11. Damon
Circle of Guarding:
Salt, cedar, and fire ash. Draw tight when danger is near.
The coffee is too hot and too strong, which feels right this morning.
I stand at the counter in the manor kitchen, one hand braced against the cool stone, the other wrapped around a mug that smells like burnt beans and stubbornness.
The window over the sink is fogged from steam and early chill, the world outside washed pale and gray.
My head still aches in that dull, insistent way that promises it will return the second I let my guard down.
I take a careful sip.
The door swings open behind me.
“Hey,” I say without turning. I already know the cadence of her steps, the way she moves like she owns the floor. For once, I hope that I’m wrong and it’s my aunt instead.
“Amara.”
She waves from the doorway, hair a tangled mess, oversized sweatshirt swallowing her whole. She looks smaller than she did yesterday. Or maybe I’m just seeing her with new eyes after everything that went wrong.
“When did you get in last night?” she asks, heading straight for the fruit bowl.
I swallow, and the coffee goes down wrong.
For half a second, all I see is Caroline. Heat-flushed skin. My hands in her hair. Her voice saying my name like it means something dangerous. My throat tightens hard enough that I have to cough, the mug rattling as I set it down.
“Late,” I manage.
Amara pauses mid-reach, an apple hovering in her hand. Her gaze narrows. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I clear my throat and gesture vaguely. “Simon and I were dealing with roadblocks, displaced folks, a couple of false alarms. You know how it goes.”
She watches me over the apple, taking a bite. “Uh-huh.”
I shift my weight, suddenly very aware of my uniform, the stiffness of the collar, the faint scent of smoke that never quite leaves my clothes anymore. “I was home before morning,” I add, like that explains anything.
Her brow lifts. “Good to know.”
I take another sip of coffee, wishing it would either wake me up fully or knock me out.
She gestures with the apple. “So. Where’s the freak in the designer suits?”
That gets a smile out of me, quick and real despite myself. “Called back to Chicago. Emergency meeting. Council nonsense.”
“Thank the stars.” She makes a face. “He gives me the creeps.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Same.”
She laughs softly, lips quirking as she leans back against the counter. “And did you see how close he was to Aunt Etta?”
“Don’t remind me.”
Her grin widens. “Right?”
For a moment, it feels normal. Like we’re just cousins in a kitchen again, trading looks over bad coffee and better gossip. The way it used to be, before everything complicated itself.
I take another drink, then lower the mug. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugs, easy. “Better. Still a little wiped, but my head’s not pounding anymore.”
Relief loosens something in my chest. “Good. I was worried.”
She studies me, then smiles, softer this time. “I’m okay. Really.”
I nod. “You heading back to school?”
“Probably tomorrow. I already missed enough.” She rolls her eyes. “Professor Langley sent me three emails. Three.”
I huff a laugh. “That man has never missed a chance to be a pain in the ass. I’ll write you a note if you need one. But I think he’s just being dramatic. Everyone knows about the Rift, so there’s no way they will have a problem with you missing a few classes.”
Am I talking a lot? I feel like I’m talking a lot.
Amara doesn’t seem to think so because she simply wipes her apple on her sweatshirt.
“Right?” She takes another bite. “Classes are fine. Same old.”
“Thanks for the detailed report,” I say dryly.
She snorts. “You’re welcome, Sheriff.” She pushes off the counter and grabs her jacket from the chair. “I’m heading out.”
“Yeah?” I keep my voice even, casual.
“I’m going to see Caroline. She’s probably doing worse than me. She hasn’t even answered any of my texts.”
There it is.
The name hits me low, like stepping wrong on uneven ground. My chest tightens, breath hitching before I can stop it. I turn my mug in my hands, watching the coffee ripple.
“Oh,” I say. “Okay. I hope she’s okay.”
I actually mean that. I had to ask Oscar Dune to get me the aftercare tea in exchange for me not arresting him for the love portions.
Okay… I blackmailed him. I had to.
I see Caroline in heat one time, and suddenly all my morals are out the window. I can’t even think straight.
I should never have touched her. I should never have fucked her. I should never have gotten involved.
