Another day, another forced breath.
I was halfway to the garden, pretending I hadn't just spent ten minutes avoiding any room Damien might be in, when the manor doors opened and a voice called out, clear and commanding:
"All pack members are to gather in the Grand Hall. Alpha Damien has an announcement."
My steps faltered.
That was rare. Damien wasn't one for sudden speeches or grand shows—he preferred control in silence, not in spotlights.
By the time I arrived, the hall was already buzzing. Damien stood at the center, tall and collected in his dark attire, looking like he hadn't slept but still managed to command every eye in the room.
Xavier was off to the side, unreadable. Rowan gave me a small wink from the back row.
Damien raised a hand, and silence fell like a curtain.
"Listen closely," he said, voice even, cool. "Next week, we begin the annual Moonblood Trials."
A ripple of whispers cut through the room.
"The event is open to all ranked wolves and selected outsiders," he continued. "It will test strength, strategy, loyalty—and power. A show for the visiting Alphas and Lunas of the neighboring packs, and a matter of pride for our name."
My chest tightened. The Moonblood Trials weren't just any event. They were brutal. Respected. And they lasted days.
"And this year," Damien said slowly, his voice dipping like a blade, "the Council wants our females to participate. I've approved it."
His gaze cut through the room—until it landed on me.
Deadly quiet.
"Volunteers will be expected to fight alongside warriors. No exceptions. No privileges."
The room turned to stare at me like I'd already signed up. And maybe I had—judged and chosen without a word from me.
Selene stepped out with a charming laugh. "That sounds thrilling, Damien. I'd love to participate."
He didn't even look at her.
My throat felt dry. I could feel the challenge in his stare. Not a game. Not a romantic gesture.
A message: You wanted to stay? Then prove you belong here.
But why was he acting this way?
–––⸻✧⸻–––
The Moonblood Trials preparations had turned the entire packhouse into organized chaos. But doing nothing made me feel worse.
So, I helped.
I stood atop a wooden stool, reaching up to hook the last of the deep crimson banners across the beam of the sparring hall. My fingers barely grazed the nail, straining, wobbling a little on the uneven stool beneath me.
"Almost there," I whispered to myself, trying to ignore the burning in my calves.
But the next moment, I felt it—that heart-dropping second where the stool gave out beneath my foot, the world tilting, sharp and sudden. I braced for impact.
Only, I didn't hit the ground.
Two firm arms caught me mid-fall. My body crashed into someone solid, the heat of their skin stark against the cold panic that had gripped me.
My breath hitched. "Damien?" I breathed before I could stop myself.
"Nope."
I looked up. It was surprisingly Xavier.
His expression unreadable. Close—too close. His jaw clenched as he steadied me and then let go as quickly as he caught me, as if my skin had burned him.
"You're reckless," he said, taking a step back, brushing invisible dust off his black shirt. "Next time, just ask someone taller."
"I didn't think it would tip," I mumbled, flustered, stepping off the stool and brushing down my shirt. "Thanks… I guess."
He shrugged. "Don't mistake it for kindness. If you die, I'd be the one cleaning up the mess."
Duh what a jerk.
"You're not usually around during the prep," I added awkwardly. "Is there something you need?"
There was a flicker in his eyes. Almost hesitation.
"I wanted to talk."
That... surprised me. "To me?"
Another pause. Then: "It's about Damien."
Something in my chest stiffened.
"He's been… different," Xavier said. "Distant. Unpredictable. Like he's fighting something but won't say what. It's not just brooding Alpha stuff. It's… worse."
I stared at him, blinking. "Why are you telling me this?" I added bitterly, "I thought everyone hated me,"
He exhaled slowly. "They do including me. But unfortunately, Damien doesn't."
That made my breath catch.
Xavier went on. "And for some reason, when he's around you, it's like he's still him. Not the haunted, reckless, ready-to-burn-everything-down version. As much as I hate to admit this, you bring him back."
"I doubt that," I said, trying to scoff it off.
But Xavier's gaze sharpened. "I don't."
It was the first time he looked at me like I wasn't just some outsider caught in their royal mess. Like I mattered.
"He won't talk to me. Or anyone," Xavier said. "But maybe… if something's wrong, you'll see it first. Gosh, i feel like shit talking to you."
