The wind howled against the lodge walls, but inside the world lay buried in a white, breathless hush. Only the dying fire's rasp and Damien's steady inhale-exhale pierced the silence. Elara lay motionless, tangled in furs, her head heavy on his uninjured shoulder, one arm draped across the broad span of his chest. Dawn's pale light seeped through frosted panes, illuminating the fine tremor in her hand.
She didn't want to move. She didn't want to run. Not now. Not ever. She lifted her head, watching the slow rise and fall of his fever-warmed body. In sleep, the ruthless Alpha, the billionaire tyrant, vanished. His face was young again—harsh angles softened, lids lowered over long dark lashes that cast charcoal shadows along his cheekbones. The fever still burned beneath his skin, but his breathing had settled into a lazy tide.
Her fingers hovered, then brushed a silky strand of raven hair off his forehead. It fell like a dark curtain against his brow. Every line of his face felt carved by storm and war; every breath he drew was a gift she was afraid to squander.
"I'm in so much trouble," she whispered, the words slipping into the dim space between them.
Damien stirred, a low hum vibrating through his chest. He turned toward her touch, pressing his cheek into her palm. "Don't stop," he rasped, voice thick with dreams.
Elara's pulse thundered. "I thought you were asleep."
"I was—until an angel brushed my face."
She bit back a laugh and a sob at once. "You're delirious."
"Maybe." He shifted, pain flickering across his features, but his hand sought hers. "How long have you watched me?"
"A while."
"And?"
"I was thinking how unfair it is." Her voice cracked under the weight of it. Tears gathered, burning hot in her eyes. "Us. I spent ten years running, hiding in shadows, terrified of letting anyone in… only to crash headlong into you."
A single tear traced her cheek. "I tried to be invisible, Damien. I tried to be nothing. But you—when you look at me, you make me want to be everything."
Sleep vanished from his eyes. He cupped her trembling face, thumb brushing away the last tear. "Elara…"
She pressed her mouth to his neck, heart pounding against his skin. "I tried to fight it. You're an arrogant Alpha. I'm just a human target. But every touch from you feels like coming home."
He wrapped her in a fierce embrace, nose buried in her hair, inhaling her scent—salt and fear and magic. "Then stop fighting," he commanded against her ear. "Surrender."
Her voice trembled. "I'm not what you think I am. If you knew the trouble I bring… you'd run."
He lifted her chin until her eyes met his, fierce and unwavering. He sat up despite the pain, pulled her onto his lap. "Listen to me," he said, voice low and unbreakable. "I don't care if you're a witch, a fugitive, or an alien from the moon. You are mine."
His forehead settled against hers. "The bond doesn't make mistakes. My wolf chose you. I chose you. You are the other half of my soul, whatever form you take."
Her breath came in shaky release. He kissed her forehead—soft, solemn, a vow pressed to her skin. "We're in this together. No more running."
Silence wrapped them, but peace bored Damien. He rose and staggered into the kitchenette, sweatpants clinging to his war-sculpted body, his bandaged shoulder a blunt reminder of fragility. He squinted at a frying pan as if it held the secrets of the universe.
"Elara, sit," he muttered, cracking an egg that splattered off the pan with a sizzle.
"You're not fine," she called from the living room, gathering blankets.
"I'm an Alpha," he grunted, reaching for a towel—then stumbled, grip white-knuckled on the counter, pain flashing across his eyes.
Elara slipped under his arm like a lifeline, steadying him. "You're shaking."
"I hate this," he admitted, voice tight and bitter. "I hate being weak. I should be taking care of you."
"You saved my life," she reminded him softly. "You let a bomb take your flesh. You fought until your bones screamed. You've done more than enough."
She guided him to a stool and took over. He watched as she moved—precise, elegant, no magic needed—whisking eggs, toasting bread over the open flame, brewing coffee. She belonged here, among wood and warmth.
She set a plate before him: fluffy scrambled eggs, golden toast, steaming black coffee. "Eat."
He bit into the simple meal, eyes closing at its perfection. "Thank you," he whispered.
They ate in companionable hush as snow swirled beyond the window. Then Elara looked up. "Why are you so… intense? The guards, the fortifications, your reaction at the gala. It's as if you're terrified of losing something."
He stared into the white forest. Shadows gathered in his gaze. "I wasn't always Alpha. My father was. He believed in peace. When I was twelve, we went to a summit—he thought the truce would protect us."
"She was only trying to help," Elara murmured.
"It was a trap." His voice dropped to a brittle whisper. "They butchered him, my mother… I hid under floorboards and listened to their screams. Three days before someone found me. That boy died in that crawl space. I swore I'd never be weak or trusting again—and if anything precious ever crossed my path, I'd build a wall around it no one could breach."
