The rain wasn’t letting up. If anything, it had gotten worse.

By the time Damien and I stepped outside City Hall, the streets were nothing but shimmering pools, reflecting the storm-darkened sky. Water hammered against the roof and pavement, drowning the town in a suffocating hush. No voices or movement. Just the relentless drumming of rain, turning everything ghostly and empty.

A small cluster of Damien’s warriors stood at the entrance, their dark tactical gear slick with water. Silent and disciplined, they saluted him before pulling open the door of a waiting carriage—brown and polished, its lacquered surface beaded with rain. Even in this downpour, the brown horses stood steady, their reins held by a driver who barely acknowledged us, waiting for Damien’s signal.

He tilted his head toward the carriage. No words, just a gesture. Get in.

I hesitated for half a second—pride, stubbornness—but the cold was already sinking into my bones. With a sigh, I climbed inside.

The difference was noticeable. Plush, dark leather seats and a quiet hum from the heating system. It smelled like pine and Damien. I sank into the deep cushions, running my hand over the sleek upholstery. This was his private carriage. He never used it. Which meant they must have brought it because of the storm.

Damien followed, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. Instantly, the world outside faded to nothing but the muted rhythm of rain against reinforced glass.

The driver needed no instructions. The carriage lurched forward, wheels splashing through water as City Hall receded into the night.

I watched the raindrops race each other down the window, their paths twisting and splitting apart. “So,” I said after a beat, my voice filling the quiet space between us. “You finally decided to use your fancy carriage.”
Across from me, Damien sprawled out with his usual effortless charm. One arm draped over the back of his seat, his eyes hard. “The rain’s a problem for movement,” he said. “Figured you wouldn’t want to walk.”

I scoffed. “How thoughtful.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. He just watched me, that quiet intensity of his pressing down on met. He’d always been like this—saying nothing but seeing everything.

The ride stretched on, longer than it should have. Long enough for the town to feel unnervingly quiet. Even through the hum of the carriage, I could tell most wolves had retreated indoors. No street vendors calling out. No young scouts training in the open. Just the glow of street lights flickering against the wet pavement..

It wasn’t a short trip. The pack house sat on higher ground, overlooking the entire territory like a silent judge. From City Hall, it was nearly a twenty-minute ride—long enough for the tension inside the carriage to become a living thing

I forced myself to focus on anything else but Damien standing right in front of me, but I couldn’t

“Have you ever been to the pack house before?” I asked, watching him carefully.

Damien’s gray eyes shifted to me. “Only for you.”

I hesitated. “Oh.”

It wasn’t much of an answer, but I didn’t know what else to say. Or what to do with my hands. It had never been uncomfortable being around him before. Why did it feel so different now?

I knew why. I just couldn’t afford to think about it.

The look he gave me was hard to place—like he had something to say but thought better of it. That wasn’t new. Damien was always holding something back, keeping his emotions buried under layers of discipline. But tonight, with the rain and the silence closing in around us, he felt different.

The carriage jerked slightly as it climbed higher, the roads smoothing out, better maintained. And then, through the rain-streaked window, I saw the pack house, and almost sighed in relief.

It was eight stories high, carved from dark stone that blended into the storm-heavy sky. It was a fortress. Modern but brutalist with all its sharp-edges and steel. Balconies wrapped around the sides like the tiers of a glorious citadel, and the entrance doors had the Nightclaw crest carved there centuries ago. Rows of windows glowed against the dark, casting warm light onto the rain-slicked pavement, illuminating the figures moving in and out of the foyer.

As our carriage and the one escorting us pulled up to the entrance, the guards stationed at the front stiffened. Their eyes snapped to Damien through the window first, then flickered to me.

A few warriors stood under the covered walkway, sheltered from the rain, their conversation halting the second they noticed the Gamma’s carriage. Their gazes lingered, piecing together what they were seeing. Normally, it wouldn’t mean much. I was Damien’s ward. I had trained under him for years. Being seen with him wasn’t unusual.

But I had never been in his private carriage. And he had never been seen with me outside of official warrior duties.

This would start rumours, and for once, I didn’t mind. I wanted them to talk about it.

For years, the whispers had only ever been about me and Kael, weaving a story that never existed. A future I never wanted. Kael made sure of it, always finding ways to be near me, feeding into the illusion. Damien, on the other hand, did the opposite. Until now.

