13 Chapter 13


    Seraphina’s POV 1


    My instinct was to refuse immediately. “I don’t have an appropriate dress for-”


    “What you’re wearing now is perfect.” Damien’s voice carried that infuriatingly confident tone that made my stomach do gymnastics


    routines I didn’t authorize. The way he said it-like he wasmenting on the weather rather thanpletely upending my evening


    ns-made me want to simultaneously kiss him and throttle him.


    I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it, then opened it again like some kind of demented fish. “But I… Adrian needs… Ophelia will kill


    me if 1…”


    “Speechless omega?” One dark eyebrow arched in what I was beginning to recognize as his signature look of amused superiority. “That’s


    a first.”


    The smugness in his voice snapped me back to coherent thought. “Fine,” I said, trying to inject some dignity into what was clearly a


    The corner of his mouth twitched-not quite a smile, but close enough to make my traitorous heart do a little tap dance. “Noted. I protect what’s mine,” he said simply, and the possessive note in his voice made my knees wobble like a newborn deer’s.


    The casual threat, delivered in that low, dangerous voice, made heat pool in ces that had no business responding during work hours


    The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of focused intensity that felt like being caught in a very attractive, very expensive tornado.


    Despite the mate bond crackling between us like a live electrical wire, Damien and I fell into a surprisingly natural rhythm. He was


    demanding but fair, brilliant but not condescending, and when I anticipated his needs-sliding the northern territory reports across his


    desk just as he reached for them—he looked at me like I’d just performed actual magic.


    Meanwhile, A had been a constant source ofmentary all day, providing a running narration like the world’s most inappropriate


    sports announcer. *Ooh, look at those shoulders,* she’d purr when Damien moved past my desk. *Did you see the way his muscles


    flexed when he reached for that file? And that smell-God, that SMELL. It’s like sandalwood and testosterone had a baby and named it


    Perfect Man.*


    “Could you maybe tone down the lustfulmentary?” I muttered under my breath during one particrly vivid description of what


    she’d like to do to our mate.


    *I’m just saying, those hands look very capable. Very… thorough.*


    “AYLA.”


    By the time evening approached, I was wound tighter than a Swiss watch, every nerve ending hyperaware of Damien’s presence. When


    he so much as shifted in his chair, I could feel it like a physical touch. When he spoke, his voice seemed to resonate in my bones.


    This mate bond thing was going to be the death of me.


    “Control yourself,” I muttered under my breath during one particrly intense wave of mate-hunger, pressing my thighs together as


    09.18


    712


    neat pooled low in my belly.


    As evening approached, I excused myself to thedies’ room to touch up my makeup and attempt to calm my racing pulse. The emerald dress still looked stunning, but now I could see the flush on my cheeks, the dted pupils that betrayed exactly how affected I was by spending eight hours in close proximity to my mate.


    When I emerged from the restroom, Damien was waiting by the door like a predator who’d been stalking his prey. He looked devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored navy suit, the fabric molding to his broad shoulders and lean torso in ways that should be illegal. When he offered me his arm with old-fashioned gantry, the simple gesture made my heart flutter like a teenager’s.


    “Ready?” he asked, and there was something different in his voice-softer than his usualmanding tone, almost… tender?


    I ced my hand on his offered arm, biting back a gasp as electricity shot through me at the contact. His muscles were like steel beneath the expensive fabric, and I had to resist the urge to run my fingers along the length of his arm just to feel more of that delicious


    warmth.


    “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I managed, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.


    His car was a thing of beauty-sleek, ck, and expensive enough to fund Adrian’s college education. As he held the passenger door open for me, I caught another intoxicating whiff of his scent and had to grip the door frame to keep from swaying. God, he smelled incredible-like sandalwood and something uniquely masculine that made my wolf whine with need.


    “Careful,” he murmured, his handing to rest on the small of my back to steady me. The simple touch sent fire racing through my veins, and I had to bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.


    “So,” Damien said finally, his voice carrying a note of curiosity that hadn’t been there during our professional interactions, “tell me about


    your son.”


    The question caught mepletely off guard. My heart stuttered, then began racing for an entirely different reason. “What would you


    like to know?” I asked carefully, studying his profile in the dim light of the dashboard.


    “Everything,” he said simply, and there was something in his tone-not judgment or calction, but genuine interest. Maybe even


    warmth.


    “His name is Adrian,” I began, unable to keep the fierce love from my voice, “and he’s four. He’s brilliant-scary brilliant sometimes.”


    Damien chuckled, a rich sound that made warmth spread through my chest. “Sounds like he keeps you on your toes. And his father? Are


    you two still in contact?”


    The question hit me like a physical blow, all the warmth draining from my chest in an instant. I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past as I tried to find words that wouldn’t make me sound like exactly what Valerie had always called me.


    “I don’t know who his father is,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.


    Damien’s knuckles went white. “You don’t know?”


    I forced myself to keep talking even though every instinct screamed at me to change the subject. “Just one night, no real names exchanged,


    0918


    The restaurant was exactly what I’d expected-elegant, expensive, and filled with the kind of understated luxury that screamed old money and older power. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over pristine white tablecloths, and the soft murmur of conversation blended with the gentle clink of silverware that probably cost more than my monthly rent.


    Damien guided me through the crowd with a possessive hand on the small of my back, and I was acutely aware of the way other wolves tracked our movement. Several women shot me looks that ranged from curious to openly envious.


    “Rx,” Damien murmured near my ear, his breath making me shiver with awareness. “You’re the most beautiful woman in this room,


    and you have every right to be here.”


    The confident certainty in his voice was exactly what I needed to hear. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin, channeling every


    ounce of dignity I’d spent five years building from scratch.


    Throughout the dinner, I found myself hyperaware of every brush of contact, every shared nce, every moment when Damien leaned close enough for me to breathe in his intoxicating scent. When he reached across me for the wine bottle, his arm brushing against my


    shoulder, I had to dig my nails into my palms to keep from leaning into the contact like a cat seeking warmth.


    We’d been mingling for about an hour when I heard amotion near the entrance-raised voices and the sharp click of heels moving too quickly across marble floors. I was turning toward the disturbance when liquid fire sshed across my chest and abdomen, soaking


    through the precious emerald fabric and making me gasp with shock.


    “Oh Gosh! You bitch!” a shrill voice shrieked, dripping with the kind of entitlement that made my wolf snarl. “Don’t you have eyes?


    Couldn’t you see I was walking this way? Do you have any idea who I am, you pathetic little-”


    The voice cut off so abruptly it was like someone had mmed a door. I looked up, wine dripping from my chin, to find myself staring


    into a face that had haunted my nightmares for five years.


    Valerie stood before me, her mouth hanging open in shock, a now-empty wine ss clutched in her perfectly manicured fingers. Her


    bleached blonde hair was styled in artful waves.


    “It’s you!” she gasped, her voice strangled with disbelief and something that looked dangerously like panic. “Sera!”