Chapter 45
Elena's POV
The cab ride was a blur. I stared out the window at the passing lights. The snow. But all I could see was him. The way his pupils had blown wide. The way his jaw had clenched. The way his hand had felt on my waist—possessive, warm, right.
I squeezed my eyes shut. This was bad. This was so bad.
I'd just—I'd almost let Caleb Vance bite me. And the worst part? The absolute worst part?
I would have let him.
If he'd actually done it—if he'd lowered his head that last inch and sunk his teeth into my throat—I wouldn't have stopped him. I would have let him. Maybe even—
No. I pressed my palms against my burning face. I couldn't think about this. Couldn't process what that meant.
The cab turned onto my street. I fumbled for my wallet. Paid. Stumbled out into the snow. Then I hurried up the steps, keeping my head down, and made it home.
---
The next morning, I woke to my phone vibrating. Again. And again.
I didn't need to look to know who it was. The screen lit up rhythmically, casting flickering shadows across the ceiling. Damon's name flashed over and over. Messages piled up. Calls rolled to voicemail.
"Where did you go yesterday?"
"Why aren't you answering?"
"We need to talk."
I turned the phone face down and pulled the blanket over my head.
The doorbell rang downstairs. My entire body went rigid.
I heard my father's footsteps. The front door opening. Then his voice, warm and eager in a way he never used with me.
"Damon! Come in, come in!"
My stomach dropped.
The internal phone on my nightstand buzzed. I stared at it like it was a snake.
It buzzed again. I picked up.
"Elena." My father's voice was clipped. "Damon is here to see you. Come downstairs."
"I—Dad, I'm not feeling well—"
"Downstairs. Now."
The line went dead.
I sat there for a long moment, fingers clenched around the phone. Every instinct screamed at me to stay in this room. Lock the door. Pretend I wasn't home.
But I'd never directly disobeyed my father. Never.
I caught my reflection in the mirror—pale face, dark circles under my eyes, hair I hadn't bothered to brush. I looked like I'd been through a war.
You have, something whispered in the back of my mind.
I forced myself down the stairs. Each step felt like walking toward an execution.
---
Damon sat on our living room couch. He looked tired. Dark circles under his eyes. Jaw tight. But when I appeared in the doorway, his gaze snapped to me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"You two talk," my father said, already backing toward his study. "I have some work to finish."
The smile he gave Damon was sickening. Like he was grateful.
The study door clicked shut. The air went heavy.
I stayed in the doorway. Damon stayed on the couch. The distance between us felt both too much and not enough.
"You look like hell," he said finally.
"Thanks."
"When did you get home yesterday?"
I walked to the armchair across from him—as far as I could get while still being in the same room. "I don't remember."
His jaw ticked. "You didn't answer my calls. Or my texts."
I sat down slowly, spine straight. "I was busy."
"Bullshit." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "What's going on with you?"
"I'm fine," I said.
"You're not fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "Elena, just talk to me. Please."
"I don't have anything to say," I said quietly.
"You've been spending time with him." Damon's voice went cold. "Haven't you."
I froze. "Who?"
"Don't play dumb. The bastard." His lip curled. "My father's little mistake."
Rage flared hot in my chest. "He has a name."
"Oh, so you're defending him now?"
"He's your brother, Damon. Whether you like it or not."
"He's an Omega who can't control his wolf, his mother—"
"Stop." I didn't recognize my own voice. "Just stop."
Damon stared at me. Actually stared. Like he'd never seen me before.
"He never asked to be born into that family. He never asked for any of it. And none of you—none of you—have ever treated him like he was worth anything."
Silence.
Then Damon laughed. Low and bitter. "I can't believe this. You're actually—" He shook his head. "He's got you fooled too."
"Fooled?"
"His whole act. The quiet genius. The misunderstood outcast." Damon's eyes flashed. "He's dangerous, Elena. He can't control his wolf."
"His wolf is fine. He has more control than any shifter I know."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"And you do?" I stepped closer. "You, who've spent your whole life making sure he felt worthless? You, who turned the whole family against him? You think you know him?"
"Better than you do."
His hands fisted at his sides. For a second, I thought he might actually lose it. Shift right here in my living room. But he just breathed. Hard. Then reached into his jacket.
He pulled out an envelope. Cream-colored. Expensive. Threw it on the coffee table between us.
"I came here to give you this," he said, voice tight with barely controlled anger. "Invitation to the new resort. The one my family just opened up north. Ice Palace. You remember?"
I stared at the envelope. Something cold settled in my stomach.
"We talked about it," Damon continued. "Two years ago. You said you wanted to go skiing. I said I'd take you when it opened."
I had said that. Back when I still thought we'd end up together. Back when I'd tried so hard to love him.
I looked at the envelope. Then at Damon. And suddenly I was so, so tired.
"Take Scarlett," I said quietly.
His face went blank. "What?"
"To the resort. Take Scarlett. She'd love it."
"We made plans—"
"No. You made plans. You decided. Without asking me." I picked up the envelope and held it out to him. "I don't want to go."
He didn't take it. "Elena—"
"I have things to do. I'm applying to graduate programs abroad. I need to prepare—"
"Abroad?" His voice rose. "Since when?"
"Since now." I set the envelope back on the table. "I'm sorry, Damon. But no."
"That's it? Just no?"
"Just no."