Although, even now, I knew this wasn’t about me. He wouldn’t have done this if Kael hadn’t told him to. That was the part I couldn’t reconcile—the years of indifference versus what he’d said earlier. Only ever seeing me.

I stole a glance at him, expecting distance, but found his gray eyes already waiting. I looked away quickly.

The carriage door swung open, and the warmth inside was immediately cut through by the storm, rain seeping in like an unwelcome guest. Damien stepped out first, boots splashing against the wet pavement. Without thinking, he turned and extended a hand toward me.

I hesitated. Not because I needed help, but because it was him.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The rain poured. The wolves under the covered walkway watched, waiting.

With a barely restrained sigh, I placed my hand in his, letting him steady me as I stepped down onto the slick ground. His skin was warm, and his grip firm. The warmth of his touch lasted longer than it should have.

I pulled away first. Damien barely reacted.

Damien had a gravity to him, a presence that filled a space the second he stepped into it, whether he wanted it to or not. He was the Gamma of Nightclaw, a warrior through and through. His authority simply commanded attention.

Under the covered walkways, warriors coming in from their scouting shifts, younger wolves sheltered under the eaves, others lingering in conversation—all of them turned. Some watched with curiosity. Others with something closer to wariness.

A low murmur rippled through them, something indistinct but heavy with meaning. They moved aside instinctively as Damien passed, heads dipping in silent acknowledgment—some out of respect, others out of fear.

Maybe I had been around him too long to understand why he unsettled others. He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t reckless. He wasn’t power-hungry. So why were they always so terrified of him?

I studied him, searching for the answer in the broad, imposing frame, in the sharp, unreadable features, in the way he moved, never a wasted step. But all I saw was the man I had always been crazy for.

Was that why I was immune to the effect he had on everyone else?

Inside, the warmth hit instantly, chasing the storm’s chill from my skin.

The pack house lobby stretched wide. Vaulted ceilings hanging overhead, supported by thick wooden beams carved with wolfsbane runes. Chandeliers flickered above, their golden light casting restless shadows against the dark oak floors.

The main hall was lined with bookshelves, trophies from past inter-house contests, and weapons mounted along the walls—a reminder that life within these walls was just as competitive as it was outside them. Everything in the pack house was a contest—who was stronger, faster, more disciplined. It made living here a challenge. And maybe, in some twisted way, that’s what made it fulfilling.

Wolves filled the space—some gathered near the massive stone hearth, others standing in quiet groups—but just like the ones outside, their attention snapped to us the second we entered.

I could almost hear the thoughts forming behind their stares.

The Gamma. And” her?

Postures straightened. Conversations died down. Some lowered their gazes in acknowledgment. Others exchanged glances. Because it wasn’t common for Damien to be here.

And even less common for him to have a female beside him.

Damien ignored it all, his focus straight ahead as he led me toward the residential wing.

My quarters were on the fourth floor, accessible by a sleek, mirrored lift that dinged softly as we stepped inside. The doors slid shut, trapping us in the small space. And just like that, the silence wasn’t just silence anymore.

Damien stood next to me, too close in the confined space, his presence heavy, and consuming.

Before tonight, I would have filled the silence. I would have made some half-baked joke, knowing full well he wouldn’t laugh but still hoping I could pull some reaction out of him.

Now, I didn’t say a word. Instead, I stared straight ahead, watching our reflections in the mirrored walls. His gaze was already on me again. I swallowed, forcing myself to look away.

The lift slid open before I could decide what to do with that.

I stepped out first, pulse uneven, leading the way toward my door. Damien followed without a word. If he noticed the way my hands trembled slightly when I unlocked it, he didn’t comment.

The lock clicked, and I pushed the door open, stepping into the modest space I had called home for years.

It was small but efficient, tucked away in the residential wing like an afterthought. The furniture was simple, all meticulously neat, not because I was particularly tidy but because I had never spent much time here. The walls were bare, save for a few training schedules tacked onto the bulletin board by the door.

Damien followed me inside, silent, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

I barely had time to process his presence in this space with me fully awake before he spoke.

“Pack what you need,” he said, his tone as flat as ever, like this was just another mission. “We’re leaving soon.”

I snorted, tossing my damp cloak over the back of a chair. “No rush, huh?”

