25. Damon
Potion for Steadiness:
Mix chamomile, valerian, and honey. Sip with your pack.
The secret of Dahlia Cross now sits between us, a fragile, unspoken truce. I keep my eyes on the road, on the dark storefronts and swaying trees, but my mind is replaying the scene in the town square. The terror in her eyes. The raw power in her scream.
Then I see it. A figure standing at the edge of the road, just under the halo of a malfunctioning streetlight.
Another figure joins them, running up from the direction of the residential side streets.
I slam on the brakes, the tires hydroplaning for a second before catching the pavement. The car jerks to a stop.
I have to be hallucinating. No one is out in this.
“Give me a minute,” I tell Silas. I don’t wait for a reply. I throw the door open and step out into the wind. The rain is immediate, plastering my hair to my forehead.
“No one is supposed to be out here!” I shout, my words swallowed by the gale.
The smaller figure spins around, and her scent hits me a second before her face registers. It’s Caroline. But it’s not her usual scent. It’s the warm honey and cinnamon I know, but it’s amplified, laced with a thick, cloying sweetness that signals only one thing. My gut clenches.
The man beside her is Griffin, the firefighter. He’s got a hand on her arm, his body angled as if to shield her from the storm. From me.
“Damon!” she calls out. She sounds so scared. “You have to help us.”
I rush toward them, my boots splashing through the puddles. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“It’s Thistle,” she says, and I can hear the tears in her words. “He ran away.”
Griffin nods to me, his face grim. “I’ve been helping her look for him.
The wind was making it impossible to track his scent, so I was using some basic weather wards to try to create a calm pocket for us.
It was working. But then… something happened.
The wards just shattered. The storm came back worse than before, and I can’t… I don’t know where he is.”
Shit. A familiar bolting during a Rift flare-up is a recipe for disaster.
I turn back toward the car, walking over and yanking open the passenger door. “Silas,” I say, my mind racing. “There’s been a situation. Can you make your way to your car on your own from here?”
But Silas isn’t looking at me. His gaze is fixed on Caroline, his expression one of intense, unnerving focus. He steps out, ignoring my question completely. He walks right past me, his long legs eating up the space between the cruiser and the pair on the sidewalk.
“Caroline,” he says. His tone is flat, devoid of any inflection, but it carries a weight that makes her flinch.
I’m completely confused. How the fuck do they know each other?
“Silas?” she whispers, her face a mask of bewilderment. “What are you… I don’t understand.”
“Caroline,” Silas repeats. “You shouldn’t be out here. Not in your condition.”
Griffin steps forward, putting himself slightly between Silas and Caroline. “I tried to tell her that,” he explains. “She wouldn’t listen.”
And that’s when it hits me, truly hits me. Not just the sweet, warm scent of her, but the thick, musky undertone of an Omega in heat. My own body reacts instantly, a surge of possessiveness flooding my veins.
“I’m in pre-heat,” Caroline insists even though she’s shaking. She wraps her arms around herself, a gesture of self-preservation. “I can hold it. I just need to find my cat.”
I shake my head. She has no idea. She’s fighting a battle she’s already lost. I take a step closer, my gaze softening as I look at her. Her face is flushed, her eyes wide and glassy with fever and fear.
“No, baby,” I say gently. “I think you might already be in heat.”
“No,” Caroline says defiantly. She shakes her head, a motion that seems to take all her strength.
“I’m not. I would know. I track my cycle.
I know what happened after the Rift flare, but this doesn't feel the same.
It feels like a panic attack. The storm, the magical surge...
everything's amplified, but I'm not in heat. I'm in control.”
Her reasoning is logical, rooted in her own experience. But biology is a brutal and uncompromising thing.
“Damnit,” Griffin mutters as the sky opens up. The rain, which had been a downpour, becomes a torrential, driving force, plastering our clothes to our skin in seconds.
“Your personal assessment is irrelevant to the biological facts,” Silas says, his tone cutting through the wind and rain with clinical precision.
He takes a step toward her, ignoring the way Griffin tenses.
“The pheromones you’re emitting are at the peak concentration of an Omega in full estrus.
Your pupils are dilated, your skin is flushed with a fever that has nothing to do with panic. You’re already in heat.”
Caroline flinches as if struck. Her wide, feverish eyes dart from Silas to me and back again. “But Thistle…” she whispers, the name a broken plea.
“I wasn’t entirely sure until now,” Silas continues, his gaze unwavering.
“When we met at the apothecary, your scent was on the cusp. You were in pre-heat, but it was potent, unusually so. I had an inkling your cycle might be unpredictable. The stress of this surge, coupled with the distress of your missing animal, has likely acted as a catalyst, triggering the full heat prematurely.”
