Chapter 8 Damien
Damien
Anselm's eyes burn into me. The temperature in his office seems to drop twenty degrees as he leans forward, palms flat against his mahogany desk.
“Explain to me,” he says, each word a carefully measured threat, “why I had to hear about Marco's death from Viktor? He’s the head of my club’s fucking security, not your clean up crew.”
I stand at rigid attention, my face a careful mask despite the storm tearing through me. Every part of me aches to get back to Karina, to make sure Elias is keeping his word. My wolf prowls beneath my skin, restless and unsettled by the distance between us.
“I was handling a witness, Alpha.” No point lying to him, his senses are too sharp, his experience too vast to be fooled.
“A witness.” He repeats the words slowly. “And this witness was more important than reporting directly to me after executing one of my orders?”
The air thickens with his displeasure. At fifty-three, Alpha Anselm Bellandi is still a force of nature—six-foot-five of pure muscle and ruthless intelligence. The scar across his left brow twitches as he waits for my response.
“The witness saw everything. I had to contain the situation.”
“An interesting choice of words for someone who left a corpse in my club and a witness running free.” Alpha Anselm rounds his desk, closing the distance between us until I can smell the scotch on his breath.
“Viktor tells me that Thomas Lockhart claims you threatened him over some female. Is that true?”
My jaw clenches. “He was harassing her.”
“Harassing.” Anselm's laugh is cold, mirthless. “He says you nearly broke his wrist over some masked bitch then disappeared.”
My hands curl into fists at his description of Karina. “Lockhart exaggerates.”
“Does he?” Anselm stops directly in front of me, his height allowing him to look down at me despite my own considerable stature. “Would this be the same female that Kenny reported as your guest?
“She's under my protection.”
“Your protection?” Anselm's eyebrows rise. “Not the family's protection? Interesting distinction.”
He's testing me, looking for cracks in my composure. I've survived eight months under his scrutiny by keeping my emotions locked down tight. But tonight, with Karina's scent still clinging to my clothes and my wolf howling for her, my restrain feels paper-thin.
“She witnessed Marco's execution,” I explain, choosing my words with precision. “I couldn't risk her talking.”
“So, you brought her here?” Anselm shakes his head, disappointment etched in the lines of his face. “That's not like you, Damien. You don't bring problems home, you eliminate them.”
The casual way he suggests killing Karina makes my blood boil. I clench my jaw so hard I hear my teeth creak.
“The situation is more complicated than that.”
“Enlighten me.” He settles into the leather chair behind his desk, the effortless confidence of a man long accustomed to being obeyed.
I weigh my options, knowing that half-truths will serve me better than outright lies.
“She's my mate.”
Anselm goes perfectly still, his attention sharpening on my face with renewed interest. I can almost feel the calculations grinding behind that measured stillness—the implications, the opportunities, the potential complications.
He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Go on.”
“I tracked her down with every intention of tying up loose ends. But then Lockhart showed up at her apartment. He wasn’t there by accident.”
Anselm’s features tighten. “Explain.”
“He had a team with him. Professional extraction. They were there to take her.” My wolf surges at the memory of those men approaching Karina’s door. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
“So instead of eliminating the problem, you brought it to my doorstep.”
“I brought her to safety,” I correct him.
“How convenient that you discovered her right when you need to justify breaking protocol.”
I wait, knowing he’s not finished. Anselm never speaks without purpose, never shows his hand before he’s ready to play it.
“Why would Thomas Lockhart be interested in this female? Who is her family?”
“I have no idea,” I admit, holding his scrutiny without flinching. “We weren’t exactly sitting down with coffee to trace her family lineage while people were trying to kidnap her.”
“You expect me to believe you took this female under your protection without knowing her bloodline?” Anselm’s tone is cool but laced with skepticism. “She could already be promised to someone else. For all we know, Lockhart might have laid a claim years ago.”
“I find that unlikely,” Damien replies, voice steady. “She’s been living among humans, hidden. Lockhart isn’t the type to misplace something he considers valuable.”
Anselm’s mouth twists into a grim smile. “Is that so? If Lockhart has been hunting her, I can see why you’re suddenly so interested. Perhaps you take after your father more than you’d like to admit. Hudson always had a talent for turning other men’s assets to his advantage.”
