Chapter 33
Chapter thirty-three
Luna
The afternoon sun filters through the canopy above as Shadow and I follow the narrow deer path deeper into the woods.
He pads beside me, pausing now and again to investigate a scent or sound that my human senses can’t detect.
I need this—the quiet, the space to breathe, the familiar comfort of Shadow’s presence without the constant demands of the sanctuary.
“I couldn’t save her, Shadow.” The words taste bitter in my mouth, heavy with a week’s worth of guilt. “Little Fiona. She was so tiny, and I just… I couldn’t fix her.”
Shadow’s eyes flick to me before returning to the path ahead.
As much as I sometimes think otherwise, I know he doesn’t understand my words, but there’s something in his posture that suggests he’s listening anyway.
And that’s what I need right now. That’s the thing about animals; they hear everything, even the things we can’t say.
“I know what you’d tell me if you could talk.” I step over a fallen log. “The other five lived. But losing even one…”
My phone buzzes against my hip, and I ignore it. If it’s important, Maren will call, not text. I need this time to process, to grieve, to remember why I do this work despite the heartbreak it brings.
“And then there’s him.” The words slip out, and Shadow’s ears prick forward like he knows who I’m talking about. “My life used to be simple, you know? Just you and me, Maren, and the other animals. Now everything’s complicated.”
Now everything’s twisted into knots I can’t untangle.
That silver mask. Those rough hands that know exactly how to make me surrender. The way he possesses me in the dark, claiming me with a hunger that should terrify me but instead sets my blood on fire.
I press my palm against my chest, where my heart pounds.
What kind of person am I that I can want someone I know is a killer?
I know it’s wrong. Everything about him goes against every moral code I’ve built my life around, and I’ve never been someone who looks the other way, who makes excuses for the inexcusable.
But then I think about the people he hunts. The ones the legal system fails to stop, over and over again. In the darkest corners of my soul, a voice whispers inside me, not with horror but with something that feels dangerously like satisfaction.
And that terrifies me more than wanting him does.
Lost in my internal war, I don’t realize how far we’ve wandered until Shadow slows, his posture shifting to something more alert. I look up to see the familiar stone pillars that mark the western boundary of the Morrison Estate.
The Wolfe Estate now.
“Oh.” The word escapes as a whisper. I haven’t been here in years.
The Victorian mansion rises from the overgrown landscape like something torn from a nightmare and dropped into the Colorado wilderness.
Its grand arches frame windows that stare down like hollow, accusing eyes.
Some are still glazed with the original leaded glass that catches the afternoon light in fractured rainbows.
Others are replaced with newer versions to match.
The towering spires pierce the sky, their weathered slate tiles in the process of being replaced, the areas still needing updating creating jagged gaps like broken teeth.
The property still looks abandoned, wild, and overgrown in most places.
But there are signs of change. Sections where the grounds have been cleared of the worst undergrowth.
Scaffolding clings to the mansion’s walls, where workers have been replacing rotted siding, though no one is working today.
The ornate wraparound porch sags in places but is being shored up, its intricate gingerbread trim carved with roses and thorns bleached gray by decades of mountain weather.
It’s still creepy and run-down, but beneath the decay and abandonment, the bones of something magnificent hide in plain sight. The soaring rooflines, the elegant proportions, and the intricate stonework around the foundation all speak of a time when this place was someone’s dream of perfection.
And Damien is taking the first tentative steps to reclaim this Gothic monument from the wilderness, but he has a long way to go.
Shadow whines low in his throat, pressing against my leg. He’s not afraid, but there’s wariness in his posture. This place has too much history, too much darkness soaked into its bones.
Why would Damien buy a place like this?
There’s no car in the driveway, so I let my curiosity get the better of me and move closer to the house.
“Just a quick look. We’re not really trespassing. Much. Are we, baby?”
We reach the tall windows, and I cup my hands around my eyes and peer inside.
The room beyond appears to be a study or an office.
Mahogany desk, covered in computer screens and high-tech equipment, leather chairs, built-in bookshelves that stretch to the ceiling, and a massive stone fireplace in the corner.
It’s an odd mix of modern and traditional that somehow works.
“Enjoying the view?”
