Marked by the Alpha Billionaire

CHAPTER 10

Elena's POV

"What happened to your arm?"

I hadn't even sat down yet. Damian was across the office in two strides before I'd finished setting my bag on the desk, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes, close enough that the cedar-and-rain scent I'd started associating with him wrapped around me before I could think to step back.

"Nothing," I said, tugging my sleeve down over the marks on instinct, though the movement only seemed to confirm whatever he was already looking for. "Scratched myself on a moving box last night."

"Let me see."

"It's fine, really…"

"Elena." My name, low and rough, carried none of the boardroom polish he usually wrapped it in. His hand hovered near my wrist, close enough that I felt the heat of it without contact, close enough that some old, unnamed instinct in my chest leaned toward it before my mind caught up and pulled back. "Please."

I don't know why I gave in. Maybe it was the rawness in his voice, so far from the composed man who'd warned me about his cousin the day before. Maybe it was some small, reckless part of me that wanted to see what his face did when he saw the marks, wanted proof that the dream hadn't been only mine. I pushed my sleeve up.

Four thin red lines, already fading to pink, ran across the inside of my forearm.

Whatever color had been in his face drained out of it entirely.

"When," he said. Not a question. A demand, quiet and absolute, his jaw tight enough that a muscle jumped along the line of it.

"Last night. In my sleep, I think. I don't really remember… "

"You don't remember." He repeated it like the words tasted wrong, his eyes locked on the marks with an intensity that made the room feel smaller than it was. "Did you dream?"

The question hit somewhere underneath my ribs, sharp and sudden, because there was no reasonable version of this conversation where he should have known to ask that. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Elena." His hand finally closed around my wrist, careful, gentle in a way that didn't match the tension radiating off every other part of him. His thumb brushed once, barely, over the faint marks, and something in his expression cracked open, grief and want and fear all tangled together too fast for me to name any of them cleanly. "Did you dream about running? About trees. About… "

"About you," I said, before I could stop myself, my voice barely above a whisper. "I dreamed about you."

The silence that followed felt like the whole building was holding its breath. His hand tightened, just slightly, around my wrist, and for one long, suspended second I thought he might actually tell me the truth, whatever the truth was, the word sitting right behind his teeth, close enough to taste.

"Sir." Ruth's voice cracked the moment in half, sharp with a panic that didn't belong to office hours. She stood in the doorway, phone in hand, her usual composure nowhere in sight. "It's the council. They're here. Early. They're already in the lobby."

Something shut behind Damian's eyes so fast it was like watching a light go out, the raw, open thing I'd almost seen folding itself back into the calm, controlled billionaire I'd met two days ago. He released my wrist like it had burned him, stepping back, putting careful distance between us that felt less like retreat and more like protection.

"Tell them I'll be down in five minutes," he said, voice flat and even again, all traces of the man who'd just asked me about running through trees gone like he'd never existed.

"They're asking for her too." Ruth's eyes flicked to me, apologetic and afraid in equal measure. "By name. Elena Marsh."

The floor seemed to tilt slightly under my feet. "Me? I don't even know who the council is."

"You will in about ninety seconds." Damian's voice had gone hard, protective in a way that had nothing to do with corporate politics, and he moved between me and the door without seeming to decide to, like his body had made the choice before his mind caught up. "Stay close to me. Don't speak unless they ask you something directly, and if they do, keep your answers short. Do you understand?"

"Damian, what council… "

"Please." The single word carried more weight than anything else he'd said all morning, an edge of fear underneath the command that scared me more than the marks on my own arm had. "Just trust me for the next ten minutes. I'll explain everything after. I promise you that."

I didn't have time to ask what everything meant, because Ruth was already ushering us toward the elevator, her heels clicking that same brisk, nervous rhythm from the stairwell two days before, and Damian's hand found the small of my back, steady and warm, guiding me forward like he could shield me from whatever was waiting downstairs simply by staying close enough.

The elevator doors opened onto the lobby, and the first thing I saw was five strangers in dark, tailored coats standing in a loose half-circle near the front desk, none of them looking at their phones, none of them looking anywhere but directly at us the moment the doors slid open… and every single one of their eyes, catching the morning light streaming through the glass, held the exact same pale, unnatural silver I'd only ever seen once before, in a dream, in the eyes of something running beside me through the trees.