Chapter 39 – Blood and Silver (Damian’s POV)
By the time I staggered into the estate’s safehouse, I was barely conscious. The damned silver bullet lodged in my shoulder burned like fire, halting my healing and draining my strength. They laid me out on a table and I drifted in and out as Elias arrived to tend me.
“Just do it,” I snarled around the leather strap they’d given me as Elias began digging for the bullet. White-hot agony ripped through me as he probed the wound. At last, the forceps scraped metal. I roared in pain as Elias yanked the misshapen slug free.
He finally fished out the silver slug and dropped it with a clang into a tray. Almost immediately, cool relief spread through my body as my healing kicked in.
I blinked sweat from my eyes. “Report,” I rasped.
One of my guards shifted nervously. “Three of ours down, two captured,” he said quietly. “The rest of us got away. The police...they were led by Detective Sanfield, sir.”
Rage flared hot inside me. That damned Ethan Sanfield had orchestrated the perfect trap. I didn’t want to talk about how the hell the detective knew the perfect weapon to shoot me with.
“There’s another matter, Damian,” Elias interjected gently.
I opened my eyes to see Elias and Sierra exchanging looks. “What?” I demanded harshly.
Elias cleared his throat. “While you were gone, the estate came under attack as well. Matteo’s pack breached the mansion.”
My blood turned to ice.
Ivy.
“Where is she?” I snarled, struggling to sit up. Sierra moved to steady me as I swayed.
“She’s safe,” Elias rushed to say. “Shaken, but unharmed.”
A growl of mingled relief and residual anger rumbled in my chest.
“They almost got the drop on us,” Elias went on gravely. “One of them nearly killed me...until Ivy intervened.” His eyes gleamed, still incredulous. “She killed one of Matteo’s wolves, Damian. She… the strength she displayed...”
Silence fell. I stared at Elias, sure I’d misheard.
Ivy?
I knew she had fire, but she was a new wolf at best—if one at all. She shouldn’t have been able to take down an experienced werewolf.
“You’re certain?” I asked quietly.
Elias nodded emphatically. “I saw it with my own eyes. She was extraordinary. We would both be dead if not for her.”
Before I could respond, a wave of dizziness hit me. I’d lost a lot of blood. Elias noticed and quickly turned to snap orders to the staff.
Within minutes, they half-carried me to my own bed and a medic wrapped my shoulder and chest in fresh bandages.
“Give me a moment,” I ordered gruffly once the medic tied off the last bandage.
They obeyed, filing out until I was alone in the dim quiet of my bedroom. Alone, except for the storm of thoughts and emotions raging inside me.
Ivy had saved Elias. She’d saved herself. And she’d done it by tapping into a power neither of us realized she had. Despite my exhaustion, a spark of fierce pride lit within me. My little hellcat was full of surprises.
A soft knock sounded at the door. A maid poked her head in, eyes wide and hesitant. “Alpha? Is there anything you need?”
I opened my mouth to dismiss her, then hesitated. My wounds throbbed dully, but it wasn’t pain keeping me restless and wide awake—it was Ivy. The memory of her defiant face, the shocking news of her triumph today… it all churned in my head.
Perhaps it was the blood loss, or the remnants of silver, or plain madness, but I knew exactly what I needed.
“Bring her to me. Now,” I rasped.
The maid blinked. “P-pardon, sir?”
“Ivy,” I growled, sharper despite my fatigue. “Fetch Ivy. Now.”
She bobbed a quick bow and vanished.
As silence fell again, I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes. I told myself I was calling Ivy here to question her about the attack, to assess this newfound strength firsthand.
But deep in my soul, I couldn’t deny another truth: after everything that had happened tonight, I just needed to see her—to reassure myself she was truly safe.
I only hoped, as footsteps approached down the corridor, that I hadn’t made a terrible mistake in summoning the one person whose presence could unravel me completely.
A tentative knock sounded at my bedroom door. I drew a slow breath, willing my pulse to steady. “Enter,” I called, my voice low.
The door inched open. Ivy stepped inside, her slender form backlit by the hall light. She hesitated on the threshold, eyes downcast and hands twisting in the skirt of her simple cotton nightdress. My chest constricted at the sight of her—alive and unharmed, yet clearly apprehensive.
“You…asked for me?” she said softly. Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been crying.
I cleared my throat, suddenly unsure how to begin. Propped up against pillows, bandages swathed my bare torso. The room was warm from the fire crackling in the hearth, but a cold sweat prickled along my skin. Perhaps from pain… perhaps from anticipation.
“Yes,” I replied at length. “Come closer.” I tried to make it an order, but the words faltered slightly.
Ivy obeyed and stepped to my bedside, face still downcast. Even in the dim light I could see she was drawn and pale. Bruises shadowed the delicate skin under her eyes—marks of our violent night or the day’s chaos, or both.
A silence stretched between us. The only sounds were the hiss of the fire and my own uneven breathing. Her familiar scent—lavender and soap—lingered beneath the sharp tang of blood and medicine that clung to me. She smelt fresh.
“You’re hurt,” she said at last, barely above a whisper. Her gaze flickered over the white bandages on my shoulder and ribs, genuine concern warming her tone despite everything.
“It’s nothing,” I lied gruffly. In truth, every throb of pain said otherwise.
She clearly didn’t believe me, but she nodded anyway. Awkward quiet fell again. Her hand hovered uncertainly in the space between us, as if deciding whether to reach for me or retreat.
I made the decision for her. Gently, I caught her small hand in mine and guided it to rest against my bare chest, just above the bandages. My heart thudded under her palm—betraying a vulnerability I’d never normally show.
Ivy’s eyes finally lifted to meet mine for a heartbeat. So many emotions swam in their hazel depths: fear, anger, guilt… and concern.
“Damian, what do you want from me?”