His Mate, Their Enemy

Chapter 2: The Wolf In The Mirror

DAMON'S POV

Sleep is a luxury I stopped having years ago. When it does come, it’s shallow and brief, and I always wake up the same way—tense, sweating, with her face hovering somewhere in the dark behind my eyelids. In the dreams, she doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry or beg. She just looks at me with those hollow eyes, and somehow, that’s worse than anything else.

The city feels cleaner before sunrise. Ravendale glows like it’s pretending to be pure, but it’s built on secrets, just like I am. The streets are still wet from the night rain, slick with reflection, as if the world wants me to look at myself. I don’t. I already know what I’ll see.

Lucien waits by the car in the underground garage, phone in one hand, expression set like stone. His eyes flick up briefly when he hears my boots on the concrete. “We had a border breach,” he says without preamble. “Three figures. Two male. One female.”

I pause by the passenger door. “Pack?”

“Rogues, maybe linked to Crescent. The female had a cloaked aura,” he says, then hesitates. “One of the guards said she felt familiar.”

That word slams through me harder than it should. I open the door and slide into the car without another word. Lucien doesn’t follow. He knows I want space.

Inside, it’s quiet, but my mind isn’t. I close my eyes and lean back against the seat. Her face flashes again behind my lids—Raina. She left six years ago and took every answer with her.

No warning. No goodbye. Just the mark she gave me and the silence that followed.

The top floor of Blackstone Global greets me with polished glass, steel accents, and the echo of heels that pause when I step into view. My presence kills conversations as usual, and I don’t bother acknowledging the stares. Let them watch. Let them wonder. It keeps them on their toes.

In my office, the folder on last night’s breach waits where someone left it on my desk. I flip through the report quickly—blurred camera angles, half-shifted figures, cloaked signatures. The woman couldn’t be identified, but one line in the guard’s notes stops me cold.

“Felt familiar. Can’t explain.”

My hand stills over the paper. A flicker of memory twists through me, sharp as a blade.

“She’s dead,” I mutter, but the words feel like a lie even as I say them.

I shove the file away, rise from my chair, and cross the room in three strides. I need air. I need something solid to ground me, because my wolf is clawing under my skin, and it hasn’t been this loud since the day she disappeared.

The lower district smells like rust, damp stone, and broken promises. It’s not somewhere I usually go without backup, but tonight I don’t care. I walk with my senses open, ignoring the few pedestrians who instinctively step out of my way. I’m not looking for trouble. I’m looking for her.

My footsteps slow as I pass a shop window. My reflection stares back at me, sharp angles and pale eyes. I look like him. Silas Black. My father. Cold. Calculated. Ruthless.

I glance away before I can start to believe it.

Raina used to walk these streets with me, before the war reached our doorstep and tore everything apart. She never said much, but I noticed the way she watched people—quiet, observant, like she was weighing the truth inside them. She laughed once. Just once. And I remember the way it made my chest ache.

Now, all I hear is my own breathing and the steady pulse in my jaw. My wolf pushes again, restless and aching for something it can’t name. I don’t find her, not here, not tonight, but I can’t shake the feeling she’s close.

I press a hand against my chest as if I can silence the bond that still hums there. Weak. Barely alive. But not broken.

And that’s the part that scares me the most.