Chapter 13 - Damian
“We can’t just go out there without knowing exactly how to face what we’re dealing with.”
“We can’t leave Daniel out there, either.”
“The dark witches are a cruel bunch, but they won’t hurt a child.”
“So, why have they taken him?”
All the questions, speculations, and demands go flying around the room as everyone seems to have something to say about my son’s disappearance.
My son.
The child I never knew existed.
Ten years…
Ten missed birthdays.
Ten crucial, developmental years of which I had no part.
No matter how much I try to wrap my head around what Poppy told me in the hallway, I can’t understand why she would keep him a secret from me.
I’m furious, almost disgusted by her choices. But she just walked out, implying that she can do this by herself, and my inner wolf is unsettled.
Without saying a word or contributing to the discussion—which is probably just wasting more of the time I could have with my son—I turn and leave the room, following Poppy.
It doesn’t matter how livid I am; I can’t let her go after him alone. Not when dark witches are behind this nightmare.
She’ll only get herself killed.
And my inner wolf won’t have it.
I can’t lose them both.
That single thought rips through the anger, the regret I’ve been wallowing in all morning, and I storm through the front door, following the trail of Poppy’s scent toward the town’s local school.
I find her at the back of the building, crouching between wilted flowers and grass and hastily unpacking a bag.
The same bag she packed when she planned on taking my son and fleeing Nightclaw, just to get away from me.
Anger washes over me again, and it’s like I’m being ripped apart, pulled in different directions by all the emotions I’m experiencing at once. Sadness, regret, anger, all churning inside my chest, reopening the wound I thought I’d closed when I spoke to Dorian yesterday.
I’m angry at Poppy for not having faith in me and running away at a volatile moment. I’m angry with Dorian for leaving Valley Walker in the first place, because none of this would be happening if I wasn’t so devastated when he left.
My son would have been safe, and I could have protected him if I knew Poppy was pregnant back then.
If I’d known… If I’d been there… If I’d been his father...
Damn Poppy for thinking she couldn’t trust me!
I clench my fists, my bones humming with the first stirrings of my wolf ready to be unleashed, wanting to rush out there and find my son myself. But then, I hear the terrified sobs coming from Poppy, and I take a deep breath.
I’m not the only one ready to do something reckless, even though neither of us knows what’s out there, except that it has to do with black magic.
A shiver courses down my spine just as Poppy stands up with a baby-blue mink blanket clutched to her chest, her cheeks streaming with tears.
I gulp hard, swallowing all the disarray in my head, realizing that I’m looking at a mother who just lost her son.
No.
This isn’t about my ego trip, or coming off as a victim—a victim who had to take his brother’s place in the pack, or a victim whose lover fled the town.
This is about a mother who just found out her son is missing. A mother distraught, torn by his disappearance at the hands of evil. She isn’t the woman who kept my son from me.
She’s a mother whose world just collapsed.
And seeing her in this state, face full of tears, eyes sadder than I have ever seen them, I realize that I will have to push aside how I feel about her keeping him a secret from me, so that I can be there for her when she needs it the most.
Our relationship may be irreparable, too much having happened between us despite last night’s brush with normalcy. It’s nearly impossible to think about last night without becoming angry again.
It meant nothing to her. She was planning on leaving regardless of what happened.
I shake the thought aside when she sniffles. Right now, Poppy needs to be reunited with her son.
That’s the only way I’ll ever get to meet him, too. Be a part of his life. Make up for the first decade I missed.
“Is that,” I gulp as I point to the blanket she’s holding, “his baby blanket?”
Poppy’s lips tremble as she glances down at the blanket and nods tentatively. “Y-yes,” she stammers, then lifts her head with a defiant glint in her eyes between the tears as she holds it tighter to her chest.
“I’m going to get him back,” she says, then turns and follows the trail of withered ground that leads toward the forest.
“Poppy! Wait! You can’t go out there alone!” I call out after her, already chasing behind.
“Are you going to stop me?” she throws haphazardly over her shoulder, still marching forward.
I reach her in a few strides and grab her arm when she snaps around and snatches it away, glaring at me.
“Don’t, Damian.”
