The Alpha Princess and Her Enemy

Let's give it a try

Two years later…

Wrenna POV

Brenley squealed as Damian tossed him high into the air, tiny fists punching at the sky.

“’Gain! ’Gain!” he chanted when Damian caught him.

It was nearly lunchtime, and they’d just wrapped up elite warrior training when one of the soldiers stepped forward.

“Gamma, do you have time to go over the patrol schedules today?”

Damian shifted Brenley onto his hip with ease, nodding. He’d taken on more responsibility lately—covering for Killian, who’d flunked his exams and was now grinding through his resits.

Wrenna brushed dirt off her hands, watching them. She’d taken over from her father after passing her final exam months ago—Alpha in truth now, though the Council had barely hidden their scowls at the ceremony.

“Dada! Gain!” Brenley demanded, tugging on Damian’s shirt.

Wrenna froze, and Damian’s smile faltered—their eyes met for a short moment, but his hand trembled as he tucked Brenley against his chest. Wrenna caught the flicker in his eyes — pride, sorrow, longing — and it made her throat close.

This was the problem. Her son didn’t know the truth. And Damian was starting to look like he didn’t care if he ever did.

This was what they’d feared from the start—that the sham they’d built would bleed into something more permanent.

Shit, what were they going to do now? She would prefer Brenley called him Uncle Damian since that’s technically what he was, but the whole pack and the elders thought they were mated. Was this even healthy for a Brenley? Was he going to get traumatized when they both met their mates?

We’ll talk about this later. Damian mind-linked her.

“Alpha, do you have time to go over the plans for the construction of the new houses now?” Alfred, the older pack contractor asked.

“Sure.” Wrenna smiled, following behind him, throwing Damian and Brenley one last look. Her meeting took two hours, and by the time she came out, Damian and Brenley were nowhere to be seen.

She was about to head to their room when she heard laughter coming from the dining hall. As she entered, she noticed her father chasing Brenley, pretending as though he couldn’t catch him.

“Granddaddy is going to get you!” he warned in a mock voice, holding up his hands. Brenley squealed with laughter—his chubby little legs moving as fast as they could to get away. The dining hall was almost empty, apart from the few wolves who’d wanted an early dinner.

They all watched their former Alpha chasing the little boy with a smile on their faces. Brax suddenly reached out and snatched the pup, who laughed hysterically.

“No, gwandada!”

Brax froze, his eyes brimming with tears. “He just—said my name,” he whispered.

Veronica’s smile trembled, her own eyes glossy.

“Oh, yeah, he called Damian dada for the first time today too,” Wrenna said, forcing a smile, though her gut twisted into knots. Every new word, every new name, made this lie heavier.

“Mama, granddada mownster!” Brenley giggled, pointing at Brax.

Wrenna laughed, pinching his cheek. “Really? My pup is a genius.”

“Best genius there ever was,” Brax cooed, tossing Brenley up again.

“Okay, enough,” Wrenna frowned. “You’re going to rattle his brain loose.”

Her father set Brenley down just as Damian walked in.

“Dada!” Brenley squealed, barreling into his legs. Damian crouched, scooping him up.

“That’s right. Dada’s here,” he said, easy, like he’d worn the title forever.

Wrenna’s chest clenched. She opened her mouth—but then her gaze caught on his neck. Her heart stuttered. The mark was gone.

“Let’s get Brenley fed. He’s been a ball of energy all day and he didn’t want a nap, so he’ll crash out soon,” she blurted, her voice unnaturally high.

Veronica’s eyes narrowed. “Wrenna, are you—”

“I’m fine,” she cut in quickly, stretching a smile that felt all wrong.

You forgot to reapply your mark, she hissed down the link.

Damian’s eyes widened. He set Brenley down fast, tugging his zipper up to cover the bare skin.

Later that evening, when Brenley was down for the night, Wrenna was pacing the room, guilt eating at her, until she couldn’t take it anymore.

She wrenched open the bathroom door, steam billowing around her as she stepped inside and closed it.

