Chapter 12
Elena's POV
I took a deep breath, forcing down my anger.
"Damon," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Try putting yourself in my shoes for a second."
He blinked. "What?"
"If I asked you to take the blame for my mate's mistakes, how would you feel about that?"
The question hung between us for exactly one second before he answered.
"You don't have a mate."
The air went still. Not a question. Just a flat statement of fact, delivered with the kind of certainty people use when they say the sky is blue.
"You think I'll never have anyone who wants me?" The words came out quieter than I intended.
"That's not what I meant—"
"Then what did you mean?"
He opened his mouth, closed it. For the first time, I watched something like awareness flicker across his face. Like he was just now realizing this might be a problem.
But before he could answer, his expression shifted. He went very still, his eyes suddenly sharp and focused on me in a way that made my skin prickle.
"Wait." His voice dropped. "Did you... sense something? With someone?"
My heart stuttered. The question was so unexpected, so specific, that for a moment I couldn't breathe. His face had gone tense, confused, with an undercurrent of something that looked almost like resistance. Or fear.
I thought of Caleb. Of the way my body had reacted to him in the snow.
Then I shook my head.
The tension in Damon's shoulders eased slightly. He seemed to accept that, moving on.
"Look." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice like we were sharing a secret. "Elena, I need you to help me with something."
A laugh tried to claw its way out of my throat. I barely managed to turn it into a bitter smile. "Another favor?"
He didn't even hear the sarcasm. "I need you to keep what you saw quiet. About Scarlett and me. Don't let the pack know. At least not yet."
"Why?"
"You know why." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She's a rogue. Grandfather's generation is obsessed with bloodlines. I need time to get them used to the idea, to let them see she's not just some random stray. Once I've solidified my position as heir, once they can't question my authority, then I'll introduce her properly to the family."
I stared at him. He wanted me to do what, exactly? Keep pretending? Keep being his convenient shield while he built his real life with someone else?
My father's voice echoed in my head from last night: Win Damon back. Use your ability. Use your compliance. He'll return to you.
Absurd. Laughable. Disgusting.
"Okay," I said, my face completely neutral.
Relief flooded Damon's features. "I knew you'd understand. You always do."
---
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to a downtown restaurant. He insisted on bringing me for breakfast.
Damon led me to a private room in the back. When he opened the door, a woman was already there.
Scarlett sat at the head of the table, chestnut hair falling in perfect waves over her shoulders, wearing a black dress cut so low it was practically obscene. The moment we stepped inside, her pheromones hit me like a physical force—cinnamon, blood orange, hard liquor, all laced with a chemical heat that made the air feel thick.
Seduction scent. The kind that triggered biological responses whether you wanted them or not.
"Since you already know, I wanted you two to meet properly," Damon said, sounding almost nervous.
The muscles in my face locked into something that probably looked like a smile.
---
The server brought out the food—perfectly charred tomahawk steaks, lamb chops still bloody in the center, roasted bone marrow glistening with fat. The kind of carnivore feast that made my wolf's mouth water despite everything else.
Scarlett picked up her fork with practiced grace, cutting a piece of steak and lifting it toward Damon's mouth. "Open up, darling."
He obeyed without hesitation, his eyes half-closing with satisfaction as he chewed.
She cut another piece, but this time she moved slower, deliberately letting the fork linger near his lips. Her tongue flicked out, licking the juice from the tines in a way that made the gesture unmistakably sexual.
Damon's throat worked as he swallowed. His eyes darkened.
I looked down at my own plate, cutting my steak with more force than necessary. Each slice of the knife felt good. Satisfying. I wanted to finish eating and get out of here as fast as possible.
"Elena," Scarlett's voice cut through the quiet. "You're dressed so plainly today. But I suppose that makes sense. Your scent is very... subtle too."
She emphasized that last word, making it clear what she really meant: weak. Unattractive. Forgettable.
I forced a polite smile. "I prefer simple."
Her eyes glinted. "Simple is fine. But sometimes when you're too simple, people just stop noticing you're there at all."
The rest of the meal passed in a haze of passive-aggressive small talk and loaded silences. Then Scarlett's expression shifted, going sharp.
"By the way, Damon," she said, her tone deceptively light. "How did your parents find out about us so fast?"
Damon went rigid. "Someone probably saw us. You know how it is."
Scarlett's gaze swiveled to me like a predator zeroing in on prey. "Elena, are you absolutely sure you didn't mention anything to Marcus or Isabella? Even in passing?"
I set down my fork carefully. "No."
"Really?" She tilted her head, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Think hard. Maybe you told someone else, and they passed it along? These things have a way of spreading."
Rage flared hot in my chest. This was an accusation, plain and simple. She was calling me a liar to my face.
"I'm certain I didn't," I said, enunciating each word.
Scarlett pouted. "Well, I guess it was just a coincidence then. I'm not accusing you or anything, Elena. It's just that Damon was hurt because of this, and I feel bad for him, you know? So if there's even a chance—"
"Scarlett." Damon's voice cut her off. "Drop it."
Then he turned to me, his expression softening into something he probably thought was reassuring. "Elena's already helped us a lot. And honestly, even if she did let something slip by accident, she already took responsibility for me. So we're square. This is done."
I stared at him.
Was that supposed to be comforting? Supportive? Because what I heard was: Even if you betrayed me, you've already paid your penance, so I'll graciously forgive you.
"You think it was my fault too," I said quietly.
Damon blinked. "What? No, I didn't mean—"
I stood up. The motion was controlled, deliberate. My hands didn't shake. My voice didn't crack. I was done breaking for him.
"No," I said. "That's exactly what you meant. From the beginning, you've all assumed I was the problem."
Scarlett raised an eyebrow, and I could see the satisfaction in her eyes. She was enjoying this.
"Elena, don't be dramatic—" Damon scrambled to his feet, reaching for me.
I stepped back. "I'm not being dramatic. I'm leaving."
"Elena—"
I turned and walked toward the door. My spine was straight. I didn't run, didn't slam anything, didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.
"Elena, wait—"
Damon's voice followed me, but I didn't turn around. Didn't look back.