teeth and instinct. Most humans who see it don't survive long enough to be afraid."
The door opened behind him.
A growl. Low and rumbling, vibrating through the concrete.
Then the wolf walked in.
It was massive. Black fur, silver eyes, lips pulled back to reveal teeth as long as her fingers. It moved with a horrible, fluid grace, its head low, its gaze fixed on her.
Cora stopped breathing.
"This is one of my pack," Damien said calmly. "His name is Eli. He's been ordered not to kill you. But wolves are creatures of instinct. If he smells enough fear, enough blood—" He shrugged. "Accidents happen."
The wolf stalked closer. Its breath was hot on her legs. Its teeth were inches from her knee.
Cora screamed.
She screamed until her throat was raw, until no sound came out, until she was just a shaking, sobbing mess strapped to a chair while a monster circled her, snapping its jaws close enough that she felt the wind of it against her skin.
She waited for the power to come. Begged for it. Prayed to whatever might be listening.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing
Damien called the wolf off.
One word "Eli" and the creature backed away, padding to the corner of the room, sitting on its haunches like a dog waiting for a treat. Its silver eyes never left Cora.
She was hyperventilating. Couldn't stop. The world was spinning, dark spots dancing at the edges of her vision. She was going to pass out. She was going to die. She was…
"Breathe."
Damien's voice cut through the panic. He was in front of her again, crouched down, his face level with hers. His hand came up, pressing flat against her chest, right over her hammering heart.
"Breathe," he repeated. "Slow. In through your nose. Out through your mouth."
her body did, desperate for oxygen, for anything that would make the spinning stop. She sucked in air. Let it out. Again. Again.
The spots faded. The room steadied.
Damien's hand was still on her chest. She could feel his palm through her shirt, warm and steady against her racing heart.
"Nothing," he said quietly. His thumb moved, almost unconsciously, tracing the line of her collarbone.
He pulled his hand away and stood up .
"Take her back to her room," he said to the guards. "Clean her up. Bring her something to eat." He paused at the door, his back to her. "And tell the kitchen to prepare lunch for two."
He walked out.
The wolf following behind him .