“Wrenna?” Damian’s voice echoed in the small space, the water shutting off. He tore the towel off the hook, tugging it behind the curtain. When he stepped out of the shower, he was still wet, the towel wrapped around his waist. In fact, it was hanging dangerously low around his waist. So low, Wrenna could see the hair under his V-line, disappearing from view.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping in front of her, crowding her.

“I just—I feel so guilty… he called you ‘dada’ today.” She whispered, her eyes darting to the floor. When Damian didn’t answer, she continued.

“This isn’t fair to you, or to Brenley—it—” Damian hooked a finger under her chin, urging her to look at him.

“It doesn’t have to be.” He spoke, his eyes brimming with emotion, his lips curved into a small smile.

“What do you mean?” Wrenna asked, her brows knitted together.

“What if this wasn’t fake. What if…we tried to make this work.” Damian gently spoke, lacing one of her bouncy dark curls around his finger, before pushing it behind her ear—brushing her cheek with his fingertips.

The way he was looking at her… he’d never looked at her that way before.

“What do you mean…make it work?” she stuttered, nerves coursing through her.

“Let me show you,” he whispered, leaning forward and plating his lips against hers. Wrenna gasped, her hand instinctively went to his wet, warm, hard chest.

He pulled back, a sweet smile on his face, his eyes full of affection. “Think about it, Wren.” He whispered, caressing her face before he slowly pulled open the door, leaving her behind—stunned.

She tossed and turned all night, her mind drifting from Damian—his body, the way his muscles flexed when he moved, his soft lips—to Brad. She hated him, but Goddess, the passion, it was messy, it was real…but she hadn’t heard from him in over two years. Not even once.

But Damian… sure, he was hot…his body, his voice, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. Those green eyes. She could sleep with him—f*****g such a God-like man wouldn’t be a problem, but what if that was all it was? Would she develop feelings for him? She cared for him, yes, but love?

More than once over the past few years had she thought of offering him a ‘friends with benefits’ option. She hadn’t been with anyone since Brad—but Goddess, that scratch needed to be itched, and taking care of it on her own just wasn’t doing it for her anymore—but she couldn’t use her friend for that. Especially now that he’d confessed to wanting more.

Brenley deserved a father in his life—and Damian had been offering him that role, but at what cost? And then there was Brad. She should hate him, and part of her did…but the little voice inside of her head kept saying ‘What if?’

What if he found out about Brenley and decided to step up—but would he want her too? Or just his heir?

What if he did want her, and they could be a family? No…this was silly.

Wrenna sighed, looking over at Damian who was sound asleep. How could he kiss her and then go to sleep as if nothing had happened?

He’d kicked off his sheets, and her eyes trailed down his body, down the hard lines of his chest. Heat flared inside of her stomach.

Goddess, this was torture! Sure, she’d seen him half naked more than once over the years, especially now they’d been sharing a room, but now she knew how he felt…

With a sigh, she threw back her sheet and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She needed space, fresh air. Breathing in musk, the smell of the forest—Damian’s scent—wasn’t helping clear her mind. She needed to get out of here.

She quickly peaked into Brenley’s room, but the chubby little pup was still sound asleep. So she quickly got dressed and snuck downstairs, hoping to get an early training in alone, before the other warriors got up.

The knife hit the wooden target with a dull thud—too low. Again.

“Dammit.” Wrenna yanked it out, jaw clenched. She’d been at it for over an hour, sweat slicking her back, hair sticking to her cheeks. Another throw. Another miss. She could gut the dummy a hundred times over, but never the throat. Never the kill shot.

“Your stance is wrong.”

She spun around, knife raised—only to find Damian leaning against the post, arms folded, green eyes amused. He was damp from his shower, hair curling at his temples, shirt clinging to his chest.

“I don’t remember asking for help,” she snapped.

He pushed off the post, strolling toward her. Unhurried. Unapologetic. “You don’t have to ask. I told you what I want, Wren. And I meant it.”

Her heart thudded at the low rasp of his voice. He stopped behind her, close enough that his heat radiated through her training shirt. His hands skimmed her arms, nudging her elbows up, angling her wrists just so. His chest brushed her back when he lowered his mouth near her ear.

“Raise your shoulder. Keep your weight forward. If you want to hit the throat, you commit.”