“My father’s ambition has nothing to do with this. She has no idea how our world works. Best guess, her parents were rogues. It would explain why she doesn't shift often and why she refers to her wolf as a monster.”
“She doesn't shift?” His interest sharpens.
“Only when necessary, from what I gather. She hides what she is, even from herself.”
Anselm rises, moving to the window that overlooks the estate grounds.
“You've brought an unknown variable into my territory, Damien. A wolf with no pack ties, no allegiance, and apparently no training.” He turns back to me. “You know better than anyone what a liability that represents.”
“I need your protection for her.” I step closer to his desk, “Lockhart will have caught my scent in her apartment. He knows I interfered with whatever he had planned. He'll come after her again.”
Anselm's expression remains cold, calculating. The silence stretches between us stretching like a rubber band pulled too tight.
“Your mate. Your problem.” He waves his hand dismissively, as if swatting away an annoying fly. “I didn't send you to kill Marco so you could bring home a stray.”
My wolf rages at his callousness, but I keep my face neutral. “She's not a stray.”
“We’ll see about that, won’t we? We’ll put a pin in that for now. There are more pressing matters at hand. You haven't told me what information you extracted from Marco before you put a bullet in his skull.”
The abrupt change of subject doesn't surprise me. It's a classic Anselm tactic—keeping me off balance, reminding me who holds the power. I clench my jaw, recognizing the game but having no choice except to play along.
I force myself to focus on the original reason I was summoned.
“He confirmed Lockhart's been recruiting businesses from under us. Undercutting our protection rates by thirty percent. Six businesses are meeting with Lockhart tomorrow night at the old Kellerman building. Golden Paw Brewery, Redwood Apothecary, Sierra Supply Co, Blackridge Auto Shop, and Moonlight Diner.”
“And the sixth?”
I hesitate, weighing how much to reveal. “The sixth isn't a business. It's a person. Someone inside your organization.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop another ten degrees. Anselm goes perfectly still, only his eyes betraying the fury building inside him.
“A name,” he demands.
“Marco didn't give one. Said Lockhart never specified, just that it was someone close to you.”
Anselm stares at me for a long moment. “Someone close to me,” he repeats. “That narrows it down considerably.”
“It could be anyone. Marco might have been lying to save his skin.”
“Perhaps.” Anselm moves to the liquor cabinet behind his desk, pouring himself two fingers of scotch with deliberate precision. “But Lockhart has been too well-informed lately. His timing too convenient.” He downs the amber liquid in one swallow. “I want names. Possibilities.”
“I'll look into it,” I promise, already calculating how to use this assignment to my advantage. The sooner I resolve this issue, the sooner I can focus on Karina.
“See that you do.” Anselm sets his glass down with a decisive click. “In the meantime, I want you at that meeting tomorrow night. Find out which of my businesses are betraying me.”
“And after I identify them?”
His smile is cold and empty. “Make an example of them. The way only the Reaper can.”
I nod, accepting the assignment. “I'll make it clear what happens to those who betray your family.”
“Good. Now, about this female of yours...”
My spine stiffens, every muscle in my body tensing at the mention of Karina. “What about her?”
“I want to meet her. Tomorrow morning, breakfast. My private dining room.”
My wolf growls at the so-called invitation, sensing the demand beneath it. The thought of letting Anselm near Karina twists something deep in me; she’s still too shaken from what happened tonight. But I can’t refuse—not when I need his help to keep her safe.
“She's been through a lot tonight,” I say carefully. “She might need more time to—”
“Nine o'clock sharp.” Anselm's tone brooks no argument. “If you want my protection for her, you will both be present, and she will be wearing your mark. If she isn’t, well, I have two sons who may be in the market for a mate.”
The barb lands as he intends, but I don't flinch. “Understood.”
I turn toward the door, every step feeling like I'm walking through quicksand.
“Damien.”
I pause, my hand on the doorknob.
“If this female proves to be more trouble than she's worth...” He doesn't finish the threat, but he doesn't need to. The implication hangs in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre.
“She won't be,” I say without turning around.
“For your sake, I hope you're right.”
I walk out before I say something I’ll regret. The door clicks shut behind me, but the tension stays lodged deep in my chest.
The hallway is quiet, cold. But in my blood, everything is loud.
Because no matter what I tell him, no matter what I tell myself, I don’t know if Karina will survive this world.
And worse, I don’t know if I’ll survive what I’ll become trying to protect her.