The First Sign of Care
1141 Words
Morning came like a curse.
Selina was already dressed when the knock came at the door—not gentle, not courteous. Just three loud, clipped raps. The kind meant to remind her of who held the power.
“You’re summoned,” a guard growled through the door.
She didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. She had known this was coming.
Damien wasn’t the kind of man to let defiance go unanswered.
As she stepped into the courtyard, a sea of wolves surrounded her—warriors in training, omegas fetching water, elders watching from the stone terrace above. All eyes turned toward her.
And then he appeared.
Damien stood at the far end, arms folded, his expression unreadable. He was flanked by his beta and a few elite guards, his posture rigid and commanding.
“Selina Blackthorn,” he said, voice loud enough to cut through the murmurs, “disobedience and disrespect will not go unpunished in this pack. Not even from a Luna.”
Especially not from a Luna.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t flinch. She just stared at the alpha with disgust and contempt.
He motioned to a guard, who tossed a wooden practice sword to her feet.
Selina looked down at it.
Then up at Damien.
“Pick it up,” he ordered in his deep and dangerous voice.
She didn’t move.
“I won’t repeat myself.” he warned
Jaw clenched, she bent and picked up the weapon.
“This is your punishment,” he said. “You will spar with Beta Rhys. You’ll fight until I say stop.”
Beta Rhys was a mountain of a man—twice her size and built like he could crush bones with his fingertips. Selina knew this wasn’t just about humiliation—it was a warning. A reminder.
Rhys stepped forward, expression almost apologetic.
Selina raised the wooden sword and braced herself.
The first blow knocked her backward; she felt immense pain in her ribs, and for a moment she felt like she saw the stars because the blow was so strong. She shook her head and managed to get up on her feet. And positioned herself.
The second one had her tasting blood. Her body was trembling at this point, and she tasted blood. She had never been in a battle and had no idea how fighting works but she was still determined to not show her weakness. She once again stood up, her hands shaking, her ribs aching and blood filled her mouth as she stared at her opponent.
And by the third strike, she was on her knees, coughing blood and holding her ribs.
But she didn’t cry.
She didn’t beg.
She stood every time.
Damien watched without flinching.
He only gave the signal to stop when Selina fell a fourth time and didn’t get back up immediately.
“That’s enough,” he said at last.
Blood ran down her lip. Her arms trembled from the bruises blossoming beneath the surface.
She spat to the side, ignoring the red.
“Are you done proving how powerful you are?” She rasped, glaring up at him from the dirt.
His expression didn’t change. “Take her back.”
Two guards stepped forward, but Selina shoved one of them off and stood on her own.
She didn’t want his pity.
She didn’t want anyone’s pity
~~
The quiet of the room felt unnatural after the chaos of the courtyard.
Selina sat on the bed, chest heaving, her bruised knuckles cradled in her lap.
She hadn’t expected anyone to follow her.
But then the door opened—and in walked Damien, holding a cloth, a bowl of water, and a vial of salve.
Selina’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t ask for you,” she said.
“You need it,” he replied coolly.
“I’d rather bleed.”
Damien knelt in front of her anyway.
She pulled her hand back. “Don’t touch me.”
He reached again.
She slapped him.
The sound echoed in the silence, sharp and absolute.
Damien didn’t move. His face turned slightly with the force, but he didn’t strike back. He didn’t even raise his voice.
Slowly, he turned his gaze back to her.
There was a stillness in him. Not rage. Something quieter. More dangerous.
“You can fight me all you want,” he said, voice low, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you destroy yourself.”
Selina stared at him, panting. “Why do you care? You punish me in front of your wolves like I’m less than dirt. And now you want to play healer?”
“I didn’t say I cared.”
He dipped the cloth into the water and gently reached for her arm again.
This time, she didn’t resist.
The touch surprised her.
Not for the pain—but for the lack of it.
His fingers were calloused but precise, dabbing at her scraped skin with practiced care. His movements were slow, focused, and almost reverent.
It confused her.
Damien Blackthorn didn’t know the meaning of gentleness.
And yet here he was—silent, concentrated, treating her wounds as though they mattered.
Selina watched his face, trying to understand.
And that’s when she saw it.
That flicker.
That moment where his eyes softened, just barely, as he brushed the cloth against the curve of her wrist. His lashes lowered, his brow furrowed—like he was fighting something he didn’t want her to see.
Her breath caught.
But the moment passed quickly.
She looked away before he could notice she’d seen it.
“I’m not a doll you can break and fix at your whim,” she whispered. “You don’t get to play monster one moment and savior the next.”
He finished tending to the cut on her palm. His hand lingered there—just for a second too long.
And then he pulled away.
“I never said I was trying to save you,” he said quietly.
She turned her head sharply, eyes shining—not with tears, but with fire. “Then what are you doing?”
Damien didn’t answer.
He stood, returned the cloth to the bowl, and without another word, walked toward the door.
But just before he stepped out, he paused.
She thought he would speak. Explain. Apologize.
He didn’t.
He just looked at her.
And in his eyes, for one brief second, she saw something—something that wasn’t hate. Wasn’t dominance. Wasn’t power.
It was… human.
And then it was gone.
The door shut behind him with a quiet click.
Selina sat motionless.
Her body ached, but her mind ached more.
Damien Blackthorn was cruel. Calculated. A tyrant cloaked in silk and steel.
But there was something else.
A c***k.
Small.
Fleeting.
But real.
And she didn’t know whether that made her hate him more… or less.
- Writer
