Eight
1059 Words
Selene could still feel Damian’s gaze burning into her long after the council had turned their attention elsewhere.
She had played her part well—too well, perhaps.
She had planted the seed of doubt, just as Killian had wanted. But now, sitting at Damian’s side, she could feel the shift in him. A quiet storm brewing beneath his calm exterior.
This wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
As the conversation moved forward, the council questioned Damian on matters of pack stability, border defenses, and upcoming alliances. It was all posturing, but the tension never fully faded.
Not after what had been said.
Not after the look Garrick had given her.
Selene could still feel his scrutiny, the way his eyes had lingered as if measuring her.
She hadn’t just drawn Damian’s attention.
She had drawn everyone’s.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the dinner began to wind down. The council would be staying in the Packhouse for the night before returning to their own territories.
Selene knew what that meant.
Tonight, Damian would come for her.
Not in the way he once had—not with the touch of a mate, not with the tenderness of the man who had once sworn to protect her.
No.
Tonight, he would remind her who she had betrayed.
She had expected it.
She had prepared for it.
But when the doors to the dining hall finally opened, and Damian pushed back his chair, standing to his full height, her pulse still quickened.
He turned to the council, voice smooth, authoritative. “I trust you’ll find your rooms comfortable. We will reconvene in the morning.”
The elders nodded, but Garrick’s eyes flickered toward Selene one last time before he rose to leave.
Then, just like that, they were gone.
The moment the doors shut behind them, the air in the room shifted.
Lilith stood as well, adjusting the sleeve of her crimson dress. “Well,” she murmured, voice like silk. “That was… enlightening.”
Selene forced herself to keep still as Lilith’s gaze slid to her, sharp and knowing.
But she wasn’t the one Selene was worried about.
Damian was still standing there, silent.
Waiting.
The tension between them crackled like a brewing storm.
Lilith’s lips curled in amusement. “I’ll leave you two to talk.”
Selene didn’t flinch as Lilith walked past her, though every instinct screamed at her to move.
Damian didn’t speak until the doors closed behind his mate.
Then, finally—finally—he turned to her.
His dark eyes were unreadable, but the energy rolling off him was not.
“Walk with me.”
It wasn’t a request.
Selene hesitated only a second before nodding.
She followed him out of the dining hall, her heart hammering with every step. He led her through the darkened corridors, past the grand staircase, past the rooms she had once called hers.
And when he finally stopped, it wasn’t at her quarters.
It was his.
Selene swallowed hard as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He didn’t have to tell her to follow.
She stepped inside, the scent of cedarwood and whiskey wrapping around her like a vice.
The room was exactly as she remembered—massive, cold, meticulously kept. A bed that was too large. A fireplace that had never truly warmed the space.
Damian shut the door behind them, locking it with a quiet click.
Then he turned.
“You were reckless tonight,” he said, voice even.
Selene met his gaze, refusing to lower her eyes. “I only spoke the truth.”
Something flickered in his expression—something dangerous. “The truth is a weapon, Selene. One you wielded against me.”
Her breath caught.
She had known he would be angry.
She had known he would see through her.
But it didn’t make the weight of his anger any less suffocating.
Selene forced herself to stand her ground. “The council was already suspicious, Damian. You can’t blame me for that.”
A bitter chuckle escaped him as he stepped closer, the heat of his body brushing against hers. “Can’t I?”
Her throat tightened.
He was too close.
Too familiar.
And yet, he wasn’t the man she had once loved.
That man had died the night he cast her aside.
“You’ve changed,” Damian murmured, voice low.
Selene lifted her chin. “Maybe I had to.”
His jaw tightened. “Tell me, Selene. Is that your voice I heard tonight, or Killian’s?”
Her stomach clenched.
He knew.
He didn’t have proof, but he knew.
And worse—he wasn’t just angry.
He was curious.
Selene’s fingers curled into fists. “I am no one’s pawn, Damian. Not yours. Not Killian’s.”
A slow smirk ghosted across his lips, dark amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Then what are you?” he murmured.
She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, he reached out—slow, deliberate—and brushed his fingers against the side of her throat.
Right where his mark had once been.
A ghost of what they had been.
A reminder of what they weren’t anymore.
Selene hated that her body still reacted, that her wolf still stirred beneath her skin.
She hated him for making her remember.
His fingers lingered, just for a second. Then, just as easily, he pulled away.
“Careful, Selene,” he said, voice soft. “You might not like the war you’re starting.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to keep her expression blank.
Then she turned, stepping past him, reaching for the door.
But before she opened it, she glanced over her shoulder.
“You might not like the war you’re losing.”
Damian’s smirk didn’t fade.
But she saw it.
The flicker of something beneath his mask.
Something he hadn’t expected.
Selene didn’t wait for his response.
She walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
Her heart pounded, her skin still burning where he had touched her.
But as she strode down the hall, something cold and unshakable settled into her bones.
She had changed.
She wasn’t his anymore.
And soon, he would realize just how much he had underestimated her.
Because the war had already begun.
And she wasn’t afraid to win.
- Writer