I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Damien stands on the front porch steps, one shoulder leaning against a column, arms crossed.
There’s amusement in his stormy blue eyes.
But the way they track a slow path down my body and back up, like he’s already peeling away my clothes in his mind, makes heat bloom everywhere it touches. I think he’s the one enjoying the view.
Shadow moves to position himself in front of me, not aggressive, but protective, his stance watchful, the way he gets when around unfamiliar men.
“I… God, I’m sorry.” Heat floods my cheeks as I stammer. “I was just hiking with Shadow, and we ended up here, and I was curious about what you were doing with the place. I wasn’t trying to—”
“Spy on me?” He pushes off the column, moving down the steps with that easy confidence of his. “Peer into my windows like some kind of Peeping Tom?”
“I’m really sorry—”
But then I catch the subtle curve of his mouth, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. Some of the tension leaves my shoulders.
“You’re teasing me.”
“Am I?” He closes the distance between us, stopping ten feet away, his eyes flicking to Shadow before they meet mine. “It’s hard to be upset when I find you on my doorstep.”
“Technically. I knew about this place first.”
“But I bought it. Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
I laugh despite the awkwardness of being caught red-handed.
The way the afternoon light catches the silver streaks at his temples and how his smile reveals that slight dimple in his right cheek puts me at ease.
My heart still pounds against my ribcage, my skin burns, and my lungs can’t seem to hold a full breath, but it’s a different kind of heat than what my wolf ignites. It’s comfortable.
Damien extends his hand toward Shadow, palm facing the ground.
He waits with the patience of someone who knows wild things can’t be rushed.
There’s an alpha confidence in his posture that speaks to something primal in Shadow.
My wolf tilts his head, considering, before stepping forward.
He accepts Damien’s scratch behind his ears and even leans into the touch.
“Good to see you again, Shadow.” My wolf, who keeps himself between me and strange men, who takes weeks to accept new people, just melted under Damien’s hand.
As if summoned by the sound of voices, Athena comes bounding out of the house, her tail wagging so hard her entire butt wiggles with excitement. And she’s wearing her trademark pink bow around her neck.
I crouch as she barrels towards me, accepting her enthusiastic greeting. “Hello, beautiful girl.”
She lavishes my face with kisses while I scratch behind her ears, her entire body vibrating. Shadow tolerates her exuberant attention with the dignified patience of an elder sibling, but soon she’s dragging him away from his guard duty for a game of chase across the yard.
I straighten, wiping dog slobber from my cheek. “I thought you were still out of town.”
“Just got back this morning.” He gestures toward the house. “I’ve been working out of my office here.”
“The one I was spying on through the window.” I wince.
“The very one.” His voice holds a dangerous playfulness, like he’s savoring every second of my discomfort. “Though I have to say, most Peeping Toms are considerably less attractive.”
The compliment is unexpected, and my pulse quickens in places it shouldn’t.
“How have you been, Luna? How’s everything at the sanctuary? The system working okay now?”
That’s a loaded question. Should I mention how poorly his system keeps out certain predators?
No. That would just open a door I’m not ready to go through, especially since I no longer believe my watcher wants to hurt me. Still, it would be nice if he knocked once in a while.
“Yeah. I just needed to get used to it.”
Amusement sparks in his eyes as he nods.
“How’s everything else?”
I’m surprised by how much I want to tell him about Fiona, about the weight of responsibility that sometimes feels crushing, and about the guilt that follows every loss despite Maren’s reassurances that I did my best.
“I lost a ferret kit last week,” I hear myself saying. “Fiona. Mom abandoned her and her siblings. Or was killed. But she was just too small, not strong enough…”
“I’m sorry. That must have been devastating.”
“It was.” I swallow hard. It helps to say it out loud to someone who isn’t trying to fix it or explain it away. “I know I can’t save them all, but knowing something up here—” I tap my temple. “And feeling it in here—” I press my hand to my chest. “Are totally different things.”
“You saved the other five, though.”
I blink at him, startled. “How did you know there were five others?”
A look flickers across his face, too quick to identify. “Eleanor mentioned it when I stopped at the post office this morning. Said you’d worked miracles with the survivors.”