Chapter 41 #2
She’s quiet for a long moment, weighing her words. “I believe in justice. But justice and vengeance aren’t the same thing.”
“Sometimes the system fails.” I’m reminded of the hundreds of animal abusers I’ve killed after they walked free from the courts. “Sometimes the only justice available is the kind you take for yourself.”
“That’s a slippery slope.” She leans forward, engaged now. “Who decides what crimes deserve punishment? Who appoints themselves judge, jury, and executioner?”
“Someone who understands both predator and prey.” Our conversation has shifted from the hypothetical to something much more dangerous. “Someone who’s seen the darkness up close.”
The air between us crackles with unspoken meaning. Luna’s pupils dilate, whether from the wine or the dangerous turn in our discussion. I can’t tell. But I recognize the signs of arousal in her body. The quickening pulse at her throat, the slight parting of her lips.
Is this conversation turning her on?
“Is that how you see the world, Damien? Predators and prey?” Her voice has dropped to something intimate and husky.
I hold her gaze. “I see a world where the strong prey on the weak until someone stronger stops them.”
“And you? Which are you?”
“What do you think?”
She studies me with those shrewd eyes that are starting to see more than they should. Then she stands and grabs our empty plates. The spell breaks as she moves to the sink.
“I’m still figuring you out. I thought I had you pegged when you first showed up at my door.
Clean-cut, professional, safe.” She pauses, puts the dishes in the sink, and then leans against the counter.
“But after what happened with Odell Pearson. And tonight, the way you handled Caleb like you knew exactly what kind of man he was. There’s something else beneath all that polish.
Something that makes me think you don’t just stand by when someone is being victimized. ”
I insist on helping Luna with the dishes despite her protests, and we make quick work of them.
She suggests we move into the living room to finish the wine I brought.
We settle on the sofa, and she turns toward me, tucking one leg beneath her.
The movement draws my attention to the curve of her calf, and I force myself to focus on her face instead.
“So… Enough about me.” She smiles, the wine warming her cheeks and eyes. “We’ve been talking about me all night. Tell me about the mysterious Damien Wolfe. Maren’s internet deep dive turned up articles calling you a reclusive genius, but they don’t say much else.”
“Not much to tell.” I give her the curated version of my past, the one that explains Damien Wolfe without revealing the darkness beneath. “Born into wealth, parents more interested in their social standing than their son. Shipped off to boarding schools when I became inconvenient.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“I got used to being on my own.”
The understatement of the fucking century.
I don’t tell her the rest. The brutalities of my childhood and the things I witnessed or experienced at the hands of the people who were supposed to love me but didn’t.
The isolation that taught me to observe rather than participate.
And how that isolation shaped me into the predator I am now. Her predator.
“What about after school?” She leans forward with interest. “How did you end up founding your tech company?”
“Tech is only one of my companies, but I’ve always been good with systems. Understanding patterns, predicting behavior. It started with security systems I designed to protect myself from bullies at boarding school. Later, I realized there was a market for that kind of technology.”
Her eyebrows lift before she can school her expression. “You were bullied?”
A smile tugs at my lips. “I wasn’t always this big. I was a pretty scrawny kid until I hit puberty. Then I grew over a foot in a year.”
She blinks, processing this. “Jesus, that must have been brutal on your joints.”
“The joints were fine. It was the cafeteria tables that suffered. I kept kneecapping myself every time I stood up.”
She shakes her head, but her eyes soften. “You make light of it, but that couldn’t have been easy. Being different at that age… it’s hard enough without growth spurts and bullies.” She takes a sip of her wine. “So, are your parents proud of what you’ve built?”
“They died in a home invasion when I was sixteen.” The practiced lie comes easily.
The investigation produced no suspects. No one had scrutinized the grieving son, who was away at boarding school and who had both motive and, thanks to his specialized knowledge of systems, opportunity to cover his tracks.
“I’m so sorry.” Luna reaches across the sofa to touch my hand, and the simple gesture of compassion hits me hard.
