Marked by The Moon

Heat Beneath The Quiet

Ayla’s POV

I believed him.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind—I actually did.

And that scared me more than not knowing who I was.

Damon stood just inside the door, silver eyes watching me in that unreadable way of his. Quiet. Measured. Like he was waiting for permission to take a single breath.

The silence stretched between us—not awkward, but charged. Waiting.

“You don’t have to hover in the doorway,” I said, gesturing toward the chair near the fireplace. My voice cracked slightly.

He blinked once, like the invitation caught him off guard.

Then he nodded and crossed the room in those quiet, predatory steps. He lowered himself into the wooden chair beside the fire, but didn’t settle. He stayed upright, forearms resting on his knees, tension in every muscle. Like he was bracing for something.

I shifted on the cot, still curled up in his hoodie, knees drawn to my chest. The heat from the fire brushed against my skin, but it was his presence that made my pulse quicken.

“I don’t get it,” I said, voice quieter this time. “You’ve done all this. Protected me. Brought me here. Risked your pack… and yet—” I met his gaze. “You barely look at me.”

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes flickered over my face, then dropped to the fire.

“You look around me,” I continued, a little bolder now. “Through me. Like I’m something you’re guarding, not something you want.”

That made him still completely.

Then, slowly, he looked up—really looked. His jaw tightened, the faintest muscle ticking beneath his cheekbone.

“You don’t know how wrong you are,” he said, voice low and rough.

My stomach turned over.

The fire crackled in the hearth. Shadows danced across the room, casting him in shifting light and shadow—like he was made from both. The kind of danger you’re supposed to run from… but something deeper told me to stay.

I swallowed. “Then why?”

His brow furrowed.

“Why are you acting like you’re scared to even sit near me?”

He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled together between his knees. For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then: “Because I am scared.”

I blinked. “Of me?”

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. “Of what I might do if I let myself get too close.”

There was something behind his words—something sharp and aching.

I couldn’t stop staring at him. At the way his shoulders stayed stiff, how his hands flexed once before locking into stillness. Like he was holding back a flood.

“You’re my mate, Ayla,” he said softly. The words landed like thunder in a silent room. “Everything in me wants to touch you. To mark you. To make sure everyone knows you're mine.”

My breath caught.

The air between us stretched thin, electric.

He didn’t move from the chair, but his whole body vibrated with restraint. His fingers twitched once against his knee before curling back into fists. His jaw clenched again, and something flickered in his eyes—longing, pain… and something deeper.

Possession.

“But I won’t take what you’re not ready to give,” he added. “You’ve had too many choices made for you already.”

I stared at him, unsure whether to move closer or further away.

“I’m not weak,” I said, not quite knowing if it was to him or to myself.

“I know,” he replied immediately. “That’s why I’m giving you the choice.”

My chest ached with how badly I wanted to believe him. To trust that I had the freedom to decide.

I let my legs slide down from beneath me and touched my feet to the floor, narrowing the space between us.

“And what if I never feel ready?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

He looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Then I’ll still wait.”

My eyes stung suddenly. I hadn’t expected that. That answer. That promise. No pressure. No dominance. Just... loyalty.

“Why?” I whispered.

He leaned forward just a little. Not enough to cross the boundary between us, but close enough that I could feel the warmth rolling off him. His voice dropped, softer than before.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you my entire life, Ayla. I just didn’t know it was you. But the moment I saw you—really saw you—there hasn’t been a second I didn’t know.”

I felt the bond stir again, stronger this time. Like a thread tightening around my ribs. My wolf didn’t speak, but something inside me stretched toward him. Quiet. Curious. Wanting.

He didn’t reach for me. But he didn’t look away either.

I looked down at my hands.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted. “I don’t know how to be... this.”

His voice was like gravel and velvet when he answered. “You don’t have to be anything but honest. That’s enough.”

I sat there, caught in the heat between us, my heartbeat skipping wildly as I glanced up.

The way he looked at me—like I was sacred—made it hard to breathe.

I shifted forward, just slightly, until our knees were almost touching. He inhaled sharply, eyes darkening for a moment, but he didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Neither did I.

Instead, I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, voice rough.

“For not being who they said you were.”

His expression shifted—pain, then something close to sorrow.

“They were right about one thing,” he murmured. “I am dangerous. Just never to you.”

I looked up at him, and something inside me—something I couldn’t name—leaned into that truth.

And I didn’t want to run from it.