Chapter 28 Damien
Damien
Ifeel hundred eyes on me as I step into the clearing. These wolves, Blackwood's former pack, have gathered for what they believe will be a simple formality. Instead, they're about to witness a challenge that will determine their future.
My future. Our future.
Karina walks beside me. She's dressed for war in black leather pants and a jacket that hugs her curves, her hair pulled back in a tight braid that exposes the mating mark on her neck. Let them all see it. Let them know she's mine, and I am hers.
Three days since we made our decision. Three days of preparation, of strategy, of enjoying each other’s bodies like the world might end tomorrow. Because for some of us in this clearing, it just might.
“That's him,” someone states from the crowd. “The Reaper.”
The name slides off me like water. I've been called worse. I'll be called worse before this day is done. My father taught me that a name is just a weapon others use against you unless you claim it first.
“Damien Marek,” a voice calls out, silencing the murmurs that ripple through the gathering.
A man steps forward from the front of the crowd—tall, broad-shouldered, with a shock of white-blond hair and eyes so pale they're almost colorless.
Frost. Thomas Blackwood's Beta. The man who's been running this pack since his alpha's death.
“You have no right to be here. This territory belongs to the Blackwood pack.”
I step forward, feeling my father and his enforcers move into position behind me.
The Marek pack, standing as witnesses to what is about to unfold.
At the edge of the clearing, I spot Elias and his father, Anselm.
The Bellandis have come too—though whether to support me or to watch me fail remains to be seen.
“This territory belongs to me by right of conquest,” I state. “I killed Thomas Blackwood. The law is clear.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Some nod in acknowledgment of pack law, while others bare their teeth in silent challenge. Frost remains unmoved.
“The law is clear when an alpha dies without an heir,” he agrees, taking another step toward me. “But Thomas wasn't without an heir. He named me his successor before his death.”
Lies. I can smell the deception on him like rancid meat.
“Blackwood died with my teeth in his throat,” I growl, letting my wolf rise closer to the surface.
I let my canines lengthen just enough to be visible when I speak.
“He had no time to name an heir between his begging and his dying. You are nothing more than an opportunist. A coward who fled into the trees while his alpha bled out.”
Frost's face twists with fury, but he doesn't deny it. He can't. Too many witnessed his retreat that night.
“Blackwood would never name you heir anyway,” Karina speaks up. “You were just a tool to him. Useful, but disposable.”
I feel a surge of pride as several wolves in the crowd shift uncomfortably, recognizing the truth in what she says. Karina may be new to pack politics, but she understands the power of perception.
Frost turns his head toward her, his expression tightening with open contempt. “And who are you to speak of pack matters?”
I take a step forward, my wolf surging with protective rage, but Karina's hand on my arm stops me.
“I am Karina Rosewood,” she announces, her voice carrying across the clearing. “Daughter of Elena Rosewood. True mate to Damien Marek. And by right of both blood and conquest, I stand before you as your future Luna.”
The name Rosewood ripples through the crowd like wildfire.
Shock registers in faces both young and weathered.
Some of the elders lean forward, recognition dawning as they piece together the lineage they thought long extinguished.
Others bristle, lips curling back, unsettled by what her existence means for the balance of power.
Frost is the first to recover. His surprise hardens into contempt. “Rosewood?” His laugh is sharp, humorless. “That line was erased decades ago.”
Karina doesn’t flinch. “My mother fled to protect me from men like Blackwood. Why do you think he wanted me above all others, when any female here would have bent at the chance to call herself Luna? He hunted me because of my bloodline. He admitted it before he died. His obsession wasn’t with me.
It was with my mother. He saw me as his property by inheritance. ”
A stir passes through the pack. From the front, an older woman steps closer. Her white-streaked braid swings against her back, her movements measured but sure. Lines of memory etch her face, but her gaze is steady as it settles on Karina.
“I knew Elena,” the woman remarks.
Frost snarls at the woman. “Silence, Mara! This is pack business.”
“It is pack business,” Mara replies, unflinching under his glare. “And if she truly is Elena's daughter, that changes everything.”
I feel Damien shift beside me, his body angling subtly to keep both Frost and the newcomer in his line of sight.