I swallowed hard. "And what if I do? What if I do see it first?"
"Then do what you always do, I guess." His jaw flexed. "Stand in the fire and somehow not turn to ash."
I stared at him. He didn't wait for a response—just gave a brief nod and walked away.
And I stood there, heart pounding, wondering when the coldest person in this house had started seeing me the clearest.
–––⸻✧⸻–––
The crate in my arms was heavier than I expected. I made my way down the narrow hallway that led to the storage room.
I nudged the door open with my foot, stepped inside, and—
My breath caught.
Damien.
He was there. Sitting against the far wall, slouched forward, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.
I froze mid-step. He didn't look up. Didn't acknowledge me. He looked broken. Or worse—lost.
Xavier's words came back to me:
"And for some reason, when he's around you, it's like he's still him."
I set the crate down quietly and hesitated. I could leave. Maybe I should. But something inside me wouldn't let me walk away.
I stepped closer.
"Damien?"
He didn't move.
"Are you… okay?"
Still nothing.
"I—" I shifted awkwardly. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. I just thought… maybe you shouldn't be alone."
He finally looked up. His eyes were colder than I'd ever seen them. Void of warmth. Void of him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, voice low and biting.
"I was just putting things away and I saw you—"
"I didn't ask for company, Eva."
I stiffened. "I know. I just—"
"Leave." His voice was sharper this time, like a whip across my skin.
But I didn't move.
"Damien… what's going on? You've been distant and angry and—this isn't you."
"You don't know me!" he snapped, pushing off the wall so suddenly I stumbled back a step. "You think because we shared a few moments—what, you have the right to psychoanalyze me?"
"No, but—"
"Then get out!"
I took a shaky breath, heart thudding. "I'm not scared of you."
"You should be," he growled.
And in the next heartbeat, he was on me.
I barely had time to gasp as he grabbed me and pinned me to the ground, the air rushing out of my lungs as my back hit the cold floor. His hands slammed down beside my head, caging me in.
I was beneath him. And he was furious.
"I told you," he hissed through clenched teeth, "to leave me alone."
I stared up at him, breathless, heart pounding. His face was twisted in rage, but behind his eyes… there was something else. Pain. Conflict.
His chest rose and fell rapidly. He was so close. Too close.
"Damien," I whispered, voice shaking, "why are you doing this?"
Something flickered in his expression—brief, almost imperceptible.
His hands trembled on either side of my head.
"I don't know," he whispered back. "I don't know anymore."
And for a moment, I saw it. The war inside him.
He hated me.
He needed me.
He wanted to run.
He wanted to stay.
"Why do you keep doing this?" I whispered, not even sure what I meant—hurting me, saving me, pulling me close then shoving me away. "You don't want me near you, but every time I try to leave…"
He shut his eyes tightly, like the sound of my voice hurt. "Don't say anything else."
"Why?" I whispered. "Because it makes it real?"
His eyes snapped open—golden, wild, furious.
"No," he said. "Because when you talk, I forget how much I'm supposed to hate you."
My breath hitched. Something in my chest cracked wide open.
"You don't mean that."
"I do," he rasped, voice shaking. "Every second you're near me… I can't think. I can't breathe. And it makes me sick, because I don't want to feel this way for you. I don't want you."
"Then let me go," I said quietly, even though the words nearly killed me. "Push away and walk out."
His body remained frozen over mine.
"Let me go, Damien." His eyes twitched.
"I can't," he breathed.
He suddenly reeled back, as if something invisible had struck him. A groan ripped from his throat as he clutched his head, staggering off of me.
"Damien?" I called out.
His breaths grew ragged, the veins in his neck bulging, eyes shut tight like he was trying to block something out.
"Stop—just stop," he gritted through clenched teeth, backing into the wall.
Then his head snapped up. His eyes—glassy, unfocused—found mine for a split second before they darkened with rage.
He flinched… then pushed past me as if I wasn't even there. I stayed on the floor, staring at his retreating figure, frozen in place, my heart pounding.
But just before the door shut behind him… I heard it.
A voice.
Sweet. Sickeningly sweet.
"Damien?" Selene's voice echoed from down the hall.