His eyes burned into hers. "That's why I'm possessive, why I locked you in my estate. Because you are the only thing in this world that could destroy me if I lost you."
Elara's chest ached for that frightened boy. "I know the fear of being hunted," she said softly.
He tilted her chin up. "Tell me—who did you run from? Who taught you to vanish?"
Her heart clenched. She couldn't tell him about the White Wolf hunters yet, but she could tell him the truth of her scars. "I was born in a lab. They called me a number, not a name. Men in white coats drained me, said my blood was a cure. Until I was hollow."
Her hands trembled as she remembered her childhood. "One night there was a fire—an accident, they said. I ran into the woods. I didn't stop for ten years. I learned that being seen means being caged."
Tears shimmered in her eyes. "That's why I pushed you away. Because love is visibility—and visibility gets you hunted."
Damien rose, the stool scraping behind him like a warning he ignored, and closed the distance between them. Each step sent fire through his shoulder, but the ache in his chest—the need to hold her—burned fiercer.
He walked around the island, his breath coming shallow. He didn't care about his injury. He pulled her off her stool and into his arms, a sharp intake of breath escaping as his wounded shoulder screamed in protest.
He held her with a desperation that bordered on pain, his good arm trembling with the effort of containing everything he felt.
"I see you," he vowed into her hair, breathing in the scent of rain and something wild that was purely her. His voice cracked on the words. "I see you, Elara. And I promise you, on my parents' graves… no one will ever put you in a cage again. I will rip the throat out of anyone who tries."
The Living Room – Evening
The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting everything in amber and shadow. The storm outside had intensified, howling against the walls of the lodge like something trying to claw its way in.
They lay on the rug in front of the fireplace, wrapped in furs that smelled of cedar and smoke. Damien was lying on his back, Elara resting her head on his chest, her hair spilling like silk across his skin. The pain in his shoulder was returning as the temporary healing faded—a deep, gnawing ache—but he refused to let go of her. His fingers found her hair, threading through the strands as if she might vanish.
"Elara?"
"Hmm?" The vibration of her voice against his chest made something clench deep in his ribs.
"Do you believe in fate?"
Elara traced the line of his tattoo—a geometric wolf on his ribs—her fingertip leaving trails of heat. "I didn't used to. I thought life was just... chaos and survival. But now…"
She pushed herself up so she was hovering over him, and he had to bite back a groan as her weight shifted against his injured shoulder. The firelight danced in her eyes, turning the brown to liquid gold, and he forgot how to breathe.
"Now I think maybe the chaos was just... leading me here. To you."
Damien looked up at her—at the woman who had saved him, who understood his trauma, whose very presence made the lodge feel like sanctuary instead of shelter. His throat worked around words too big for his mouth.
"I love you," he said.
The words fell between them like stones dropped into still water. Simple. Quiet. Earth-shattering. Elara froze, her breath catching audibly, and he felt his heart hammering so hard he was sure she could feel it against her palm.
"I know it's fast," Damien whispered, his voice hoarse as he reached up to cup her cheek with shaking fingers. "I know it's... insane. But we are wolves, Elara. We don't love in years. We love in—" His voice broke. "We love in moments. And in every moment since I saw you in that auditorium, I have loved you."
Elara leaned into his touch, her eyes glistening, and he felt her tremble. "Damien, I—"
"You don't have to—"
"I love you too." The words rushed out of her like a confession, like something she'd been holding back until it burned. "I love you, Damien Blackwood. To the moon and back."
The relief hit him like a physical blow, stealing his breath. His chest felt too tight, too full, like his ribs might crack from the pressure of it.
"Eternity," he corrected, his voice thick. "In this life, and the next. If we die tomorrow, I will find you in the afterlife. I will hunt you down in every universe, Elara."
"Is that a threat?" she teased, but her voice broke on a sob, tears spilling over.
"It's a promise."
He pulled her down, ignoring the fire that shot through his shoulder. This time, there were no interruptions. No explosions. He kissed her like she was oxygen and he was drowning. It wasn't tentative—it was deep, claiming, desperate. It tasted of coffee and longing and something that might have been forever. It felt like two stars colliding, like coming home and falling apart all at once.
Elara melted into him, her body fitting against his like they were two pieces of the same broken thing finally made whole. She forgot the poison. She forgot the mercenaries. She forgot the secret that still lay between them like a blade.
For this one night, in the eye of the storm, they were just a man and a woman who had found their other half. The lodge wrapped around them like a cocoon, the fire's warmth and the sound of their synchronized breathing the only reality that mattered.
But as they kissed, as sanctuary settled over them like a blanket, deep in the pocket of Damien's discarded jeans across the room, his phone screen lit up silently—a cold blue glow that shattered their perfect darkness.
One Missed Call: Unknown ID.
One New Message: "We have the perimeter. Surrender the White Wolf, or we burn the forest down."