Chapter 10: Confrontation and Desire
1291words
Damian's car crunched on the gravel driveway as I stood frozen on the terrace, my mother's pendant burning against my skin. I could run—follow my father to his hotel, escape this mansion and the supernatural politics that had claimed my mother's life. Yet my feet remained rooted, as if some invisible force bound me to this place, to the man now emerging from the sleek black vehicle.
He saw me immediately, his stride faltering for just a heartbeat before he continued toward me. Even from a distance, I could sense his tension—the predator aware that something had changed in his territory.
"You're back early," I said when he reached me, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Security concerns." His eyes narrowed, taking in my expression. "What's wrong?"
"My father is here."
The muscle in his jaw twitched. "I know. Jackson called me."
"Did he tell you what my father said? About my mother? About you?"
Damian's gaze dropped to the silver pendant at my throat, recognition flashing in his eyes. "I see Robert wasted no time poisoning you against me."
"Is it poison if it's true?" I challenged. "Did you know who I was when you first approached me? Did you pursue me because of what I am?"
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Yes."
The simple admission knocked the wind from me. I'd expected denials, justifications—not this brutal honesty.
"I knew exactly who you were," he continued. "The daughter of Sophia Blackwood and Robert Collins. Moon blood and hunter blood combined. I'd been tracking you for months before we 'accidentally' met at that gala."
"So everything was a lie. The attraction, the relationship—"
"No." He caught my wrist as I turned away. "My methods were calculated, but what grew between us was real. More real than anything I've experienced in centuries."
"Centuries?" I whispered.
"The pact extends our lives far beyond human limits." His thumb traced circles on my inner wrist, sending unwanted shivers up my arm. "I've lived long enough to recognize when something genuine happens, Elena. What I feel for you transcends the pact."
"And my mother? Did she die because of the ritual?"
Pain flickered across his features. "Yes."
I jerked away from his touch. "How can you admit that so calmly? You killed her!"
"I didn't." His voice hardened. "Victor did. When Sophia refused to choose, when she threatened to break the pact entirely, he lost control."
"And you did nothing to stop him?"
"I wasn't there." Regret shadowed his eyes. "By the time I arrived, it was too late. Your father had already taken you and disappeared."
"Convenient," I said bitterly.
"I've spent twenty years searching for you, Elena. Not just for what you are, but for the chance to make things right."
"By what? Marrying me? Binding me to you permanently?" I touched the pendant. "My father says this can help me control werewolves. Is that true?"
Damian's expression darkened. "That amulet belonged to your grandmother—a powerful hunter. Yes, it amplifies your natural abilities to influence our kind. But it comes with a price."
"What price?"
"It strengthens your hunter blood at the expense of your wolf blood. It will make you see us as monsters, nothing more." He reached for the pendant. "It's already working, isn't it? You can feel yourself pulling away from me."
I stepped back. "Don't touch it."
His hand dropped. "Your father didn't come here to rescue you, Elena. He came to use you—just as he believes I'm using you. The difference is, I want you to choose freely."
"Choose what? To be bound to you forever? To give you power over the other alphas?"
"To be my mate in truth, not just in name." His voice dropped lower. "And yes, to give me the strength to protect what's mine—including you."
The possessiveness in his tone sent an unwelcome heat through me. Even now, knowing what I knew, my body responded to him on a primal level that defied logic.
"I need time," I said, backing away. "Time to think without you or my father influencing me."
"The blood moon is in seven days. Time is a luxury we don't have."
"Then make time," I snapped. "If you truly want me to choose freely, give me space to decide."
For a moment, I thought he would refuse. Then he nodded once, sharply. "Twenty-four hours. No interference from me or your father."
"How can I trust that?"
"Because I'll leave the estate." He held my gaze. "I'll return tomorrow morning. Whatever you decide then, I'll respect."
"Even if I choose to leave?"
Pain flashed across his features. "Even then."
I hadn't expected him to agree so readily. "And my father?"
"I'll ensure he respects your wishes as well." His eyes dropped to the pendant again. "But Elena, be careful with that. It doesn't just protect you from us—it changes you."
Before I could ask what he meant, he reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek in a touch so gentle it made my heart ache. "Twenty-four hours. Use them wisely."
He turned and walked back to his car without another word. I watched him drive away, conflicting emotions warring within me—relief at the space he'd granted, and an inexplicable sense of loss as he disappeared down the winding drive.
Back inside, I found my father waiting in the foyer, his expression thunderous. "What did he say to you?"
"He's giving me twenty-four hours to decide what I want to do." I touched the pendant. "He's leaving the estate until tomorrow."
"He's manipulating you," my father warned. "Making himself seem reasonable, trustworthy."
"Maybe." I met his gaze. "Or maybe he's telling the truth about wanting me to choose freely."
"These creatures don't understand free choice, Elena. They understand dominance, possession, power." He reached for my arm. "Come with me now. I can protect you."
I stepped back. "I'm staying here tonight. Alone."
"That's not safe—"
"It's what I need." My voice hardened. "You say you want to protect me? Then respect my decision."
Frustration crossed his features, but he nodded stiffly. "I'll be at the Westbrook Hotel in town. Call me anytime."
After he left, I wandered through the silent mansion, finally ending up in Damian's study. His scent lingered here—sandalwood and something wilder, untamed. I ran my fingers over his desk, remembering the flash of memory I'd had—being pressed against a wall, his mouth demanding on mine.
The pendant felt heavier around my neck, almost constricting. Was Damian right? Was it already changing how I felt about him?
I opened his desk drawer, searching for anything that might help me understand the truth. In the bottom drawer, I found a small wooden box. Inside lay a photograph—yellowed with age—of a woman who looked startlingly like me, standing beside a younger Damian. On the back, written in faded ink: "Sophia, 1995."
My mother. With Damian. Looking at him not with fear or hatred, but with something that looked remarkably like love.
The photograph complicated everything I thought I knew. If my mother had once cared for Damian, could my father's version of events be as biased as he claimed Damian's was?
As night fell, I made my decision. Tomorrow, when Damian returned, I would demand the full truth—not just about the pact or the ritual, but about his relationship with my mother. And then I would decide, once and for all, where my loyalties lay.
What I didn't know was that Victor Blackwood was already watching the estate, waiting for Damian's absence to make his move—to claim what he believed had always been rightfully his.
