Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Damien
Iadjust the plastic sheeting on the floor of my basement. Everything is in perfect order, as always. Everything is clean. Controlled. This is my domain, far beneath the pristine facade of Damien Wolfe. Down here, I am the wolf.
My target tonight struggles against his restraints, eyes wide with terror above the duct tape covering his mouth. Travis Miller. Dog breeder. Or rather, the piece of shit who starved his animals when they didn’t win shows and who beat them when they failed to meet his standards.
“Do you know why you’re here, Travis?” I select a scalpel from my arranged tools.
Muffled screams tear from his throat, high-pitched and desperate. The table rocks as he struggles against his restraints. Tears stream down his cheeks, soaking the edges of the silver tape that seals his mouth.
“Don’t bother trying to answer.” I walk in a slow circle around him. His eyes lock on my face, on my wolf mask, and I reach up and adjust it. It weighs down on my face tonight. “The way you present yourself to the world as a respected breeder while creating suffering behind closed doors.”
The irony of that statement stops me cold. Isn’t that what I do?
This ritual should focus me. It should cleanse me, smooth over my jagged edges through the precision of pain.
But tonight, every instrument on my table hums with accusation.
My mind refuses to stay present. It keeps pulling me back to the barn.
To the devastation on Luna’s face as she confessed her infidelity—not realizing she was confessing to the very man she thought she was betraying.
I’ve been seeing someone else.
He makes me feel claimed. Like I belong to him completely.
He can’t be part of my daylight world. What we have exists in shadows.
Because when I’m with him, I feel more alive, more myself, than I ever have before.
I can’t give you all of me when part of me belongs to someone else.
I roll my shoulders and drag my focus back to the present. I can’t afford distractions. Not here. Not now.
“I apologize.” Travis stares at me in confusion. “I’m not myself tonight. But don’t worry. I’ll still give you the attention you deserve.”
I light a cigarette even though I despise the taste and smell. But I do what I must to make them pay. Always torturing them the way they hurt their animals.
Smoke coils upward as I press the glowing tip against his right nipple, dragging it across skin already pale with fear. His back arches, and the scent of burning flesh fills the basement. He screams, muffled but harrowing, the table under him vibrating with each convulsion of his body.
One burn at a time, I work the cigarettes across his skin.
His torso first, then the curve of his ribs, and then across his abdomen.
The final burn goes to the head of his cock, deliberate and vicious.
Each burn smokes black, the smell a twisted perfume in the dank basement air.
His body trembles, slick with sweat and blood.
When the last cigarette burns down to ash, I set it aside and pick up my serrated knife.
The blade is long, its teeth jagged like the broken promises of my past. I make the first cut, a precise slash over his bicep, just enough to draw a ribbon of blood.
His gagged screams rise once more, raw and keening, and it’s music to my ears.
I lean in. “The puppy that was brought to Sage & Summit is going to live. Dr. Foster is extraordinarily good at what she does. Healing what monsters like you break.”
At Luna’s name, my chest tightens. The memory of her tears in the barn replays in my mind. The confusion in her eyes when I didn’t rage at her confession. How could I? How could I condemn her for falling in love with both sides of me when that’s all I’ve wanted?
Travis thrashes against his restraints, the movement jerking me back.
Focus, Wolfe. Stay present.
My pulse hammers against my skull. Air drags through my lungs too fast, too shallow. The blade wavers in my grip. The work that’s always centered me, given me clarity—it’s hollow now, powerless, as Luna fills every corner of my mind.
I miss touching her, kissing her, and the sounds she makes when she’s breaking apart for me. I want to be there for her but can’t, not in the way I should or the way she needs.
I press the blade to Travis’ chest, deeper than I intended. His scream explodes past the duct tape, wet and ragged. Blood flows faster than it should.
“Fuck.” I reach for his shirt on the floor and jam it against the wound. “Not yet. Not like this.”
I’m sloppy tonight. Distracted. This isn’t how I work. This isn’t me.
But who am I, really?
The controlled businessman who courts Luna in the day?
The masked lover who takes her in dark?
The killer who removes predators like Travis from the world?
The lines keep shifting and blurring since Luna entered my life.
My mind won't stay on the work. My hands move without purpose, graceless and robotic, and the whole thing ends quicker than it should. There’s no artistry, no finesse, just brutal efficiency.
The knife pierces his flesh in crude, functional strikes, lacking any elegance.
When it’s done, I stumble back, chest heaving, black fabric drenched and spattered.
Travis Miller won’t hurt another animal.
But there’s no triumph. No satisfaction. Just emptiness echoing through my chest, vast and cold.
I begin the meticulous process of cleaning my tools.
That’s the one thing I do myself. The rest I leave for Cade.
I contemplate what I should bring Luna this time.
She’s asked me to stop with the “gifts” after kills.
