Chapter 37 Damon
THIRTY-SEVEN
DAMON
The sunrise painted the horizon in shades of amber and coral, while each wave caught the early light like scattered jewels across the Pacific.
Damon sat motionless on his back deck, his large frame settled into the weathered teak chair that had become his morning refuge.
The familiar weight of solitude pressed against him, but it felt different now—less like armor and more like an old coat he’d outgrown.
Seven days had passed since Veyrik’s demise.
Seven days since Kaelith’s lifeless eyes had stared up at a sky that would never again witness his mischievous grin or hear his easy laughter.
The memory hit Damon like a dagger to the heart, tightening his chest until breathing became a conscious effort.
Two weeks ago, I sat in this exact spot, drowning in a century-old betrayal.
His uncle’s treachery had carved permanent scars across his soul—the manipulation, the security code willingly given, the bodies of his parents in pools of their own blood.
For a hundred years, that night had defined him, shaped every decision, every relationship, every moment of isolation he’d chosen over connection.
Now I’m drowning in a fresh betrayal.
But this one felt different. Sharper. More personal, if such a thing were possible.
Kaelith hadn’t been a blood relative seeking power through violence.
He’d been a brother in everything but name, a friend who’d pulled Damon back from the edge of self-destruction more times than either of them had counted.
The man who’d shouldered the burden of leadership when Damon had retreated into his fortress of solitude, never once complaining about the weight of responsibilities that weren’t rightfully his.
And I let him carry that weight for a century.
The guilt sat heavy in Damon’s chest, different from the guilt he’d carried over his parents’ deaths.
This wasn’t about failing to see a threat—this was about creating the conditions that had bred resentment in the first place.
Kaelith’s words, as relayed by Isla, echoed through his mind with brutal clarity.
He felt like he was already acting as Alpha. He wanted the recognition.
Of course he had. For a hundred years, Kaelith had made the daily decisions that kept their territory functioning while Damon nursed his wounds in self-imposed exile.
He’d handled disputes, managed resources, coordinated with other clans—all the thankless work of leadership without any of the acknowledgment that should have come with it.
If I’d been the leader my people needed, none of this would have happened.
The thought should have sent him spiraling into the familiar darkness of self-recrimination. Should have triggered the same paralysis that had gripped him after the raid, the same retreat into isolation that had defined his existence for a century.
Instead, Damon found himself straightening in his chair, his green eyes focusing on the waves with sharp determination.
I can’t let guilt paralyze me again. Not when I have Isla to protect. Not when my people are counting on me.
The sound of the sliding door whispered open behind him, and he didn’t need to turn to know who had emerged. The mate bond hummed with warm contentment, and the subtle scent of vanilla reached him on the morning breeze.
“Good morning, handsome,” Isla’s voice carried that particular note of affection that still had the power to nearly stop his heart.
He turned, and the sight of her nearly made him forget how to breathe. She stood there wearing a turquoise bikini that complemented her auburn hair perfectly. The dragon mark on her ribcage—his mark—was visible for the world to see, a permanent reminder of their bond.
Mine.
His dragon stirred with possessive satisfaction, but it was the human part of him that felt the deeper emotion.
Pride. Not just in her beauty, though she was breathtaking, but in her strength.
In the way she’d faced down this dragon shifter’s world with nothing but courage and quick thinking.
In how she’d stood beside him this past week as they’d worked to rebuild what had been broken.
“You’re staring,” she said, settling into his lap with the easy grace of someone who belonged there.
“Can you blame me?” His arms came around her automatically, anchoring her against his chest. “You’re incredible.”
She tilted her head, studying his expression with those perceptive hazel eyes that seemed to see straight through him. “You’re pretty incredible yourself. The way you’ve stepped up this past week, showing not just your people but the entire region what real leadership looks like...”
Her words stirred something warm in his chest. The weekly alliance meetings with the neighboring Alphas—former rivals who were now working toward genuine cooperation—had been his idea. A radical departure from the territorial posturing that had defined their inter-clan relations for centuries.
“Your peace initiative is already showing results,” Isla continued. “No more raids, no more territorial disputes. Veyrik’s shadow is finally gone.”
Veyrik. The name still carried the weight of violence and threat, but it no longer had the power to send ice through his veins.
The rival Alpha was dead, his ambitions buried with him in the depths of the Pacific.
More importantly, his death had created a power vacuum that the other clans had chosen to fill with cooperation rather than conquest.
“I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” Damon said softly. “This past week... watching you help stabilize the clan, seeing how you’ve lifted everyone’s spirits...”
“We’re partners,” she said simply, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “That’s what partners do—help each other, push each other, grow together into something better.”
The word partners settled something deep in him. Not just mates, bound by supernatural forces beyond their control, but true partners who choose each other every day. Who faced challenges together instead of retreating into solitude.
“Speaking of pushing each other,” Isla’s eyes sparked with mischief, “you promised me a surfing lesson today.”
Damon’s laugh rumbled up from his chest, genuine and unguarded. “I did promise that, didn’t I?”
“You did. And I’m holding you to it.”
He stood in one fluid motion, lifting her with him before setting her on her feet. “I’ll give you that lesson on one condition.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrow arched in challenge. “And what’s that?”
“You shower with me afterward.” His voice dropped to that low, intimate register that never failed to make her breath hitch.
“You’re insatiable,” she said, but her smile was pure invitation.
“With you, always.” He captured her lips in a kiss that tasted like happiness and forever, pouring everything he couldn’t quite say into the connection between them.
After they finally broke apart, she grabbed the surfboard he’d bought for her—bright coral to match her vibrant spirit—while he collected his own well-worn longboard. Together, they descended the wooden steps that led from his deck to the pristine beach below.
The sun climbed higher as they walked, painting everything in shades of gold and possibility. Isla’s smile rivaled the brilliance of the morning light, and watching her move with such joy and confidence filled him with a contentment he’d never thought possible.
This woman is mine. And for once, I’m truly happy.
The realization should have terrified him. Should have triggered every instinct that screamed about the dangers of letting someone matter this much. Instead, it felt like finally coming home.
Damon soon watched her navigate the waves with a natural grace that shouldn’t have been possible for a first-timer.
The ocean lifted her coral surfboard like it was welcoming her home, and she rode the whitewater all the way to the shallows before hopping off, laughing as she stumbled through the foam.
His dragon preened inside him, a possessive rumble of pride.
She belongs here. With me. In this world.