Chapter 6 Damien
Damien
The moment my wolf identifies her, my world splinters.
Her scent slams into me—honeyed vanilla and sharp fear— buried underneath something feral. Something mine. Every cell in my body responds, bones humming, skin stretching too tight. The recognition is instant, undeniable.
Not here. Not now. Not her.
She’s backed against the kitchen counter, breathing hard, eyes locked on mine like she expects me to tear her throat out. And maybe I was about to. I’d come here to silence a witness. She saw too much at the club. Saw me.
“What did you just say?”
I don't answer.
I step farther into the apartment, letting the door swing shut behind me. The place is wrong. Wrong in ways that make my skin crawl.
Everything is pristine. Air-freshener clean. A plug-in hums faintly in the wall, pumping out artificial lavender and something citrusy, cloying and sharp. It’s an attempt to hide what she is. A poor one.
Wolves don’t live like this.
The walls are lined with curated, meaningless art. Generic photos in generic frames—smiling people at parties, someone’s arm around her shoulders. I don’t know who. I don’t care.
Then I smell him. Human. Male. Recently here.
I freeze mid-step, nostrils flaring. The scent coils in my lungs like acid. Cheap cologne. Sweat. Skin.
He was close. On the couch. On her. His scent clings to the blanket like a fucking claim. My muscles tense as a savage growl tears from my chest.
She flinches, pressing herself further into the counter like she could disappear into it.
“I can smell the human,” I snarl. “The male scent all over this apartment.”
She says nothing, but I can see it—her pulse fluttering in her throat, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
My wolf is furious.
Rage burns through me, sharp and irrational. My vision blurs at the edges. I taste copper. My claws threaten to burst through my skin. The idea of another man, a human, this close to her, touching her, breathing her in...
It sends my instincts spiraling into something feral. Possessive. He tainted her space. Left his scent where it doesn’t belong.
My wolf is howling, pacing inside me, demanding we track him down and rip him apart for daring to come near what’s ours.
“Who is he?” I demand, stalking closer. Every step feels like wading through molten lava, my composure fraying with each heartbeat. “Tell me his name.”
“What?” She looks genuinely confused, her attention flicking between my face and my hands, where my claws have partially extended. “I don’t—”
“The human who's been here,” I growl, gesturing toward the couch. “His stink is all over this place. All over you.”
Her features harden, submission burning off until only defiance remains. “That’s none of your business.”
Wrong answer.
I'm across the room before she can blink, caging her against the counter with my arms on either side of her. She gasps, shrinking back, but there's nowhere to go. I lower my head until our faces are inches apart, breathing in that intoxicating scent beneath her artificial perfumes.
“It became my business the moment my wolf recognized you. So, I'll ask again. Who is he?”
“My boyfriend,” she lies, chin lifting slightly despite her obvious terror. “And he'll be here any minute, so—”
I laugh, the sound harsh and cutting. “No, he won't. You're lying. Your heartbeat gives you away.”
I can hear the rapid flutter of her pulse, smell the acrid scent of adrenaline seeping through her pores. “You're not a very good liar, Karina.”
Her name tastes like honey on my tongue. I want to say it again. Want to growl it against her skin.
“Who the fuck is he?”
“My ex,” she seethes. “But that is none of your business.”
Good. One less fucking human to kill for even breathing in her presence. My wolf settles slightly at the admission, but the rage still simmers beneath my skin. Ex or not, his scent is too recent, too strong. The thought of him here, in her space, touching what belongs to me, drives me mad.
“Why does that matter. You’re here to kill me, right? To hunt me down for what I saw.”
The question hangs between us, and for a moment, I don't know how to answer. Because she's right—that's exactly why I came here. To eliminate the witness. To clean up the mess. It's what I do, what I've always done.
But now, with her scent flooding my senses and my wolf clawing at my insides, the thought of putting a bullet in her head makes me physically sick.
“I should,” I admit with a shrug. “Any other night, with any other witness, I would have already pulled the trigger.”
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't look away. Doesn't back down. There's a steel in her spine that I didn't expect.
“But you’re not any other witness,” I continue, leaning closer until the warmth radiating off her skin brushes against me. “You’re mine.”