But I still want her to know when justice has been delivered for one of her animals.
I could just tell her outright, but that feels flat and empty.
And tonight is different. Tonight, we’re both wounded.
I peel off my blood-soaked clothes and reach for my phone. Cade answers on the first ring.
“He’s ready for disposal.”
“That was quick. I’m on my way.”
I head upstairs, into my office, where I pour a glass of whiskey. My mind drifts back two weeks, when Luna first told me about the miscarriage. The devastation threading through her voice. The way she sought comfort from a man who’s never offered her tenderness in that persona, only possession.
I down half the glass in one swallow. The burn does nothing to quiet my thoughts.
My parents were monsters of a different sort.
Cold, vicious, and emotionally barren. I learned early that love was conditional, that affection had to be earned, and that failure meant pain and abandonment.
My father’s fists. My mother’s silence. The locked doors and empty rooms. I grew up without love, taught that attachment was weakness and vulnerability was a fatal flaw.
And then Luna walked into my life and shattered every lesson they’d carved into my bones. She accepts her masked lover, a serial killer, and welcomes him into her body and heart without hesitation. No questions. No judgment. Just open arms and unwavering trust.
Sure, Cade has always accepted me. But that’s different. He knows the man behind the mask and understands the trauma that shaped me. He’s my brother in every way that matters. His acceptance is duty mixed with genuine care, forged through years of shared violence.
Luna doesn’t have that luxury. She only knows fragments, the mask, the violence, and the darkness I bring to her bed each night. And still, she opens herself to me. She looks at me like I’m worth something.
I drain the rest of the whiskey and pour another.
The truth sits heavy in my gut. For the first time in my life, I’m terrified. Terrified that when she sees the man beneath the mask, she’ll realize what my parents always knew.
That I’m fundamentally unlovable.
By the time I reach Luna’s property, it’s after midnight. The mountain air is crisp and cold, the snow crunching beneath my feet as I make my way to the house.
I slip through the back door and toe off my boots, leaving them by the mat.
I remove them now after Luna scolded me for traipsing dirt and snow on her clean floors.
I move through the darkened house, navigating the space with ease now.
The third stair creaks, so I skip it before stepping around the loose floorboard in the hallway.
Her bedroom door needs oil on the hinges, making a soft squeaking sound every time it opens or closes.
She keeps meaning to fix it. I should just do it myself.
Maren stopped staying over when the road to Estes opened yesterday. Enough snow melted to make the drive safe again.
Luna’s left the door open tonight, and I find her curled under the covers, her blonde hair spilling across the purple pillowcase. She looks so small, so vulnerable. My chest aches as I move toward her. Her eyes flutter open as I approach.
“You came.” A sleepy smile touches her lips, her words thick and slow.
I cup her cheek in my palm. She leans into it, her eyes drifting shut once more.
“Go back to sleep, little doe.”
Her eyes open again, traveling across my mask. “Stay with me tonight?”
The usual routine would have me moving to the reading chair in the corner that has become my post. I watch over her through the night, a dark guardian ensuring nothing harms her. Sometimes she knows I’m here. Most nights, she sleeps unaware.
“Please.”
I nod and move toward the chair.
“No.” The word stops me mid-step. “Here.” She touches the space next to her on the bed. “With me.”
Every instinct tells me to keep the emotional distance the mask represents. But tonight, seeing the naked need in her expression, refusal isn’t an option.
I lower myself onto the bed beside her, my back against the headboard.
She shifts without hesitation, pressing her cheek against my thigh, her hand searching for mine.
I entwine our fingers. Her skin is soft against my rough palm.
She sighs, the sound carrying contentment, her eyes drifting closed as sleep pulls her back under.
I stare at our joined hands. The sight punches through my chest, tears open the walls I hide behind, and exposes the raw, vulnerable core I’ve spent a lifetime protecting.
I need to tell her the truth—that the men she’s torn between exist in one body.
Mine.
But not tonight. The excuse forms before I can stop it. She’s not ready. She’s still vulnerable from the miscarriage. Needs more time to process and heal.
But it’s all a lie. It’s been over two weeks.
Her body has healed. Her emotional state improves daily.
She’s the strongest woman I know and can handle the truth, even though it would devastate her.
But I can’t make myself do it. I can’t force the confession out, because telling her means losing her.
And I can’t lose her.
Without Luna, I’m just what I’ve always been. A killer playing at humanity. A damaged thing my parents broke and never bothered to fix. She’s the first person who makes me believe I could be something more than the sum of my trauma and violence.
I squeeze her hand, the pressure gentle. Her lips curve into a smile in her sleep.
“I love you.”
The confession falls into the quiet room. Three words that have never crossed my lips. Never been offered to another soul. Never seemed possible until now.
She doesn’t hear me. But somehow, I hope she knows.