“No, Poppy,” I say sternly, using my authoritative alpha voice. “You ran away once. You almost ran away again today. I’m not losing you out there in the woods now.”
“I’m not running away, Damian!” she snarls at me. “My son is missing! I can’t wait around for someone else to decide if it’s safe to go after him!”
I run a frustrated hand through my hair and growl. “If dark witches are using black magic out there, you’ll get yourself killed. What use are you to Daniel if you’re dead?!”
Poppy gasps, my voice more powerful than ever.
“You realize how bad this is, right?” I ask with a grunt. “We can only hope that Aoife is right, and that those fucking witches don’t harm him. Let us do things the right way, so that no one is hurt, and we get Daniel back.”
Poppy opens her mouth to protest—and I don’t blame her, because just as much as she hates waiting around, so do I—but we’re interrupted when Connor comes over.
“We need that blanket, Poppy,” he says gently as he approaches us. “Dorian is still sending out a team of scouts to check the surrounding areas, figure out what route they’re using, and then we can plan and move in on them. It’s safer this way.”
“I want it back,” she says in a warning tone as she hands the blanket to Connor.
He nods before tucking it under one arm. “I will be right back. Aoife wants to use his scent to conduct a ritual—”
Poppy is about to protest when I step between her and Connor and tell the beta, “Do whatever needs to be done to find my son. Tell my brother I am counting on him.”
Connor nods and leaves immediately, running back toward Dorian’s house.
“How are you okay with any of this?!” Poppy exclaims, and I turn around and grab her shoulders.
“I’m not okay with any of it. Not with Daniel’s kidnapping, not with the witches being here, not with the threat out there.
I’m not okay with any of it. But I’m being logical about this.
Neither of us is any good to Daniel if we’re dead.
For all we know, this could be a trap. There could be an ambush waiting on the other side. We need to be prepared.”
“You’re all wasting time!” Poppy argues. “Daniel—”
I grip Poppy’s shoulders tighter, yanking her forward and staring deeply into her eyes, pushing all my personal feelings aside: the pain, betrayal, the hurt of having to find out about my son this way.
She shrieks in surprise, her eyes widening though they’re full of tears, and a pang of sympathy grips my chest.
“Daniel is going to be fine,” I whisper authoritatively, pronouncing each word with conviction and a touch of hope that my statement is true. “Daniel is the son of an alpha, Poppy. He has my blood running through his veins. And if he’s anything like you, his mother, he’s going to be okay.”
“I’m nothing…” she whimpers, her bottom lip trembling. “I couldn’t protect him, Damian. I failed my son. I failed Daniel.”
She hangs her head, and that’s when the height of sympathy strikes me, ripping through my chest like a blade forged from hot, molten lava.
I grab her face, this time with both hands, wrestling with the anger I’m feeling and the agony of losing my son before even knowing he existed.
“You didn’t fail him,” I say, this time voicing the words from deep within, my inner wolf offering reassurance where it used to be relentless. My heart hurts for this woman—my fated mate—and no amount of punishment she inflicts on me can dismiss what that means.
“This is not your fault.”
Perhaps it’s my words of reassurance that cause a wretched cry to rip from her lungs, and she flings her head against my chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
My arms fold around her trembling body of their own accord, the instinct to protect, to make her feel safe, washing over every inhibition I could have had.
I don’t move, grounding her with my embrace as she cries persistently, and I try to stay present and not let my mind drift to anger. Through her sniffs and wheezes, she lifts her head tentatively, batting her eyelids at me as she lets out a painful sigh.
Neither of us could have anticipated what would happen next when our lips meet, and a sharp, electric bolt of awareness rushes through me. I cling to her, and she clings to me, as if we’re both in desperate need of each other’s comfort.
It’s raw and urgent, unexpected but so needed in this time of anguish. Mentally, every warning sign tells me not to do this, that no amount of bodily passion could ever cure the pain we’ve both suffered, or the pain we’re suffering right now.
But trauma and grief have a strange way of unfolding, and I hold her tightly, my inner wolf howling within the walls of my subconscious that this is my mate. My fated mate. And I claimed her as mine, as my luna. No matter what has happened, that will never change.
Even if I’m angry with her.