Amara shoves me, and that’s when I realize she was talking, and I completely zoned out and missed it.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
She pauses, keys in hand, studying me. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” she insists. “You’ve been weird all morning.”
“No, I haven’t,” I say, a little too fast.
Her eyes narrow. “Did something happen?”
“Nope. Just work. Simon. Work. I told you.”
She hums, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
I stare into my coffee like it might offer answers. “Tell Caroline I said hi.”
That earns me a look. Not unkind, just knowing. “I will.” She heads for the door, then glances back. “Get some sleep, Damon. You should definitely take a nap before you head to the station.”
“I will.”
The door closes behind her, the sound too final in the too-big kitchen.
I let out a long breath and brace my hands on the counter. My reflection in the window looks older than it did a week ago. Tired. Frayed at the edges. A fucking mess.
I fucked up.
I pick up my mug once more. The coffee has gone cold, a bitter reminder of everything I’ve screwed up. I set the mug down with a clink that echoes in the kitchen. My phone feels heavy in my pocket, a ticking time bomb of my own making.
I need to check in. Make sure the town’s not falling apart without me. The only reason my absence didn't cause a problem yesterday is that most of my remaining work had been follow-ups and coordination. The team had kept things moving without me. Today's going to be brutal.
My fingers find Noah’s number before my brain can protest.
“Damon?” He sounds exhausted. “Everything handled on your end?”
“Mostly,” I lie, my throat tight. “Just feeling under the weather. Thought I’d take the morning.”
Silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken questions. “Under the weather or under someone?” Noah finally asks.
“Very funny.” I run a hand through my hair, wincing when my fingers catch on tangles. “Just need a few hours. Simon and Rory have things covered?”
“They’re good. We’ve got teams checking the wards hourly. No new surges since last night.” A pause. “You sure you’re okay? You sound off.”
“Fine,” I say, too quickly. “Just need rest.”
“Right.” I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. “Call if you need anything. And I mean anything, Damon.”
“I will.”
The line goes dead, and I immediately dial the station. Maggie picks up on the first ring—of course she does.
“Sheriff’s office.”
“Maggie, it’s me.” Then I quickly explain that I’ll need some time off.
“Should I be worried?” she asks, and I can picture her leaning back in her chair, pen tapping against her desk. “Taking a sick day is so unlike you.”
“I’m okay. I think I’ve overextended myself. I’m thinking I need to take a nap, but I’ll be there by three latest.”
“So, half a day off?”
“Something like that,” I mutter. “Listen, Simon and Rory have things covered?”
“They’re out now, checking the east side. Road’s cleared, most folks have power back.” Her tone shifts, softer. “You sound terrible, honey. You sure you don’t need me to bring over some soup?”
“I’m good. Just call if there’s an actual emergency. Otherwise, I’ll be in this afternoon.”
“You got it, Sheriff.” She hesitates. “And Damon? Try to actually rest this time.”
“I will.”
I hang up before she can say more. Lying feels wrong, but the alternative—admitting I spent half the night thinking about Caroline, about her hands on my skin, about the way she said my name—feels impossible.
Footsteps shuffle behind me, and I turn to find Aunt Etta in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy pink robe that clashes horribly with her purple slippers. Her silver hair’s pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s got that knowing smile that makes me feel like a kid again.
“Morning, sweetheart.” She shuffles over to the coffee pot, pouring herself a mug.
“Good morning.” I lean against the counter, trying to look casual and not like I’m about to jump out of my skin.
“Are you okay?”
How terrible must I look? “Um… yes.”
Her hand presses against my forehead, cool and soft. “You sure? You feel warm. Should I call Dr. Miller?”
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling away gently. “Just tired.”
She studies me, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again, haven’t you?”
“It’s my job.”
“It’s your excuse,” she corrects, but her voice is kind. “Go on. Get some real rest. Not that fake napping you do where you just stare at the ceiling thinking about work.”
I force a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pats my cheek. “That’s my boy.”
I escape before she can say more, my feet heavy on the stairs. My bedroom’s at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. Inside, the curtains are drawn, casting everything in soft gray light.