Her pulse skittered. She swallowed, raised the knife, and threw. This time it hit the dummy’s neck with a solid crack.

“See?” he murmured. His breath stirred the baby hairs at her temple. “You just needed the right push.”

She turned her head, looking at him. Their eyes connected, breath mingling… his chest was still pressed against her back. Wrenna’s eyes darted to his lips—

“Alpha and Gamma sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” Killian’s sing-song voice drifted towards them as a group of oncoming warriors burst out laughing.

She jerked away, putting space between them before she combusted—feeling caught. As if they’d been doing something wrong.

“You’re insufferable” she whispered to Damian—though her voice lacked bite.

“Maybe.” His smirk was quick, but his eyes stayed on her, steady and unwavering. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

“Mama, Dada, up, up!” Brenley cooed, holding up both of his hands. Wrenna’s gut twisted, though she smiled, taking the little boys hands and swinging him between them. Damian’s proud smile found her, and Wrenna couldn’t help but mimic it.

They were heading back to the packhouse after a long lunch outside, but Wrenna had a meeting with Council member Thorne. She was here for their yearly visit—to check pack growth, the numbers,… the usual boring stuff.

Brenley immediately ran off to his Grandmama as they entered the packhouse dining hall—where Wrenna knew Thorne had been having a pre-meeting lunch with her father and mother.

Shit, we should kiss. Wrenna shot through the link when Thorne’s critical eyes landed on her and Damian. She had been one of the strongest voices, protesting their union years ago, and every time Wrenna saw her, the woman was looking for reasons to tear her down—make her look foolish and unfit for her Alpha role.

Wrenna turned to Damian, meaning to brush her lips over his in something quick and harmless. But the moment her mouth grazed his, his hands slid around her waist, anchoring her, and suddenly her knees weren’t steady.

Instead of pulling back, she tipped into him, their mouths meeting fully. His lips were warm, firm, moving against hers with a heat that stole her breath. She hadn’t expected the way he kissed—confident, sure, like he’d been waiting years for this moment.

Her fingers curled into the back of his neck, then tangled in his damp hair, tugging him closer without thinking. Damian groaned into her mouth, the sound low and raw, sending a shiver straight down her spine. One of his hands traveled up, cradling the back of her head, tilting her just so, deepening the kiss.

She gasped when his knuckles brushed the bare strip of skin at her waist, and Damian seized the opening, his tongue sliding against hers in a slow, claiming stroke. The dining hall, the Council, the watchful eyes—all of it dissolved. There was only the rush of his breath mingling with hers, only the taste of him, only the dizzying realization that she didn’t want to stop.

A pointed cough shattered the spell.

Damian pulled back, his lips still brushing hers, his breath unsteady. His thumb dragged across her bottom lip, slow and possessive, before he smiled—smug and satisfied.

“I’ll see you later, babe,” he murmured, his voice rougher than she’d ever heard it.

Wrenna stood frozen, lips swollen, heart racing.

“Come on, Bren, let’s put you down for a nap,” Damian called the toddler, who protested as he scooped him up and disappeared through the door.

“Well, that was…a bit inappropriate for a public place,” Thorne coughed, “but let’s get on with it then.”

During the meeting, Wrenna barely heard a word. Her mind kept drifting back to the kiss—heat, breath, lips pressed too perfectly against hers. More than once her fingers brushed over her mouth, chasing the phantom sensation.

Goddess, he’d tasted divine. What if… what if Damian was her mate? He’d turned twenty-one only weeks ago. Her own birthday was still two weeks away—two weeks before she’d know for sure.

But even if he wasn’t? The kiss had proven enough. They fit. Her body still hummed from it.

As soon as Thorne left, she excused herself and all but flew to their shared room. Her pulse thundered, nerves sparking under her skin. The moment she opened the door, Damian’s scent—pine and musk—wrapped around her, burning her from the inside out.

He was stretched out on the bed with a book, but he set it aside the second she stepped in, his eyes sharp, questioning.

“Okay,” she blurted, breathless.

His brows lifted. “Okay what?” He leaned forward, intent, waiting.

Her chest rose and fell as she met his gaze. “Okay… let’s give this a try.”