Damien crouched before her, a smile softening his face. “Little one... don’t you remember me?”
Ayla blinked up at him with wide, wary eyes. Her grip on my leg tightened, and her lower lip trembled.
“She was barely out of her swaddling cloth when you went away,” I said, voice cool. “And you never returned. So no—she doesn’t remember the wolf who abandoned her.”
Despite the dirt and hunger, Ayla had grown beautifully—her wolf emerging with quiet strength. In the firelight, her eyes shimmered like stormlit skies, just like mine. A cub forged from ruin.
Damien gathered her into his arms with a father’s ease, coaxing her gently. “Ayla, it’s me. I’m your father. Say it—Daddy.”
But she only stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, pulling on my tunic like she was begging me to save her.
He tried again, voice dipping into softness. For a moment, I almost saw the wolf I once loved.
Then she remained silent. And his patience cracked.
His voice sharpened. “Selene, now that you’re here, when are you planning to return?”
My brow lifted. “Return? To the cave in the eastern pass? The one you called a ‘safehouse’? The one that flooded when the river swelled and nearly drowned us both?”
He flinched.
“I told you,” he said quietly. “I was waiting for the right time. The manor is crowded. Diplomats. Warriors. There’s no room right now. Once the east wing is repaired, I’ll—”
“No.”
My voice turned to frost. “You think I’ll let you stash us away again? Hide us like a scandal? Ayla and I lived on scraps and rainwater. We chewed bark. Slept in trees. If not for a wandering rogue with herbs and mercy, we’d be bones by now.”
“This Pack has dozens of halls, Damien. Hundreds of beds. But no space for your mate and daughter?”
I saw it now—how blind I had been.
I had loved him. Trusted him. Denied the blood in my veins to be his Luna.
And he had let me rot in the wild.
“Five years,” I said softly. “Five years of silence. Of empty letters and promises that never arrived. No food. No coin. Not a whisper of your voice.”
Damien’s brow creased. “That’s not true. I sent silver. One hundred moons every month. Through the courier wolves.”
My heart stopped cold.
“When?” I asked. “Every month?”
He nodded, brows drawn tight. “Since the day I left. Without fail.”
His eyes shifted. Cut to Elara.
And there it was.
Her smile didn’t falter.
But her hand—resting over her belly—tightened.