Damien didn’t reply. He just stood there, watching as I moved toward the small wardrobe, pulling out a travel bag and stuffing it with whatever felt necessary. Clothes, a few weapons, a worn book Lyra had given me years ago—things that actually mattered, even if I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to bring them.

I could feel his gaze on me the entire time, and I should have been used to it by now. But I wasn’t.

“I don’t know why you’re even here,” I muttered, shoving an extra pair of boots into the bag with a little too much force. “You don’t have to hover. I know how to pack a damn bag.”

He didn’t bite or react at all. He just leaned against the door frame, arms crossed, watching.

“If I wasn’t here,” he said finally, “you’d find a way to stall.”

I shot him a glare over my shoulder. “And what exactly do you think I’d be stalling for?”

His expression didn’t change. “You tell me.”

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head as I zipped up the bag. “Whatever.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting. Some kind of argument? A crack in that emotionless fa—ade? Something to make this less suffocating?

Damien just pushed off the door frame. “You ready?”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking about leaving the pack house or something else entirely. But I nodded anyway.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

I slung the bag over my shoulder and moved toward the door, brushing past him.

For half a second, his arm grazed mine, like barely a touch, but it was enough to make my breath hitch, to make the air feel heavier than it had a moment ago.

I kept walking, ignoring the way my pulse betrayed me. By the time we reached the elevator, I had almost convinced myself it hadn’t happened at all.

By the time we stepped outside again, the storm had only worsened, the downpour heavier, the streets nearly empty save for the occasional patrols moving through the district.

Damien’s carriage was still waiting, the driver standing beside the horses, hood pulled low against the rain.

Without a word, Damien motioned for me to get inside first. I climbed in without hesitation this time, settling into the warm interior as the door shut behind him, sealing us away once again.

The silence inside was still suffocating and I still refused to look at him. Instead, I leaned my head against the back of the seat, watching the rain trail lazy paths down the windows.

“This is weird,” Damien said suddenly.

I blinked, my head snapping toward him. It wasn’t the words that surprised me but the fact that he’d said anything at all.

Damien never initiated conversation. He was seated across from me, one arm stretched along the back of his seat, his posture rigid.

I arched a brow. “What is?”

He gestured vaguely between us, his fingers curling loosely, like even he wasn’t sure how to define it.

“This.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “We’ve been in a carriage before.”

“Not like this.”

His voice was lower now, quieter, and when I glanced at him again, really looked at him, he was already watching me with that expression that I used to think was just disinterest, but now, I wasn’t so sure.

Damien leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We have to talk about this at some point,” he said.

I swallowed, tearing my gaze away. “What’s there to talk about?”

A beat of silence. Then”

“You can barely even look me in the eye any more,” he murmured. “And you’re not as impossibly chatty as you usually are.” His eyes held me there, waiting, pressing. “Why’s that?”

I clenched my jaw, pulse stuttering as I turned back toward the window, watching the city blur past, knowing he wasn’t going to let this go. I didn’t even think he paid attention to me when I was yapping his ears off.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I muttered.

I could feel his scrutinizing gaze, assessing, peeling back layers I wasn’t even sure I had left.

“Luna.”

Just my name. No accusation or demand, but it felt like he wasn’t asking about my avoidance—he was acknowledging it.

I let out a slow breath, tilting my head back against the seat. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

His brow flicked upward, unimpressed. “That’d be a first.”

I shot him a dry glare, but the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was biting back a smirk.

Annoying bastard.

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t comfortable. It buzzed with all the things we really needed to say to each other.

The carriage hit a dip in the road, jolting us slightly. My knee bumped against his, and I jerked away too quickly, like I’d been burned.

Damien noticed. “You’re acting like you can’t stand me being near you.”

I scoffed, forcing my expression into something bored, indifferent, but my pulse had already betrayed me. I eyed him, then turned away, focusing on the rain-streaked window like it held the escape I suddenly needed.

But Damien wouldn’t let it rest. I felt him shift before I saw the slight creak of the leather seat, the weight of his movement. He moved from his seat to mine. The space between us vanished, swallowed by the sudden warmth of him, the scent of steel and rain soaked fabric.

Too close. His presence was suffocating, invading, and I didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer.

My breath hitched, and for the first time, I had no immediate response, no cutting remark, no well-placed jab.

Because this wasn’t the Damien I was used to.

This was something else entirely.