“I’m not your anything,” she snaps, shoving at my chest. Her hands are too small, too weak to move me. “I don’t even know what that means.”
She doesn’t know. Of course she doesn’t—living like this, masking what she is, drowning her scent in artificial bullshit. Raised human. No pack. No guidance. No idea of the blood running in her veins.
“It means you belong to me,” I growl, my wolf clawing forward at her denial. “The only one who’ll ever carry my mark. The only one who could ever carry my children.”
“That’s—That’s insane,” she stammers. “We don’t even know each other. You’re a murderer. I saw you kill someone.”
“And yet your wolf recognizes mine,” I counter, inhaling deep. “I can smell it on you. The way your body reacts to me, even while your mind tries to fight.”
Color blooms across her cheeks, spilling down her throat in a flush that makes my mouth water. I want to follow that trail with my tongue, taste the burn of her skin.
“I don’t have a wolf,” she hisses. “You’ve got the wrong person.”
The lie is so blatant it nearly makes me laugh. “I can smell you, Karina. Beneath all this—” I gesture at the air fresheners, “—manufactured bullshit.”
Her flush deepens, crimson with embarrassment and anger. “Get out of my apartment.”
“I’m not leaving you unprotected,” I snap. “Not when Lockhart saw you. Not when your cycle is this close. Do you have any fucking idea what that means? What danger you are in?”
“I've handled my cycles for ten years without your help,” she fires back, her brown eyes flashing with defiance. “I don't need your protection. I don't need you calling me your mate like I'm some...some possession.”
“You think this is about possession?” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “It’s about keeping you alive.”
“The man who grabbed you tonight? That was Thomas Lockhart. One of the most dangerous alphas in this territory. He’s not going to forget your face,” I continue.
“He’ll come for you just for brushing off his advances.
And, if he discovers your connection to me, he will use you for far more than breeding purposes. ”
I pause, jaw clenched.
“I am not your mate!” she shouts, shoving at my chest again. “Stop saying that. I don’t even know your name.”
I capture her wrists in one hand, pinning them against the counter. My patience is fraying, thread by thread, with every denial that leaves her lips.
“Damien Marek,” I say, stepping into her space until there's barely a breath between us. “You’d better remember it, kitten.”
She stiffens, jaw tight, but I can feel her body react—tense, alert, alive.
She opens her mouth, but I cut her off before the first word forms.
“Mate isn’t some label I’m throwing around. It’s what you are. What we are.” I let the pause drag, just long enough for the reality of it to sink in. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner I stop worrying about keeping you alive...and start thinking about what I’m going to do with you.”
She struggles against my grip, her strength impressive for someone her size, but nothing compared to mine.
Her scent shifts to something hotter, angrier.
My wolf responds instantly, surging forward with a need that obliterates rational thought.
I'm drowning in her—the scent of her skin, the defiance in her eyes, the pulse hammering in her throat.
I crash my mouth against hers.
The kiss is brutal, desperate. Her lips are soft beneath mine, parting on a gasp that I swallow hungrily.
I release her wrists to cup her face, fingers tangling in her curls as I angle her head to deepen the kiss.
My tongue sweeps into her mouth, tasting her, devouring her.
She tastes like cinnamon and wine and something wild that makes my blood sing.
Her hands fly to my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt. For one glorious moment, she kisses me back. Her body arching into mine and a soft moan vibrating against my lips that nearly brings me to my knees.
Then her hands flatten against my chest, and she shoves hard, breaking the kiss with a force that surprises me. I stumble back a step, my wolf howling in protest at the sudden distance.
“Don’t,” she pants, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from my kiss. “Don’t you dare touch me like that again.”
Her defiance only makes me want her more. The way she stands there, chest heaving, fury radiating off her—it’s intoxicating. My wolf vibrates beneath my skin, demanding I take what’s rightfully mine.
But the fear beneath her anger stops me cold. I can smell it, cutting through her sweet scent. She's terrified of me. Of what I am. What I represent.
And she should be.
I drag a hand through my hair, fighting to pull myself together. “You felt it too. When I kissed you. Your wolf responded.”
“I don't have a wolf,” she repeats, but her voice lacks conviction now. Her fingers touch her lips unconsciously, and I catch the way her breathing hasn't quite steadied.