Chapter 45
That night the Blackthorn pack held a feast beneath the full moon, celebrating the third. year since Damien had returned victorious from the border wars. Music, drums, and laughter rose around the fire as wolves drank mead from carved horns.
Selene moved among them, goblet in hand, her smile polite but thin beneath the weight of congratulations.
“Selene–your cunning saved the hunt last moon. A toast!” one warrior called, pressing another horn into her grip. She swallowed the bitter drink and forced a laugh. “Lady Selene,” the steward leaned near, eyes curious. “The visiting envoy, François of the northern packs, asked after you. He wondered if you are unmated.”
Across the circle, Damien froze. His gaze snapped to hers, dark and unyielding. Selene lifted her chin, and this time her smile was deliberate.
“Yes,” she said, twirling the goblet in her hand. “Of course I am unmated. No bonds, no complications.”
Damien’s eyes narrowed, warning clear, but Selene tipped her head back and laughed, savoring the small wound her words would cut. “François is strong, and not unhandsome. Perhaps I should consider him.“
Damien’s jaw locked; his fingers crushed tighter around his horn of mead.
“After all,” she added airily, “no wolf is irreplaceable.”
A ripple of whispers moved through the crowd. The steward chuckled nervously. “Unmated? Hard to believe. A she–wolf like you must have suitors lined up from here to the mountains.”
“She has had enough to drink,” Damien said, voice low and deceptively calm. “Do not heed her words.”
That placid tone struck Selene harder than a snarl. She rose, palms braced against the table of oak, leaning until her face hovered close to his.
“Let me make this clear, Damien Blackthorn,” she said, voice sharp as flint. “I may share the duties of your household, but that is all. Whether I take a lover is none of your concern. I want a fresh start–someone steady, someone who will love my children and me. Not someone cold and faithless as you.
The circle stilled in shocked silence. Damien’s jaw flexed; his stare burned so fierce that wolves looked away.
“Looking to love them, are you?” he said, his voice dangerously slow. Rising, he stripped off his cloak and draped it across Selene’s shoulders, the gesture at once possessive and tender.
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14:31 Sat, Sep 27 …
“Let me make this clear, Damien Blackthorn,” she said, voice sharp as flint. “I may share the duties of your household, but that is all. Whether I take a lover is none of your concern. I want a fresh start–someone steady, someone who will love my children and me. Not someone cold and faithless as you.”
The circle stilled in shocked silence. Damien’s jaw flexed; his stare burned so fierce. that wolves looked away.
“Looking to love them, are you?” he said, his voice dangerously slow. Rising, he stripped off his cloak and draped it across Selene’s shoulders, the gesture at once possessive and tender.
“That’s enough,” he murmured. “You come with me. Now.”
Anger flared. Selene slapped his hand aside, tears stinging her eyes. “Play the gallant now? No. You’re no prince. You shattered my heart. Everyone–drink to my new freedom!” She lifted her empty goblet high in mock salute.
Damien’s restraint snapped. In one swift motion, he seized her and lifted her against his chest. Gasps rang around the fire.
“Enough,” he said, his voice a cold command.
“Wait,” stammered a young wolf, eyes wide. “Is she-?”
“You need not concern yourself about my mate,” Damien cut in, his gaze hard as steel. “I know how to care for my woman.”
Ignoring the stares, he strode from the circle, Selene struggling in his arms. His voice carried back over his shoulder, final and unyielding:
“She is mine. She will not seek another to father her pups. They already have a father-
me.”
14:31 Sat, Sep 27
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.