His face paled.
He knew me.
And I knew the war had just begun.
Chapter Three
“Selene...?”
The voice came from the steps of the Nightfang Alpha manor. Low. Controlled.
But I caught the crack in it.
Damien descended slowly, each step a study in forced composure. But I saw it—the flare of disbelief in his stormy gaze. The tremble in his fingers before he stilled them.
“If you wanted to speak to me,” he said under his breath, “you could have sent word through the Shadow Runners. Why show up like this?”
Ayla shifted in my arms, her tiny frame pressed close. She whimpered softly in her sleep. Starved. Cold. So light it broke my heart.
Damien’s eyes darted to the gathering crowd near the iron gates. His jaw clenched. “I wrote to you. Told you not to return until it was safe. There are... complications.”
Complications.
I stared at him. After everything. After the betrayal. After our deaths.
He still looked like a god among wolves—tall, broad-shouldered, his Alpha mark pulsing faintly beneath the collar of his formal jacket. Gold thread glinted at his cuffs, and the Nightfang crest gleamed on his chest.
And me?