Damian's P.O.V.
The wind howled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of something—or someone—that didn’t belong. My wolves stood on high alert, eyes trained on the shadows, waiting. Muscles tensed. Claws flexed. Yet, nothing emerged.
We waited. And waited.
But after an agonizing stretch of silence, it became clear that whatever presence had lingered beyond our borders had retreated. For now.
A slow exhale left my lips as I gave the order for the patrols to resume. The tension in the air remained thick, but there was nothing to fight, no enemy to sink our teeth into. Just the heavy realization that we were being watched.
And I was getting tired of waiting for the next blow to land.
By evening, we were seated at the dining table, a rare sense of calm wrapping around the room.