I strip off my uniform, letting it fall to the floor. The shower’s hot, almost too hot, steam fogging up the glass. Water runs over my skin, and I try to wash away the memory of Caroline’s touch, the scent of her hair, the way she looked at me when she thought no one was watching.
But it’s no use. She’s everywhere.
I slide under the cool sheets, closing my eyes against the daylight filtering through the curtains.
My body aches with exhaustion, but my mind won’t shut up.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve known Caroline for years, always kept my distance, always told myself she’s off-limits.
Amara’s best friend. An Omega. Trouble wrapped in a pretty package.
And then I went and fucked everything up.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I almost ignore it. But what if it’s Caroline? What if she needs something?
I grab it, my heart thudding. Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Damon Wilder?” A woman’s voice, cool and professional. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
My stomach drops. “Who is this?”
“Helena Thorn. I’m on with Silas and the rest of the Council. We need to discuss Willowbrook.”
Of course. Just what I need. A conference call with Chicago’s finest while I’m lying in bed like a teenager who got caught sneaking out.
“I’m here,” I say, sitting up. “What’s this about?”
Silas cuts in. “The Council has been reviewing Willowbrook’s latest reports. Given the recent instability, we need to discuss long-term solutions.”
Here we go.
“The TrueBond app,” Marcus continues, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. “We believe it’s the most viable solution. We’d like to hold workshops, provide materials, and perhaps have you endorse it to the town’s Omegas.”
My stomach twists. “I’m not sure that’s the best approach.”
“And why not?” Marcus asks, and I can hear the challenge in his voice. “It’s Council-approved. The algorithms are sound. It’s a perfectly reasonable way to ensure Omegas are properly bonded and the Rift remains stable.”
“Because it’s impersonal,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Because bonding isn’t something you can algorithm. It’s not a math problem.”
A heavy silence falls over the line.
“Damon,” Silas warns. “We’re not asking for your opinion on the mechanics of romance. We’re asking you to do your job and help stabilize the Rift.”
“And I’m telling you,” I shoot back, “that forcing Omegas to bond through some app isn’t the answer. It’s a Band-Aid on a bullet wound.”
“The Rift is a problem we can’t keep ignoring,” Helena says firmly. “And the data shows that bonded Omegas help stabilize it. It’s not just about romance, Damon. It’s about survival.”
I lean back against the headboard, my head pounding.
She’s right. I know she’s right. The Rift is a ticking time bomb, and we’ve all been pretending it’s not.
But a part of me still can’t get behind treating people like variables in an equation, like their lives and happiness don’t matter as long as the magic stays contained.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, because I can’t argue anymore. “I’ll get back to you.”
“See that you do,” Silas says, and then the line goes dead.
I toss my phone onto the nightstand, my hands shaking. The room spins around me, and I lie back down, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. What the hell am I supposed to do now?
The sheets feel too tight, too constricting.
I kick them off, my skin crawling with restless energy.
My thoughts keep circling back to Caroline, to the way she looked at me, to the way she felt in my arms. Is this what they want for her?
To be matched up with some stranger through an app, bonded to someone she doesn’t know, doesn’t love?
The thought makes me sick.
I sit up, my bare feet hitting the cool floor. The house is quiet, too quiet. I can hear my own breathing, the frantic beat of my heart. I need to get out of here, need to do something, anything, to stop thinking about her.
But where can I go? What can I do?
My phone buzzes again, and I grab it, my heart leaping into my throat. Maybe it’s her. Maybe she’s thinking about me too.
But it’s just Noah.
“Rift activity’s spiking again,” he says, his voice tight with urgency. “We’ve got another surge coming. And this one feels different. Bigger.”
I’m already pulling on my jeans and my shirt. “I’m on my way.”
The lie about feeling under the weather evaporates in the face of real danger. Because that’s who I am. That’s what I do. I protect this town, no matter what.
Even if it means facing the one person I’m trying so hard to forget.
I grab my keys, my jacket, my badge. My hand hesitates on the doorknob, my mind racing. What if I see her? What if I have to talk to her?
What if I can’t stay away?
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts aside. There’s no time for that now. The Rift is waiting. And so is my duty.
I open the door and step out into the gray morning, ready for whatever comes next.