Her fingers are warm against my skin. I want to turn my hand over and capture hers, thread our fingers together, and pull her closer. Instead, I dismiss her sympathy for a loss I don’t mourn.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Still, losing parents is hard. I know that better than most.” A shadow falls over her face. “I was ten when mine died. A drunk driver plowed into a bridge we were on. It collapsed, and they were both gone in an instant.”
“That kind of loss is devastating, especially to a child.”
“I don’t remember the actual event. I only know what my Grandpa told me and what I read in the newspapers after I woke up from the coma.”
“I’m glad you had him.” I need to steer this conversation away from death and trauma. Topics I’m not equipped to handle without revealing too much. “So, Sage & Summit Sanctuary, what you’ve built here is remarkable, Luna.”
I want to know everything about her and what makes her tick.
I’ve researched the financials and know how she stretched her inheritance and savings to build the rehabilitation center.
How she struggles some months to keep it afloat.
It’s why I paid off her mortgage and student loans.
And why Cade now funnels money to the sanctuary through shell companies.
Different amounts from different sources each month, designed to look like the kindness of strangers rather than the obsession of one man.
“It’s not much compared to your empire.” She gives me that humble smile, the one that makes me want to pin her against the wall and show her exactly how extraordinary she is. “But it’s mine. My purpose.”
“It’s impressive. You’ve created something meaningful.”
Luna studies me over the rim of her wineglass. “You sound almost envious.”
“Maybe I am. You know exactly who you are and what you’re meant to do. That’s rare.”
“And you don’t?”
“I have my own purpose. Though it’s not one I can discuss over dinner.” I let a smile play on my lips, but her eyes sharpen, and I realize I’ve said too much. Again. There’s something about Luna that makes me careless with my secrets.
“No wonder people call you mysterious.”
I lean forward, allowing some of my true intensity to show. “Everyone has secrets, Luna. Even you.”
She shifts in her seat, a subtle tell that I’ve hit a nerve. “What makes you think I have secrets?”
“You live alone on a remote property, surrounded by animals most people fear. You keep your distance from people, preferring the company of those animals. And sometimes, at night, you stand at your bedroom window and look out into the darkness like you’re waiting for something. Or someone.”
Luna’s face drains of color. “How would you know what I do at night?”
I recover quickly. “Nothing creepy. Just an observation from the night we finished your installation. Before I transferred the system to the mainframe for monitoring, I saw you looking out your upstairs window from the outside cameras.”
“Oh.” She relaxes, but suspicion lingers in her gaze. “You’re very observant.”
“It’s what I do,” I say with deliberate lightness, hoping she’ll let it drop.
“You’re not what I expected, Damien.”
“Is that good or bad?”
She considers this, head tilted in that way that makes me want to kiss the curve of her neck.
“I’m still deciding. When people first meet you, you come off as this unapproachable, intense, and kind of scowly grump. Even the images of you online, you look the same way. All the time. But when you let someone under that facade, you’re still intense, but you’ve got a soft center.”
I choke on my wine and pretend to be offended. “Did you just call me soft? Like I’m some kind of marshmallow?”
“Pretty much.” Her lips curve into a teasing smile. And fuck, I want to kiss her. “I mean, you’re obviously a generous, kind man, wrapped in this intense package, but you have a subtle gentleness about you to offset all that intensity you project to the world. I like that about you.”
I excuse myself to the bathroom, needing a moment to recalibrate. The mirror reflects a stranger, or rather, it reflects Damien Wolfe, the civilized mask I wear. But underneath, Luna’s wolf is pacing, demanding to claim what’s his.
The dual awareness of my separate identities is becoming harder to maintain in her presence.
Every smile she gives Damien feels like a betrayal of her wolf.
Every kind word she speaks makes me want to throw her over my shoulder and carry her upstairs, strip away every layer between us, and show her who she belongs to.
When I return to the living room, she sits motionless, firelight painting shadows across her face as she stares into the flames.
I settle beside her, and she blinks before her hands move to the wine bottle, dividing what’s left between our glasses.
As she offers me mine, our fingers brush.
This time, I don’t let the moment pass. I capture her hand, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch.
“Thank you for dinner, Luna. Despite the interruption.”
She doesn’t pull away, and the victory of that small surrender keeps the wolf prowling.
“I’m glad you arrived when you did. I don’t know what would have happened if—”