Chapter 4 - Damien's POV
330 Words
The moment I descended those stairs, every instinct I possessed screamed that she was here. My mate. The scent that had been driving James wild was intoxicating—vanilla and honey with something uniquely her that made my chest tighten with possessive need.
The man I'd been holding by the throat—Max, he'd said—was clearly protecting her. Even now, gasping for breath, he positioned himself between us like he actually stood a chance against an Alpha. I had to respect that, even if it irritated me.
But then she appeared.
Everything else ceased to exist. The decrepit basement, the rogue scent that had led me here, even James's incessant growling—all of it faded into background noise. She was small compared to my six-foot-four frame, maybe five-five like Sam had described, but there was nothing delicate about the way she carried herself. Her blue eyes blazed with defiance even as I caught the subtle tremor in her hands.
Mate, James whispered reverently, finally calm for the first time in hours.
"My name is Damien and I am your mate, my dear," I said, trying to keep my voice gentle despite the possessive growl threatening to escape. "Now what is your name and why are you in a place like this?"
She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Your... your mate?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but I caught the slight accent—Southern, maybe Louisiana. "That's impossible. I would know if—I mean, I don't have—" She cut herself off, confusion and something like pain flickering across her features.
Max struggled to his feet, still wheezing. "Megan, we need to go. Now. If he found you, Samuel isn't far behind."
Samuel. The name hit me like a physical blow. Everything clicked into place—the meeting, Sam's description of his "mate," the way James had reacted. This was the girl Sam claimed belonged to him.
Over my dead body.
- Writer
