Chapter 6: Echoes of the Past
1198words
The city skyline emerged from morning mist as Damian's sleek black Bentley wound through mountain roads. I pressed my forehead against the cool window glass, watching familiar yet strange buildings grow larger. My first time leaving the estate since waking in that blood-soaked wedding dress—my first taste of freedom, however temporary.
"Are you alright?" Damian asked, his eyes briefly leaving the road to study my face.
"Just trying to remember," I said, which wasn't entirely a lie. What I didn't say was that I was remembering the journal entries I'd read last night—the ones that painted him as something inhuman.
His hand found mine, warm and steady. "Don't force it. Dr. Mercer said memories return more easily when you're relaxed."
I nodded, letting him believe I was compliant while my mind raced with plans. If I could slip away, even briefly, I might find evidence in my apartment that I hadn't recorded in my journal—something to confirm the impossible things I'd read.
The Archer was a sleek high-rise in the city's west end, all glass and steel reaching toward the clouds. As we rode the elevator to the twelfth floor, Damian kept his hand at the small of my back—protective or possessive, I couldn't decide.
"Home sweet home," he murmured as he unlocked the door to apartment 1214.
I stepped inside, immediately struck by the sensation of familiarity. The open-concept space was flooded with natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with journalism texts and novels. A laptop sat closed on a desk cluttered with notes and photographs.
"This feels..." I trailed off, moving deeper into the space.
"Like home?" Damian suggested.
"Like me," I corrected, running my fingers over a worn copy of "All the President's Men." The apartment reflected someone passionate about uncovering truth—someone I recognized despite my fractured memory.
Damian watched me from the doorway. "Take your time. I have a brief meeting downstairs with the building manager about subletting while we're at the estate. Will you be okay alone for twenty minutes?"
The opportunity seemed too perfect. "I'll be fine."
After he left, I immediately began searching. The laptop was password-protected, but I found a hidden compartment in my desk drawer containing a flash drive labeled "TI Backup." I pocketed it, then moved to the bedroom.
The space was minimalist but comfortable—a platform bed with crisp white linens, a dresser, and framed black-and-white photographs I'd apparently taken. One caught my eye: the Blackwater Preserve at sunset, dark trees silhouetted against a blood-red sky.
I opened the closet, pushing aside clothes to find a small safe built into the wall. Without the combination, it was useless to me. Frustrated, I turned to the bathroom.
There, on my hip bone, I found what Jackson had mentioned—a mark visible only as the faintest of scars, three interlocking spirals barely perceptible to the eye. I traced it with trembling fingers, remembering Jackson's words: "Not a tattoo. A bite."
A sudden flash of memory hit me—Damian's mouth hot against my skin, the sharp pain of teeth breaking flesh, pleasure and pain intermingling until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
"Oh god," I whispered, gripping the sink as the room spun.
More fragments returned in a dizzying rush: Damian's eyes glowing blue in the darkness of his bedroom. His voice, rough with desire: "You're mine now. Marked. Claimed." My own voice, breathless with surrender: "Show me what that means."
The bathroom door opened behind me. Damian stood there, his expression darkening as he saw what I was examining.
"You remember," he said. Not a question.
I straightened, pulling my shirt down. "Parts. Enough to know you did something to me."
"I marked you." He stepped closer. "With your consent."
"Did I know what it meant? Did I know what you are?"
His jaw tightened. "You knew enough."
"Werewolf," I said, the word hanging between us. "That's what you are, isn't it? You, Jackson, Victor—the three wolves from the pact."
For a long moment, Damian said nothing. Then, "Yes."
The simple admission should have terrified me. Instead, I felt an odd relief at finally hearing the truth.
"Show me," I demanded.
"Elena—"
"Show me what you are."
His eyes flashed that unnatural blue. "Not here. Not now."
"Then tell me everything. No more half-truths."
Damian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it."
He leaned against the doorframe. "My family has carried the wolf gene for generations. Jackson and I were born with it. Victor was turned—an accident during a hunting expedition when we were younger."
"And the Three Wolves Pact?"
"A binding agreement. Our wolves are connected—stronger together than apart. It's what built our empire."
"And I'm what? The sacrificial bride?"
His expression hardened. "You're my mate. The one my wolf chose."
"But Victor thinks I'm his."
"Victor is mistaken." Damian's voice dropped to a growl. "He sensed your blood—your power—and became obsessed."
"My blood. Moon blood." I crossed my arms. "What does that even mean?"
"It means you're special. One in a million. Those with moon blood can strengthen the bond between man and wolf—or sever it completely."
"And which do you want me to do?"
Damian stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his heat. "I want you to choose me. Freely. As you did before."
"Before my convenient memory loss, you mean?" I challenged. "Jackson implied it wasn't an accident."
Something flashed in his eyes—guilt, perhaps. "Your memories weren't taken, Elena. They were suppressed."
"By whom?"
"By you." His answer surprised me. "When Victor attacked you that night, when you saw what he truly was... your mind protected itself. It's not uncommon when humans witness something their reality can't accommodate."
"And the wedding? Why marry me when I couldn't remember you?"
"To protect you." His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing my lower lip. "The blood moon is coming. Without my mark, my claim, Victor would have the right to take you."
"I'm not property," I said, but my voice lacked conviction as his touch sent heat spiraling through me.
"No," he agreed. "You're much more dangerous than that."
His proximity was affecting me, awakening sensations my body remembered even if my mind didn't. I stepped back, needing distance to think clearly.
"I want to see where it happened," I said. "The accident. Where Victor attacked me."
Damian's expression darkened. "That's not a good idea."
"I need to remember, Damian. You can't protect me from my own past."
For a moment, I thought he would refuse. Then he nodded. "Blackwater Bridge. Tonight."
As we left my apartment, I felt the flash drive heavy in my pocket—a secret he didn't know I carried. Tonight I would see where Victor had attacked me, but first, I needed to find a computer and discover what other secrets I'd uncovered about the three wolves who now circled me like predators around wounded prey.
What I didn't realize was that one of those predators was watching from across the street, amber eyes tracking our every move as we returned to Damian's car.