“It changes nothing,” Frost snaps, his attention returning to us. “Rosewood or not, you have no claim here. This territory has belonged to the Blackwood pack for generations.”
“That ends today,” I challenge him. “This transition does not merit bloodshed. I am giving you a choice. Submit or leave.”
Frost's laugh is harsh, grating against my ears like claws on stone. “Submit? To a pup who thinks killing one alpha makes him worthy of leading a pack? I've served this territory for fifteen years. I know every border, every threat, every weakness. What do you know besides how to follow orders?”
The challenge hangs in the air between us, heavy with implication. I can feel the pack's attention shift, weighing his words against my presence. Some nod in agreement.
“I know how to protect what's mine. I know the difference between leadership and tyranny. And I know that any wolf who stood by while Blackwood tortured innocents has already proven themselves unfit to lead.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd again. I catch fragments of whispered conversations—wolves recounting memories of Blackwood's cruelties, his excesses, the fear that permeated every aspect of pack life under his rule.
Frost's jaw tightens. “You know nothing of what it takes to keep a pack alive. To make the hard choices. Blackwood may have been harsh, but he kept us strong. Kept us unified.”
“He kept you terrified,” Karina interjects.
“He kept you isolated,” I say evenly. “Fear isn’t strength—it’s weakness wearing a mask of dominance.”
Frost’s nostrils flare as the realization hits that he’s losing ground.
“Pretty words from someone who’s never led anything,” he spits. “What happens when neighboring packs test our borders? When food runs short? Will your mate’s bloodline feed our young?”
“My mate’s bloodline will make sure they have a future worth fighting for,” I growl, stepping forward until only a few feet separate us. “Under Blackwood, you were scavengers. Under me, you’ll remember what it means to be wolves.”
Something in Frost fractures. His composure shatters, gold flooding his eyes as his wolf surges free. Bones pop and twist as the change takes hold. “Then prove it!” he snarls, voice warping as his canines lengthen. “Face me as wolves do. Winner takes all.”
The crowd forms a circle around us, their excitement palpable as they scent the coming violence. This is what they understand—not politics or bloodlines, but raw power. The most primal form of pack law.
I begin to strip, handing my clothes to Karina without breaking eye contact with Frost. Her fingers brush mine as she takes them. It steadies something wild in my chest.
“End this quickly,” she murmurs, low enough that only I can hear.
I nod once, then let my wolf surge forward. The shift tears through me like lightning—bones cracking, muscles expanding, my human form dissolving into something far more lethal. When I rise on four legs, I'm massive even by alpha standards.
He's smaller than I expected. Lean where I'm broad, built for speed rather than raw power. His white-blond fur makes him look ghostly in the afternoon light filtering through the trees. He circles me slowly, looking for weakness, for an opening.
I don't give him one.
The pack falls silent around us, the only sounds our heavy breathing and the soft pad of paws on forest floor.
Frost lunges first, aiming for my throat in a move that speaks of desperation rather than strategy. I sidestep easily, my larger frame moving with surprising grace. His momentum carries him past me, and I rake my claws across his ribs as he stumbles.
First blood. The metallic scent fills the air, and several wolves in the circle shift restlessly, their wolves eager to witness the outcome.
Frost recovers quickly, wheeling around to face me with bared fangs. Blood drips from his wounded side, but he shows no sign of backing down. If anything, the injury seems to fuel his desperation.
He feints left, then launches himself at my flank.
This time, I'm ready for the deception, catching him mid-leap with my jaws.
My teeth sink deep into his shoulder, and his howl of pain echoes through the clearing.
I shake him once, violently, before releasing him to crash into the circle of watching wolves.
They scatter back, giving us more room as Frost struggles to his feet. His left foreleg trembles with the effort of supporting his weight, but he doesn't submit. Stubborn bastard.
Frost circles me again, more cautiously this time. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
He tries a different approach this time, staying low and going for my legs. If he can bring me down, limit my mobility, he might stand a chance. But I've faced faster, more skilled opponents than Frost. I leap over his attack, twisting in midair to land behind him.
Before he can recover, I'm on him, my jaws clamping down on the back of his neck. Not hard enough to kill, not yet, but enough to immobilize him.