Chapter 180
Caleb's POV
Damon and I wrestled in the forest clearing. My instincts roared at me to tear him apart, to prove who the real Alpha was.
Damon's eyes were full of madness. He lunged at me again, and I dodged sideways, my claws raking across his flank.
He howled in pain but immediately counterattacked. His claws scored across my left shoulder, and I felt blood surge out, warm liquid flowing down my fur.
Pain. But not enough to make me stop.
I bit down on the back of his neck and threw him off forcefully. He crashed into a tree trunk with a heavy impact. Leaves and dirt flew, the air thick with the smell of blood.
He still stood up, still ready to fight.
His eyes held pure madness and desperation. This wasn't a rational fight—this was the last struggle of a man who'd lost everything.
We lunged at each other again—
Then I heard her voice.
"Stop!"
Elena ran between us, arms spread wide.
Time seemed to freeze.
She stood there, her fragile body exposed between two massive wolves that could tear her apart at any moment. Her skirt was torn, her face covered with sweat and leaf debris, small scratches on her arms bleeding.
She was gasping for breath, her eyes full of fear—but she didn't retreat.
She looked at me, eyes brimming with tears and pleading.
My wolf instantly quieted. All the anger, all the killing intent, vanished the moment I saw her.
I forced myself to take a step back, then another. My body still trembled, still on the edge of losing control, muscles rippling under my skin. I needed time to calm down.
"Stop," she said again, voice shaking but firm. "Please."
She turned to Damon, who also stopped, his body frozen in place, chest heaving violently.
"Damon," she said softly, "stop."
Then she turned to me.
"Caleb," she choked out, "please."
I retreated completely, turning away, forcing myself back to human form. The pain of bones reshaping nearly brought me to my knees, but I gritted my teeth and endured it.
When the transformation completed, I knelt on the ground, naked, blood on my shoulder.
Elena immediately rushed to my side. She tore a piece from her skirt hem to bandage me. Her hands were shaking, but her touch was gentle.
"You're hurt," she choked out, looking at the wound on my shoulder.
"I'm okay," I said hoarsely, though each breath brought searing pain. "I'm okay."
Behind us came the sound of Damon transforming back to human form. I didn't need to turn around to know he was covered in wounds too.
But I didn't care.
I only cared about the girl bandaging me up.
---
Damon's POV
I knelt on the forest floor, my fractured arm screaming with pain. Every breath sent fresh waves of fire through my shoulder. Blood seeped through my shirt where Caleb's claws had caught me, warm and sticky against my skin.
But none of that compared to what I was watching.
Elena crouched beside Caleb, her hands gentle as she tore strips from her skirt to tend his wound. Her face was tight with concentration, every touch deliberate and careful. She didn't look at me. Not once.
I remembered another hospital. A year ago. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the steady beep of monitors. I'd woken from the racing accident to find her there, holding my hand. She'd stayed for hours, ignoring her own exhaustion. Her eyes had been red from crying.
Now those same eyes were focused entirely on him.
"Elena..." My voice came out hoarse, broken by pain. "I'm hurt..."
She glanced at me—just once. Her expression was clinical. Cold. "You started it, Damon. Don't play victim now."
The words hit harder than Caleb's claws ever could.
Caleb tried to shift his weight, his face tight with pain. "I'm okay."
"Don't talk," Elena said firmly, pressing the makeshift bandage to his shoulder. "You'll make it worse."
I watched her hands smooth over his wound, watched her lean closer to check the damage. The intimacy of it made my stomach turn. This was how she'd touched me once. When I mattered.
"We need to get back to the hospital," she said, helping Caleb stand. "This needs stitches."
I tried to push myself up, my good arm shaking with effort. My fractured arm hung useless at my side, every movement sending jagged pain through my shoulder. "Elena, wait—"
She didn't even look back.
I watched them walk away through the trees, Elena supporting Caleb's weight. They moved together like they'd done this a thousand times. Like I didn't exist.
The pain in my arm was nothing compared to what I felt watching her leave.
I leaned against a tree trunk, breathing hard, trying to process what had just happened. The forest was silent except for my ragged breathing and the distant sound of their footsteps fading away.
I'd lost. Not just the fight. I'd lost her.
The realization was worse than any physical injury.
---
I don't know how long I sat there against that tree. Time felt meaningless. Eventually, the pain in my arm became impossible to ignore—a constant, throbbing reminder of my failure.
I managed to pull myself upright and stumbled back through the forest. My vision swam with each step. When I finally emerged at the forest's edge, medical staff spotted me immediately.
"Sir! You're injured!"
They rushed over, their professional concern somehow making me feel worse. I let them guide me to their vehicle, let them wrap my arm in a temporary splint. One of them kept asking questions I barely heard.
---
I woke to the sterile white ceiling of a recovery room. My arm was in a cast, heavy and foreign against my chest. The anesthesia left me groggy, my thoughts sluggish.
My father sat in the chair beside my bed, expression unreadable. My mother stood by the window, arms crossed, her eyes red-rimmed.
"What happened?" My father's voice was calm. Too calm.
I closed my eyes. "Does it matter?"
"It matters," my mother said sharply, turning from the window. "Was it Caleb? Did he do this to you?"
I wanted to laugh. To scream. To throw something. "I'm tired..."
"You went to provoke Caleb, didn't you?" my father said.
He was right.
My father stood and walked to the window. With his back to me, he said, "Your grandfather has made up his mind. Caleb received fifteen percent of the company shares."
Another blow.
"The board has voted," he continued, his voice devoid of warmth. "Caleb will be promoted to Vice President. Everyone will be informed in a few days."
"What?" My mother's voice cracked. "And what about Damon?"
My father turned to face us. His eyes were terrifyingly cold. "You have two choices. Come work at the company—under Caleb's supervision. Or go abroad for graduate studies."
My mother started to protest, but my father silenced her with a look. "You raised him to be the heir. For twenty years, we groomed him for this position. And what do we have to show for it?"
The words hung in the air, brutal and final.
I looked at my father's face—the face that had once filled me with pride, that I'd wanted so desperately to please. Now there was only disappointment. Complete disappointment.
"I'll go abroad." The voice was mine, but it sounded like someone else speaking.
My mother gasped. "Damon—"
"It's better this way," I said, feeling my heart crumble to dust in my chest. "For everyone."
My father nodded once, then left the room.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my arm throbbing dully in its cast. But the worst pain wasn't the fractured arm, or even my father's disappointment.
The worst pain was finally understanding.
I'd lost her.