Chapter 4: Dinner with the Devil
958words
The small dining room was anything but small. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over a table where only two places were set. Damian pulled out my chair, his fingers brushing my shoulder—a casual touch that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine.
"Wine?" he asked, reaching for a decanter of deep red liquid.
"Please," I said, watching him carefully. If I was going to extract information, I needed him relaxed and talkative.
Damian poured with precision. "A Bordeaux from my private collection. We drank this on our first date."
"And where was that?"
"Le Ciel," he said, eyes never leaving my face. "You ordered duck confit and told me my company's environmental record was abysmal."
I nearly choked. "That doesn't sound like a successful first date."
A smile played at his mouth. "I found your directness refreshing. Most people are too intimidated to challenge me."
"And what is your company exactly?" I asked, seizing the opening.
"Thorne Industries. Primarily energy and real estate. You wrote quite a scathing piece about our acquisition of the Blackwater Preserve."
Martha appeared with soup that smelled of herbs and cream. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed it before me.
When she'd left, I turned back to Damian. "So I was investigating your company when we met?"
"You were," he confirmed. "You suspected we were using the preserve for something other than the wildlife sanctuary we claimed."
"And was I right?"
Damian's blue eyes darkened. "You were persistent. It's what drew me to you—your refusal to back down, even when threatened."
"Threatened by whom?"
"There are always those who resent scrutiny. You received anonymous warnings. Someone even broke into your apartment."
Another fragment clicked into place—glass breaking, footsteps in the dark, the feeling of being watched. "Did you ever find out who?"
"No," he said too quickly.
I studied him over my glass. "And somehow during this investigation, we fell in love?"
"Not somehow," Damian said, voice softening. "Inevitably. We circled each other for weeks—you demanding answers, me offering just enough to keep you coming back. Then one night after a particularly heated argument..."
"What happened?"
His eyes held mine. "I kissed you. And to my surprise, you kissed me back."
The words triggered something—being pressed against a wall, his mouth hot and demanding on mine, my body responding despite every rational thought screaming to run.
"I remember," I whispered.
Damian went still. "What do you remember?"
"Your office. Glass walls overlooking the city. You were angry about something I'd written."
His expression became guarded. "Go on."
"You said I didn't understand what I was dealing with. That some secrets were better left buried." I closed my eyes. "Then you... we..."
"Yes," he said, voice rough. "That was our first time together."
Heat flooded my cheeks. Had I really fallen into bed with the man I was investigating?
Before I could ask more, the doors burst open. Jackson sauntered in, whiskey in hand.
"Well, isn't this cozy," he drawled, dropping into a chair beside me. "Has he told you about Victor yet? Or the real reason for your hasty nuptials?"
"That's enough," Damian growled, the sound almost inhuman.
"Actually, I'd like to hear about Victor," I said.
Jackson's smile was sharp. "Former partner, current rival. The three of us built Thorne Industries together, until certain... philosophical differences arose."
"What kind of differences?"
"Victor believes in taking what he wants," Damian cut in. "Regardless of consequences."
"And you don't?"
Damian's eyes met mine, something wild flashing in their depths. "I believe in protecting what's mine."
Jackson laughed, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo—three interlocking spirals, identical to what Iris had drawn on my palm.
"Do you recognize this, Elena?" he asked.
I hesitated. "Should I?"
"You should," he said. "You have the same mark."
My hand went to my wrist, finding only smooth skin.
"Not there," Jackson said. "Yours is more... intimate. Right, brother?"
Damian stood abruptly. "Get out."
"The blood moon is in two weeks," Jackson said, his smile fading. "Victor knows she's here. He'll come for her."
"I'll handle Victor," Damian snapped.
Jackson rose but paused beside me. "Ask him about the cellar, Elena. Ask what happens when the moon is full."
After he left, I turned to Damian. "What did he mean? What happens in the cellar during the full moon?"
"Jackson enjoys creating drama," Damian said, tension betraying him.
"What's the Three Wolves Pact? What's moon blood? And why does everyone here act terrified?"
Damian went still. "Where did you hear those terms?"
I realized my mistake. "I... overheard things."
He took my hand, his touch burning against my skin. "There are things about me—about us—that would be difficult for you to understand right now."
"Try me."
His expression closed off. "When you're stronger. When more of your memory has returned."
"And if it doesn't?"
"It will," he said with certainty. "Until then, trust that everything I've done has been to protect you."
"Even locking me in my room?"
"Especially that. There are dangers you're not aware of. Until you remember who you are—what you are—you're vulnerable."
"To what?"
"To Victor, for one," he said. "He believes you belong to him."
A chill ran through me. "And what do you believe?"
Damian's eyes darkened, pupils expanding. "I believe you're mine. My wife. My mate. And I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe—even from yourself."
The possessiveness in his voice awakened something primal inside me—a recognition beyond memory. My body remembered him even if my mind did not.
As I left the dining room, I felt his eyes on me—hungry, possessive, and hiding secrets that might destroy us both when finally revealed.
