The shift in the room
1184 Words
Chapter six
The Shift in the Room
The next morning, I avoided him.
I trained harder, sparred longer, and took a patrol shift near the northern border just to put miles between us. My muscles ached, but it was the only way I could drown the chaos in my head.
I hated that I let him kiss me.
I hated more that I kissed him back.
Elira hadn’t stopped whispering about it all night, her emotions tangled with mine, like vines wrapped around a cracked foundation.
“He still wants us.”
“He had us,” I hissed. “And he threw us away.”
But deep down, I knew the truth.
That kiss woke something I thought I’d buried. And now, I couldn’t kill it again without bleeding.
By dusk, I was exhausted. I returned to my guest quarters, peeled off my sweat-drenched clothes, and stood under a cold shower until my skin turned pink.
I needed to reset.
I needed space.
What I didn’t expect was to find Damon waiting for me when I stepped out of the bathroom—leaning against the far wall like sin in human form.
His eyes dropped to the towel clinging to my curves. His gaze darkened instantly.
“What the hell are you doing in my room?” I snapped, pulling the towel tighter.
“I knocked. You didn’t answer.”
“So you broke in?”
“I needed to see you.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve already seen more than you deserve.”
He stepped forward.
The air thickened.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about last night,” he said, his voice low, grating, dangerous.
“Then think harder. It was a mistake.”
“No. It was real. And you felt it.”
I turned away, grabbing fresh clothes from the chair beside the bed. “That bond means nothing to me anymore.”
“You’re lying.”
“You’re obsessed.”
He was suddenly behind me.
His breath touched my shoulder as his hand brushed my damp braid aside. I froze.
“You drive me insane,” he murmured. “I’ve spent three years trying to erase your memory—and then you come back like this... stronger, fiercer, beautiful. And I can’t breathe when you walk into a room.”
I spun to face him, still in nothing but the towel.
“Do you think I care how you feel now?” I spat. “You rejected me. You humiliated me. And you didn’t even look back. Don’t pretend you’re tortured. You broke me.”
His jaw clenched.
“You think I don’t know that? I wake up every damn day wishing I’d grabbed you, kissed you, told the world you were mine.”
“You didn’t.”
“I will now,” he said, stepping forward, eyes blazing. “Let me mark you.”
The room stilled.
My heart thudded.
I stared at him, disbelief choking me. “You think I’d let you mark me now?”
“I know I don’t deserve it. But the bond is driving us both mad. I feel it pulling. You do too.”
My wolf howled inside me. Elira was already pacing, drawn to his voice, his scent, the truth in his pain.
“I came here for a treaty,” I whispered. “Not a second chance.”
He stepped closer. “What if I want both?”
“I don’t care what you want.”
His hand lifted to my waist—tentative. I didn’t stop him.
“I’ll earn it,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”
“You can’t undo the past.”
“I’ll live with it if it means having a future.”
His eyes burned into mine—hungry, haunted, begging.
My fingers trembled.
For a second, I leaned in.
Just one second.
Then I shoved him away, hard enough to make him stumble back.
“You don’t get to touch me,” I hissed. “Not when I spent years building myself out of the ashes you left behind.”
He didn’t argue.
He just stood there, breathing heavy, fists clenched, as if trying not to shift right there in the room.
And that’s when I realized it.
He wasn’t just feeling the bond.
He was losing control because of it.
---
Two hours later, the pack held a formal banquet in honor of the treaty talks.
I arrived late on purpose—dressed in Crimson Fang formal wear: black high-slit leather pants, a corset-style top with crimson threading, and a long coat flared at the hips. My hair was slicked back, my eyes smoky with war paint.
I didn’t dress for attention.
I dressed for power.
But the moment I walked into the hall, silence swept the room.
All eyes turned. Damon’s first.
He stood near the head of the long table, surrounded by elders and high-ranking wolves—but his gaze locked on me and didn’t move. His throat bobbed. His fingers curled on the table’s edge.
I took my seat beside one of the Crimson Fang envoys and ignored him completely.
Roman had taught me many things—but the most powerful was this: Silence makes men like him weak.
Dinner passed in awkward conversation and false pleasantries. BloodClaw elders tried to ask questions about my “training.” A few unmated wolves from the pack eyed me openly, but none dared approach. Damon’s aura had shifted—he was possessive now, even across the room.
And then came the final insult.
One of the elders—Elias—lifted his glass.
“Alpha Damon,” he said loudly. “Since the Crimson Fang warriors have impressed us so much, perhaps it’s time we revisit the mating arrangement idea you rejected years ago.”
I froze.
Damon did too.
Elias smirked. “If the bond still lives, and the young lady has proven herself worthy... perhaps it is fated after all.”
The room tensed.
Damon didn’t speak.
I rose slowly, eyes locked on Elias.
“With all due respect,” I said, voice steady, “I didn’t come here to be auctioned back to the male who threw me away.”
Elias shifted uncomfortably. “We simply meant—”
“I don’t care what you meant.”
I turned to Damon.
“This is your pack. Say something.”
Damon stood, eyes never leaving mine.
“She’s not here for anyone’s approval,” he said, voice hard. “She never needed it.”
A pause.
“She’s mine. But I have to earn her.”
Gasps rippled down the table.
I exhaled, not sure if I wanted to slap him or kiss him.
Maybe both.
I sat back down.
And for the first time since I returned, I saw it—respect in the eyes of those who once looked at me with pity.
But it didn’t change the war inside me.
The Luna he left behind?
She wanted vengeance.
But the woman I’d become...
She wasn’t sure if her revenge would survive his love.
- Writer
