Chapter 209

Damon

The longer I stayed, the harder it became to leave.

Silver Glen was small, a handful of streets and smoke curling from thatched roofs, but somehow there was nowhere I could stand where I didn’t see Lila. Or hear her.

Every morning, she walked through the square with baskets of herbs, her laugh carried on the wind. Every night the apothecary windows glowed until long after the village slept.

The light reminded me of how she used to fall asleep in my study, ink on her fingers, head bent over a book.

Now she laughed with him instead.

Kael stood beside her at the apothecary counter, passing her jars of oil and dried roots. Their movements were wordless, familiar. He leaned close to murmur something, and she smiled faintly, that small secret curve of her mouth that undid me.

I told myself to look away, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

The twins darted between them, two streaks of color and laughter in the snow. The girl, Auren, tugged at Kael’s coat until he scooped her up.

“Careful, little one,” he said with a grin. “You’ll fall and bruise your knees again.”

“I won’t!” she protested, throwing her arms around his neck. “You’re so tall, Daddy!”

He laughed, spinning her once before setting her down.

The sound tore me in two.

Zane lunged in my chest, fury and recognition colliding. Our scent. Our blood.

“No,” I hissed under my breath, forcing the words through clenched teeth. “They’re not ours.”

Lies, Zane growled. You know the truth. You can feel it.

And I could. The air shifted when they passed me in the square later that afternoon. Beneath the scent of herbs was something faint but unmistakable: my bloodline, my pack signature, woven through theirs like a tapestry.

It was so subtle, only an Alpha could have noticed. Only a father.

My pulse roared in my ears, every sound too loud. My vision narrowed on to the children.

I watched as Kael knelt to tie the boy’s boot. The twins leaned into him easily, their laughter clear and trusting. Lila watched from the doorway, her expression soft and unguarded, a rare peace in her eyes.

But she didn’t correct them. Didn’t say that he wasn’t their father.

That broke me more than anything so far.

I turned away, my vision blurring around the edges. I’d fought wars and stared down beasts without blinking…but watching another male live the life meant for me made my knees almost buckle.

My chest ached with something darker than anger. Jealousy, yes, but there was a grief so sharp it felt physical. I’d buried her once already. I didn’t know how to do it again while I knew she was still breathing.

Zane paced restlessly in the back of my mind. He touches what’s ours. He breathes our air.

“Enough,” I growled aloud.

A woman passing by gave me a startled glance, and I forced a neutral smile, pretending to check the straps on my satchel. My hands were shaking.

When I looked back, Lila was crouched beside the twins, tucking her daughter’s scarf around her neck, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

It was such a simple gesture, but it leveled me. I saw the life I’d lost, the mornings we never had, the family I’d never know.

Kael said something I couldn’t hear. Lila laughed. He brushed a smudge of soot from her cheek, and for one blinding heartbeat, I wanted to kill him. Not out of hatred, but out of pure helplessness.

I couldn’t blame him for loving her, but I couldn’t bear that she let him.

Go to her, Zane urged. Take back what’s ours.

“She made her choice,” I said. The words burned like the poison she once suffered from.

As I watched the four of them – Lila’s, Kael, and the twins between them – I felt the truth coil tight inside my gut. She hadn’t chosen Kael. She’d chosen safety.

And that, somehow, hurt even worse than if she had simply reject our bond and chosen another male.

When dusk fell, Lila lingered near the well, speaking softly to Kael before parting ways. The twins ran ahead of him, their laughter echoing down the narrow lane.

She turned toward the river path, walking alone.

The moment she disappeared beyond the edge of the square, I moved.

Every rational thought scattered into nothingness. There was no plan, no reason, I was acting on pure instinct. The truth was a blade twisting under my ribs, and I needed to hear her say it.

Just once. Out loud.

By the time I reached the trees, my hands were already shaking with the force of what I knew.

She didn’t hear me at first, the river drowned out everything with its low, constant rush filling the valley with sound. The snow was melting along the bank, dark soil showing through in uneven patches.

Lila knelt near the edge of the river, washing her hands, sleeves pushed to her elbows. Her hair had come loose in the wind, strands clinging to her cheeks.

For a moment, I just stood there, watching her. My heartbeat thudded in my throat so loudly I thought she might hear it. Every part of me knew I should turn back, but I couldn’t.

“Lila.”

She went still. Her hand froze above the water, the bundle of soap slipping through her fingers and drifting downstream.

When she turned towards me, her face was calm. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’ve heard that before,” I said, my voice rough from days without sleep. “You told me once to stop chasing ghosts. And yet here you are, breathing.”

Her shoulders rose and fell with a long, steady breath. “You don’t belong here, Damon. Go home.”

I laughed quietly, the sound cracking. “Home? You were my home.”

That stopped her, and I caught the tremor in the set of her jaw. I stepped closer, the scent of river water and sage mixing with her skin. The bond between us hummed faintly with the proximity.

I swallowed hard. “Whose children are they?”

Her eyes widened for just an instant, then shuttered. “Kael’s.”

The lie was a slap.

“No,” I said, shaking my head slowly. “Try again.”

“Kael is their father,” she repeated, firmer this time, her chin lifting.

Zane surged forward inside me, rage pounding through my veins. Ours.

My claws ached beneath my skin, nearly breaking through. “Don’t lie to me,” I growled. “I can smell it. I can feel it in my bones. You can shut me out, but I still know my own blood.”

Her voice was quiet, but the edge was sharp. “You see what you want to, Damon.”

I stepped closer. She didn’t move back, though her pulse quickened. I could hear it. “Do you think I don’t recognize the sound of my son’s heartbeat?” My voice shook. “Do you think I can’t tell when my own blood runs through my daughter’s veins?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to look away. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I mourned you every day,” I whispered. “I tore through everything that dared to stand between us. And all this time you were here, raising my children, pretending they belonged to someone else.”

She flinched like the words struck her, but her voice stayed even. “They aren’t yours.”

My vision blurred. The fury drained as fast as it came, leaving only the hollow space where hope had lived. “Then tell me why their scent carries mine,” I said softly. “Tell me why my wolf nearly tore me apart when I heard them laugh.”

Her mouth trembled, but she didn’t answer.

The bond pulsed once in the air between us. She felt it too; I saw it in the way her shoulders tightened, the way her breath caught. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the invisible tether that still tied us together despite everything.

Then she broke it. “They’re not yours,” she said again, barely a whisper this time.

I stared at her, searching her face for any trace of the truth, and found only exhaustion. Lila built her world on the hope that I’d never find it.

My voice cracked. “I tried to give you everything, would have given you anything.”

She turned away, her hair catching the wind. “You already did,” she said quietly. “And then you put me in a cage.”

My heart broke at her words, and she took the chance while I was left stunned to walk away.

I stood there long after she left, staring at the river.

Zane’s voice came faintly, low and wounded. She’s lying.

“Maybe,” I said. My hands trembled. “But maybe we gave her no reason not to.”

When I finally walked back toward the village, the air felt heavier, the bond between us throbbing like a half-healed scar.