Damon Volkova
The night air is thick with the scent of rain and asphalt as I step out of the sleek black car, rolling my shoulders. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless, prowling. I ignore the feeling—it's been happening more often lately.
Ever since she came back.
Lilith Luna Dusk.
I exhale sharply, pushing the thought away. The Moon Banquet was a mistake. Seeing her again was a mistake. But fate has a way of dragging me back into the fire, whether I want to burn or not.
The Ironclad Pack's estate looms in the distance, a fortress of steel and shadows. My men are already waiting by the entrance, standing rigid as I approach.
"Report," I order, my voice clipped.
One of my enforcers, Viktor, steps forward. "Kade Blackthorn has been making moves. He's consolidating his power, cutting new deals under the radar."
I hum in acknowledgment, but it's not Kade that concerns me tonight.
It's the whispers. The rumors. The one name that keeps surfacing from the depths of the underworld like a ghost clawing its way back into reality.
Elias Volkova.
I clench my jaw, my fingers twitching at my side. It's impossible. My brother has been dead for years.
And yet—
I turn to Viktor. "And the other matter?"
He hesitates. "Roman Drakovich was seen meeting with Lilith."
A muscle ticks in my jaw. Of course, he was. Roman never plays unless the stakes are high, and if he's circling Lilith now, that means she has something he wants—or he has something she does.
And that makes him a problem.
"Find out what they talked about," I say coldly.
Viktor nods, but he doesn't leave. "There's one more thing."
I arch a brow, waiting.
"It's about Kora Laurent."
My wolf stills.
The name is a blade across old scars. A name that should have remained buried along with the bodies she left in her wake.
I exhale slowly. "Go on."
"She's resurfaced. And she's meeting with Lilith."
A slow, lethal silence stretches between us.
Lilith and Kora in the same room? That's a massacre waiting to happen.
My wolf growls in warning, a deep, possessive rage curling through me.
Lilith isn't stupid. She doesn't let her enemies live.
Which means Kora has something she needs.
Or worse—something that could change everything
I glance at him "contact Roman as soon as possible and set up a meeting with him for me." my voice cold and final.
"Can I ask what the meeting is about Alpha?" Viktor asks rather carefully.
"To find out exactly what Lilith is up to."
The door to my quarters shuts with a soft click, sealing me in the dimly lit space. I shrug off my jacket and toss it over a chair, rolling my shoulders to dispel the tension coiled within them. The night's events sit heavy on my mind—Lilith, Kora, and the ghosts that refuse to stay buried.
I walk toward the bar in the corner of my room, my movements slower than usual, weighted with something unspoken. Pouring a generous glass of whiskey, I watch the amber low light before bringing it to my lips. The first sip burns, spreading warmth through my chest, but it does nothing to ease the
I down the rest in one swallow, then pour another.
Lilith and Kora.
A pairing that should never exist.
My fingers tighten around the glass. Lilith is calculated, ruthless, and doesn't waste time on meaningless pursuits. If she's meeting with Kora, it's for a reason—and that reason can't be good.
I exhale sharply and press my thumb and forefinger against my temples. Maybe the alcohol will dull the irritation clawing at me, maybe it won't. Either way, I welcome the temporary distraction.
I don't hear the door open.
But I sense the presence behind me.
Soft footsteps, deliberate yet hesitant, glide across the floor. A delicate scent—floral, sweet but unfamiliar—fills the air. My wolf stirs, recognizing something off even before I turn.
A pair of slender arms slip around my waist from behind, warm and slow.
I smirk, my grip on the glass loosening.
"You changed your mind after all, didn't you?" I murmur, my voice a low rumble as I let my head tilt back slightly.
The fingers against my stomach tighten, nails grazing my skin through my shirt. I close my eyes, exhaling as I savor the sensation. For a moment, I allow myself to believe. To pretend.
"Lilith," I say, the name like a prayer, hushed and raw.
The body pressed against mine stills.
A pause. A hesitation.
Then lips press against my neck, slow and testing.
A slow, heated chuckle escapes me. My wolf shifts beneath my skin, restless but not alarmed. Not yet.
I turn in her arms, my hands skimming along the curve of her waist. The room is dim, but the shadows part enough for me to make out the figure before me—wrapped in silk and lace, dark hair falling over her shoulders.
But something's wrong.
Lilith's scent is fire and moonlight, sharp and intoxicating.
This—this is wrong.
The haze of alcohol dulls my thoughts, making them sluggish, but my instincts are screaming. My hands tighten around her hips as I lean in, breathing her in, searching for familiarity.
Something is off.
She lets out a soft laugh, breathy, sultry. The sound grates against my ears.
My vision blurs. My grip on her falters.
I blink, the room tilting, the edges of my consciousness swaying like an unsteady tide. My body feels—wrong. Heavy. Sluggish.
"What the hell…" I mutter, voice slurred.
A hand slides up my chest, nails scraping against my skin. I try to push her back, but my limbs don't respond the way they should. My balance wavers.
The drink.
My gaze sharpens, cutting through the fog.
She drugged me.
"Sienna." I say her name like a curse, forcing my head to clear, forcing my body to move, to react.
She presses closer, standing on her toes, lips parting as if to kiss me. "Shhh, Damon. Don't fight it."
My wolf growls, the sound vibrating in my chest. My vision warps between clarity and haze, my instincts at war with whatever the hell she gave me.
I try to shove her away, but my strength is failing. My fingers tremble against her skin, and she smiles, mistaking my weakness for surrender.
"You always belonged to me," she whispers. "Not her. And today, I'm going to make sure I bear you a son"
Rage flares in my veins, raw and searing. My wolf snarls, a guttural, primal sound.
Then pain explodes through me.
A sharp, brutal tearing from the inside out.
My spine arches violently, my fingers clawing at the air as my nails lengthen into talons. A vicious crack shudders through my bones, followed by another and another.
The shift is happening.
Too fast. Too uncontrolled.
The drug—whatever it was—has torn down my restraint, leaving my wolf in command.
Sienna gasps as my body jerks, my skin rippling, my breathing ragged and heavy. The last of my human thoughts slip away, drowned beneath the rising tide of my wolf's fury.
I snarl, my fangs elongating, claws bursting from my fingertips. My vision sharpens, the darkness now clearer than daylight.
Sienna barely has time to react.
With a snarl, I lunge.
She screams as I seize her, my claws digging into her arms. She struggles, shoving at me, but she's nothing. Weak.
I throw her.
She crashes into the far wall, hitting the ground in a tangle of silk and limbs.
A broken sob escapes her, but I don't care.
I stalk forward, my breath ragged, my muscles trembling with the force of the shift. Every fiber of my being demands I finish this—tear her apart for her audacity.
But then—
Pain.
A sharp, splitting pain rips through my skull, forcing me to stagger. My vision flickers, the haze returning tenfold.
Sienna scrambles to her feet, her face white with terror. She stumbles toward the door, clutching her side.
The last thing I hear is the frantic sound of her retreating footsteps before the darkness swallows me whole.
I wake to silence.
Cold air brushes against my bare skin, the remnants of my shredded clothes scattered across the floor. My head pounds, my throat dry and raw.
Memories claw their way back, hazy at first, then stark and vivid.
Sienna.
The drug.
The shift.
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
That damn woman.
A muscle ticks in my jaw as I rise, shoving a hand through my hair. The rage still lingers beneath my skin, simmering, waiting.
I won't let this go unpunished.
Sienna has overstayed her welcome.
And it's time I reminded her whose house she's been living in.