What? They met at the apothecary? My mind races, trying to connect the dots.
When? I was with her that day. I don’t remember seeing him.
And he could tell all that just from her scent?
A new wave of irritation washes over me, directed at this smug Council operative who seems to know more about the woman in my town than I do.
“But Thistle…” she repeats, her focus a single point of desperation.
“We’ll find your cat,” I say, leaving no room for argument. I’m the sheriff. I’ll fix this.
“I can help,” she insists, trying to step past me, toward the darkened street. “I know his hiding spots.”
Griffin moves to block her path, his body forming a barrier.
“The weather is getting worse. You can’t be out here.
I’ll be the one to do it.” He’s gritting his teeth, the words forced through his clenched jaw.
A muscle tics in his temple. He’s obviously being affected by her scent, every Alpha instinct screaming at him to claim, to protect, to possess.
Just like me.
Just like Silas.
“I can create pockets of calm, but it’s… it’s hard to focus,” Griffin says.
Silas, who has been observing the entire exchange with a detached, analytical air, finally speaks. “I will go with him. You stay with her, Damon.”
I shake my head immediately. No. I want to. Fuck, I really want to, but the faster we get Thistle, the better it will be for Caroline.
“That doesn’t make sense. I have the car. I know the town’s alleys and side streets better than anyone. It’s more efficient if I go. You stay with her, Silas. Make sure she gets back inside and stays there.
Every instinct tells me not to leave her with another Alpha. But Silas is a Council warlock—disciplined to the point of obsession. If there’s one man I trust to keep his instincts on a leash, it’s him.
My tone is an order, not a suggestion. Silas meets my gaze, and for a second, I see a flare of something in his eyes—annoyance, perhaps, or calculation. But he gives a nod. “As you wish.”
Caroline is still shaking her head, tears now mixing with the rain on her cheeks. “I need to go. I need to find him.”
I close the distance between us, my boots splashing in the rising water on the pavement. I gently cup her face, my fingers cool against her burning hot skin. I force her to look at me, to see the certainty in my eyes.
“Caroline. Look at me.” Her teary gaze locks onto mine. “I promise I will bring your familiar back, but you have to stay with Silas. He will stay with you and make sure you’re safe. Can you do that for me? Please?”
The fight seems to drain out of her all at once. Her shoulders slump, and she gives a small, shuddering nod.
The rain is coming down heavier now, a deafening roar on the asphalt. I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. It’s a chaste gesture meant to reassure her, but my body betrays me. My cock stirs, achingly aware of the Omega right in front of me.
Why does she have to smell so fucking good?
“Let’s go,” I say to Griffin, who has been watching the entire exchange with a pained expression.
I force myself to take a few steps back. “Now, Griff.”
He steps forward and gives Caroline a quick, hard kiss on the lips. “We’ll be right back,” he says, his words thick with an emotion I recognize all too well. It’s the struggle of an Alpha fighting his own nature.
She nods again, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She darts back toward her house and returns with a small fleece blanket. “It’s from his bed,” she says, holding it out to me. “Maybe you can use his scent. He’s scared, so you have to be careful. You can’t miss him.”
I take the blanket, the soft fabric already damp. “We’ll find him.”
Griffin and I turn and jog back to the cruiser. The last thing I see before I get in is Silas wrapping a protective arm around Caroline’s shoulders, turning her back toward the house and guiding her to the door.
Griffin slides into the passenger seat, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. He’s quiet for a moment as I pull away from the curb, the wipers working furiously to clear the windshield.
“Will she be okay?” he finally asks, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.
“Yeah,” I say, my own certainty solidifying. “Silas might be a Council prick, but he won’t let anything happen to her. And Thistle… the cat probably sensed her distress and the shift in her hormones and bolted. The surge from the Rift isn’t helping anything. He’s probably just scared and hiding.”
It’s a plausible theory. Familiars are deeply attuned to their Omega’s emotional and physical state. A sudden and unexpected heat would be a massive, frightening event for the animal.
“What do you need from me?” I ask, glancing over at him. “To concentrate.”
He closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. “Just some quiet. And for you to drive. I can at least try to slow this down a bit more, give us a fighting chance.”
I focus on the road, navigating the flooded streets with practiced ease. I watch him from the corner of my eye. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his hands resting on his knees, palms up.
The air inside the car seems to change, to grow heavy. Outside, the relentless drumming of the rain on the roof begins to soften just a fraction, individual drops becoming discernible again instead of the previous roar.
He’s doing it. He’s actually pushing back against the storm.
And all for her.