Cora woke to grey light filtering through the curtains.
She'd cried. Actually cried. Sobbed into his chest like a broken thing while he held her together.
Shame burned through her.
"You're awake."
His voice rumbled against her back. He hadn't moved — still curled around her, his arm heavy across her waist, his breath warm against her hair.
"Yes."
"How do you feel?"
"Fine."
His arm tightened, pulling her closer. She felt his lips brush the back of her neck, A reminder that he was there.
"We need to talk," he said.
"Damien—"
"Not a request."
He let her shower first.
She stood under the scalding water until her skin turned pink, trying to wash away the remnants of the nightmare. The memories. The shame of falling apart in front of him.
It didn't work.
When she emerged, wrapped in a thick robe, he was waiting. Dressed now — dark pants, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He sat in the armchair by the window, watching her with those pale eyes that missed nothing.
"Sit."
She sat on the edge of the bed. Kept her gaze on her hands.
"Last night," he said. "You went somewhere. Saw something." A pause. "Someone."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I don't care what you want."
Her head snapped up. his expression was controlled, almost calm. But she could feel it through the bond. The rage simmering beneath the surface. The barely leashed violence waiting for a target.
"Whoever hurt you," he said slowly, "is going to pay. But I can't make them pay if I don't know who they are."
"It was a long time ago."
"I don't care if it was yesterday or a hundred years ago." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Someone touched what's mine. Someone made you flinch when I put my hands on you. Someone put that look in your eyes." His voice dropped. "Give me a name."
She couldn't.
Not because she didn't want to — part of her, the broken part that had been waiting years for someone to care enough to ask, wanted to spill everything. Every ugly detail. Every nightmare she'd buried.
But the words wouldn't come.
"It's not that simple," she whispered.
"Then make it simple."
"You don't understand—"
"Then help me understand." He stood. Crossed to the bed. Crouched in front of her so they were eye level. "I'm not asking for your whole history. I'm asking for a name. One name. The person who made you look at me like I was a monster last night."
Her eyes burned. "You're not—"
"I know what I am." His hand caught her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "I've done terrible things. I'll do more. But I have never—" His jaw tightened. "I would never hurt you the way someone hurt you. And whoever did is living on borrowed time."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"His name was Abernathy," she said. "Mr. Abernathy. He was the director of the orphanage where I grew up."
Damien's expression didn't change. But she felt it through the bond, a cold, dark thing uncoiling in his chest. Something ancient and predatory waking up.
"Tell me everything."
She told him some of it.
Not everything, she couldn't, not yet. But she told him about St. Jude's.The children who'd given up hope.
She told him about Abernathy. How he'd singled her out early. How it started with looks, with touches that lingered too long, with excuses to get her alone.
"I was eight the first time," she said. Her voice was flat. Distant. Like she was talking about someone else. "He called me to his office. Said I was in trouble for something — I don't even remember what. When I got there, he locked the door."
Damien didn't move. Didn't speak. Just listened.
"He didn't— it wasn't—" She stumbled over the words. "He touched me. Made me touch him. But he didn't... not then. That came later."
"Later."
"When I was older. Twelve. Thirteen." She stared at her hands. "He said no one would believe me. That I was nothing. That I belonged to him." A hollow laugh escaped her. "He was right about the first part. I tried to tell one of the other staff once. She slapped me and called me a liar."
The silence stretched between them.
Cora couldn't look at him. Couldn't bear to see whatever was in his eyes — disgust, pity, the realization that she was damaged goods.
Then his hand covered hers.
"Look at me."
She did.
His expression was ice. Cold and hard and utterly terrifying. But his hand on hers was gentle. Almost tender.
"This man," he said quietly. "Abernathy. Is he still alive?"
"I don't know. I ran away when I was fifteen. Never looked back."
"Where is this orphanage?"
"Damien—"
"Where?"
She told him. The town. The street. The grey building at the end of the road with the iron fence and the dead garden.
He committed it to memory. She could see him filing it away, adding it to whatever dark catalog he kept in his mind.
"There's more," he said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"You'll tell me. All of it. Every person who hurt you, every hand that touched you, every voice that told you that you were nothing." His grip on her hand tightened. "And then I will make them wish they'd never been born."
She believed him.
God help her, she believed every word.
He left an hour later.
Didn't say where he was going. Didn't explain. Just kissed her forehead — a strange, almost gentle gesture from a man made of violence and walked out.
The chamber felt empty without him.
Cora sat on the bed, wrapped in her robe, staring at the door he'd disappeared through. She'd told him things she'd never told anyone. Secrets she'd buried so deep she'd almost forgotten they existed.
And instead of looking at her differently, he'd looked at her the same.
Like she was his. Like nothing could change that.
A knock on the door made her jump.
"Come in."
Mira's face appeared, bright and curious. "Morning! I brought breakfast and— oh." She stopped, taking in Cora's expression. "What happened? You look like you've been crying."
"I'm fine."
"You're a terrible liar." Mira set the tray on the table and crossed to the bed, sitting beside her. "Talk to me."
Cora shook her head. "I can't. Not yet."
"Okay." Mira didn't push. Just reached over and squeezed her hand. "But I'm here. Whenever you're ready."
The kindness almost broke her again.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"That's what friends are for."
Mira left Cora's chambers an hour later, her mind churning.
Something had happened. Something bad. The Luna's eyes had been red-rimmed, her hands trembling, her whole demeanor fragile in a way Mira had never seen before.
And the Alpha had been gone when Mira arrived. She'd passed him in the hallway, moving fast, expression like thunder, a darkness rolling off him that made her press herself against the wall to let him pass.
Whatever was going on, it was serious.
She was so lost in thought that she didn't notice Viktor until she nearly walked into him.
"Careful." His hands caught her shoulders, steadying her. "You almost took us both down."
"Sorry." She stepped back, flustered. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"Clearly." But he was smiling. That warm, easy smile that made his sharp features almost handsome. "You look troubled. Everything alright?"
"Fine. Just... thinking."
"Dangerous habit." He fell into step beside her as she walked. "Anything I can help with?"
Mira hesitated.
She shouldn't talk about the Luna's business. It wasn't her place. But Viktor was part of the inner circle — one of the Alpha's most trusted wolves. Surely it wouldn't hurt to share her concerns?
"The Luna seems upset," she said carefully. "I don't know what happened, but something's wrong."
Viktor's expression shifted. Concern replacing the easy smile. "Wrong how?"
"I don't know. She wouldn't tell me. But she'd been crying, and the Alpha looked ready to murder someone when I passed him earlier."
"I see." Viktor was quiet for a moment. "That's troubling. The Luna has been through a lot recently — the attack, the announcement, adjusting to her new role. Perhaps it's simply catching up with her."
"Maybe."
"You're a good friend to worry about her." He stopped walking, turning to face her. "She's lucky to have you."
Something warm bloomed in Mira's chest. "I just want to help."
"I know. So do I." He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was gentle. Intimate. "If you ever need someone to talk to — about the Luna, about anything — I'm here. We both want what's best for her."
Mira nodded, her cheeks flushing.
"Thank you, Viktor."
"Of course." That smile again. Warm and trustworthy. "What are friends for?"
He walked away, leaving her standing in the hallway, a flutter in her chest that she couldn't quite name.
She didn't see the way his smile dropped the moment his back was turned.
Or the cold calculation that replaced it.