Chapter 69
Damon's POV
Grandfather descended from upstairs. Though too old to shift, the dominance radiating off him made me want to submit.
I forced myself up. Wobbling.
He stopped mid-staircase. Studied me.
"Scarlett Roderick," he said quietly. "Twenty-one. No pack affiliation for one year and seven months. Her father was involved in commercial bribery, territorial assassination, colluding with corrupt human officials... Many packs were implicated." His pale eyes never left mine. "How long have you been with her?"
My mouth went dry.
"Four months," I whispered.
"Four months of lies." He descended one more step. "Tell me, boy. If her scent disappeared tomorrow—if she lost that heat you're so addicted to—would you still want her?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
I don't know.
"Thought so." Randy's expression turned pitying. Disgusted. "You're not in love. You're hooked. Like a junkie."
"I'm not—"
Randy's cane struck marble. Three sharp cracks.
"This ends now." His voice carried the weight of decades. "As former Alpha of this territory, I command you: sever all ties with that rogue."
"Grandfather..." I couldn't hold back anymore. "Please. Don't interfere. I'll handle this."
"Handle?" His hand trembled—whether from age or rage, I couldn't tell. "I've asked you countless times when you'll complete the ceremony with Elena. You always have excuses—wait until she graduates, it's just a matter of time." His voice rose. "Did you think because I'm old, you could put me off indefinitely? Now you're with that man's daughter. Do you want to destroy the Vance family's reputation?"
Mother hurried to support his arm. "Dad, please calm down. We'll make sure Damon gives us a reasonable answer. Right, Damon?"
Hearing grandfather's words, anger flared inside me too. "Grandfather, even if I did break up with Scarlett, I still wouldn't marry Elena."
Grandfather had been about to sit with mother's help, but at my words he straightened again. "Then why didn't you say so before? You and Elena were inseparable. And I promised I would fulfill the pact."
"You don't need to worry about that," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll talk to them myself."
"You can't treat Elena like this!" Grandfather looked at me like I was a stranger. "For all these years, you've let everyone believe she was your mate."
The accusation hit harder than my father's slap. My head buzzed. "That was their misunderstanding. Grandfather, please. Let me handle this myself."
I thought my tone was gentle enough, not defiant at all, but grandfather had already made up his mind.
"This month," he ignored my plea. "You and Elena will announce your engagement. Public ceremony. Every Alpha family in the North Territory invited."
"Including your so-called girlfriend." He continued. "Let her see exactly where she stands."
And I couldn't take it anymore. I exploded.
---
Caleb's POV
The digital thermometer beeped softly. 3:17 AM. 100.7°F.
I noted it in my phone, set the timer for another half hour, and settled back into the chair beside her bed. Elena slept deeply, her breathing finally even and unlabored. An hour ago when her fever spiked, it had nearly taken control.
Every time the phone vibrated silently in my palm, I'd press the thermometer to her temple, wait for the reading, then use the back of my hand against her forehead to confirm. The device gave me numbers. My skin told me the truth.
100°F. Better.
98.7°F. Dropping.
My hand lingered against her cheek longer than necessary. Her skin was cool, soft. The angry red mark from her father's hand had faded to purple-brown. I wanted to find Donald Cross and break every finger he'd used to strike her.
But that would have to wait.
97.4°F. Finally normal—well, normal for her. Elena's body was fragile, always had. I remembered the bridge years ago, how she'd plunged into that freezing water without hesitation to save me. She'd been sick for weeks after. And I'd known about it only because Damon had complained about her missing school events.
She avoided me now. If she got sick again, would she tell me? Or would I only find out through gossip, from people who didn't care about her at all?
The thought made my chest tight.
I should leave. Let her rest. But my body refused to move.
The chair was uncomfortable as hell, but I'd sat in worse places. The old bell tower. Silver chains, darkness. This was luxury by comparison. And she was here, breathing, safe.
I ran a hand over my face, exhausted but too wired to sleep. Dawn crept closer, turning the sky outside from black to charcoal-gray.
I looked at her sleeping face and thought about the first time I'd really seen her. Not as background noise in Damon's orbit. But as Elena herself.
She'd been eight. I'd been ten. She stood in that hallway while Damon and his pack of spoiled brats ripped apart my homework, tore pages from my books.
She hadn't stopped them. But she'd been forced to participate—she just looked at me with those huge eyes, picked up a piece of paper and tore it in half. But I saw guilt in that gaze, fear, and something so small.
I'd hated her then. Added her to the long list of people who'd hurt me and gotten away with it.
But later—she brought light when I was trapped in the bell tower, that crystal sphere. When I was burning with fever, certain I'd die before morning, she brought me to the storage room in her house. She made me take those pills even though I didn't trust her, didn't trust anyone.
Even that year when I was ready to jump into the lake to end my life, she was the one who pulled me from despair.
That's when the hate started cracking. When I began to suspect that maybe Elena wasn't like the others. Maybe she was just a kid who'd made mistakes, same as I had.
Now she was here, in my home, in my bed, smelling like gardenia and vanilla and something uniquely hers that made me want to curl around her and never let go.
I reached out slowly, carefully, and brushed a strand of sweat-dampened hair away from her face. Tucked it behind her ear. My fingers grazed her skin—still cool.
She didn't wake.
I should not be doing this. Should not be touching her without permission, without her knowing. But I couldn't stop. My hand hovered near her cheek, trembling slightly, wanting so badly to cup her face, to memorize the shape of her.
Mine.
"Not yet," I murmured back.
I pulled my hand away, curled it into a fist on my knee, and leaned back in the chair. Watched her breathe. Watched dawn break outside the window. Watched her like I'd been doing for years—from a distance, in secret.
Finally, exhaustion caught up with me. I rested my head on the edge of the bed and waited quietly.