Damon paused in his efficient packing of her belongings. "You pressed the panic button. Twice."
"That was before I saw you," She gestured vaguely at his face. "Change."
A muscle twitched in Damon's jaw. "If I had not changed, we would both be dead. Or you would be unconscious and on your way to whoever hired those men." He zipped the bag closed and tossed it beside her. "You have two choices. Come with me to somewhere safe. Or stay here and wait for the next team to arrive. These men were professionals. They would not be the last."
Elara looked at the dead men on her bedroom floor. Then at the black rose still lying where it had been left. Two separate threats, converging on her at once.
"I keep a go-bag," she said finally. "In the hall closet. I have had to run before."
Something like understanding flashed in Damon's eyes. He retrieved the bag without comment, then helped her to her feet. His touch was surprisingly gentle for hands that had just lifted a grown man off the floor with ease.
"My car is waiting downstairs," he said. "Stay close to me."
As they made their way through her violated apartment, Elara noticed Damon's security chief, Reed, standing guard by the shattered front door.
"All clear outside," Reed reported. "For now."
"The bodies?" Damon asked.
"I'll handle it," Reed assured him. "Take her to safety."
Elara wanted to ask how exactly one "handled" two dead bodies, but decided that was a question best left unasked. The night had already provided too many horrifying answers.
Outside, rain had started falling again. Damon guided her to a black Range Rover parked in the shadows behind her building. His hand at the small of her back. His gaze constantly scanning their surroundings.
Once inside the vehicle, Elara felt the first wave of delayed shock wash over her. Her hands shook uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered despite the car's warmth.
Without a word, Damon removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. The weight of it was oddly comforting, as was the lingering warmth from his body. It carried his scent. Something woodsy and masculine that should not have been reassuring given what she now knew about him, yet somehow it was.
"It's the adrenaline," he said quietly as the car pulled away from the curb. "The crash after danger. It will pass."
"Is that the wolf talking?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Damon's eyes, finally returned to their normal amber color, met hers. "No. Just someone who's seen his share of violence."
The city streets gave way to darker, tree-lined roads as they headed toward the outskirts of Ravenwood. Elara stared out the window, watching her brief attempt at a normal life recede in the distance.
"How far is your territory?" she asked, the word feeling strange on her tongue.
"About thirty minutes outside town," Damon replied. "The Crescent Moon Pack owns several thousand acres of forest land, protected as a private wildlife sanctuary. The main house is at the center."
"And this is where you are taking me? To a house full of werewolves?"
Damon's jaw tightened. "It is the safest place from both your black rose sender and whoever hired those men. My pack is loyal. They will protect you on my orders."
"Because I am a Siren?"
"Because you are under my protection." His eyes met hers with intensity. "Whether you want it or not."
The possessive edge to his words sent an unexpected shiver through Elara. Not entirely from fear. She turned back to the window, unwilling to examine that reaction too closely.
The car fell silent as they navigated increasingly remote roads. Rain drummed on the roof, creating a hypnotic rhythm that almost lulled Elara into a false sense of security. Almost.
"Tell me about werewolves," she finally said, needing to fill the tension-laden silence. "Are the movies accurate? Silver bullets? Full moons?"
Damon's lips curved in a humorless smile. "Some myths have a grain of truth. Silver burns us. But it takes more than a bullet to kill an Alpha. Full moons affect us. But we do not lose control unless we choose to." He studied her profile in the dim light. "Your turn. Tell me about Sirens. Beyond the myths of luring sailors to their doom."
Elara tensed. "I do not know anything about Sirens. I told you, I am just,"
"A singer who suppressed my wolf with her voice," Damon finished. "Something no human could do."
"I have always been different," Elara admitted reluctantly. "My voice can influence people. Make them feel things. Sometimes make them do things. But I never knew why." She twisted her hands in her lap. "I spent most of my life trying to control it. To hide it. Not understanding what I was."
"And the incident in Chicago? The one that sent you running?"
Elara's head snapped up. "How do you know about Chicago?"
"I do not know the details. Just that something happened three years ago that made you start running. The timing matches with what you said about the black rose sender. Thornwood. Is he the one you have been running from?"
"His brother," Elara whispered. "I killed his brother. Not intentionally though. He tried to," She could not finish the sentence. "I used my voice to defend myself. It went too far."
Damon was silent for a long moment. "Self-defense is not murder," he finally said.
"Tell that to Jonah Thornwood." Elara said.
The car turned onto a private road marked only by a discreet sign reading "Private Property." Tall iron gates swung open automatically as they approached.
"We are here," Damon said.
The private road wound through dense forest for another mile before opening into a clearing. In the center stood what Damon had modestly called the "main house". A sprawling structure of stone and timber that rose from the forest floor like a modern castle. Lights glowed in several windows despite the late hour.
As they approached, Elara could make out several figures waiting on the broad front porch. More werewolves. Damon's pack. The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her.
"They would not hurt you," Damon said quietly, as if sensing her fear. "But they will be curious. A Siren has not entered pack territory in generations."
"I am not," Elara began automatically, then stopped herself. After what she had witnessed tonight, denying the supernatural seemed absurd. "Will they be able to tell? What I am?"
"Yes. Your scent is distinctive."
That was not comforting.
As they pulled up to the house, Elara could feel curious gazes tracking their arrival. Damon exited first. Then came around to open her door. The protective gesture seemed instinctive rather than calculated.
An elderly woman with silver hair and sharp eyes stepped forward. "Welcome back, Alpha," she said, her voice strong despite her age. Her gaze shifted to Elara, assessing. "And this must be the singer."
"This is Marlowe, our pack elder," Damon explained. "And yes, this is Elara Matthews. She will be staying with us for her protection."
Marlowe's piercing eyes narrowed slightly. "I sense power in you, child. Old power. Older than our kind."
A younger woman with features similar to Damon's moved forward. "I have prepared a room in the east wing," she told him. "As you requested."
"This is my sister, Cora," Damon said to Elara. "She is second in the pack hierarchy."
Cora offered a small, curious smile. "You must be exhausted."
"You could say that," Elara murmured, acutely aware of the other pack members watching from various distances. Some openly curious. Others wary.
"Come inside," Marlowe directed. "We have much to discuss. But it can wait until morning."
The interior of the house matched its impressive exterior. Rustic luxury with soaring timber ceilings. Stone fireplaces. And a blend of antique and modern furnishings. Under different circumstances, Elara might have appreciated its beauty. Now, she simply felt like a rabbit in a wolves' den. Literally.
Cora led them upstairs to a long hallway lined with heavy wooden doors. "The family wing," she explained. "Damon's suite is at the end. Yours is here." She opened a door to reveal a spacious bedroom decorated in soothing blues and grays.
"Thank you," Elara said, surprised by the consideration.
"I will leave you to settle in," Cora said, glancing between her and Damon with poorly disguised curiosity before retreating down the hall.
Alone with Damon for the first time since his transformation, Elara found herself unable to meet his eyes. The memory of his face changing. Of teeth and claws and inhuman strength was too fresh.
"You should rest," he said. "We will talk more in the morning."
"How can I possibly sleep here? In a house full of," She could not bring herself to say 'werewolves.'
"Monsters?" Damon supplied, a hint of bitterness in his tone.
"I do not know what to think," Elara admitted. "A few days ago, the strangest thing in my life was how strongly people reacted to my singing. Now I have seen a man transform into something out of horror movies. I have been attacked by professional mercenaries. And been told I am some mythical creature called a Siren."
Damon stepped closer. Too close. Elara could feel the heat radiating from his body. Smell that woodsy scent that clung to his skin.
"Are you afraid of me now?" he asked, his voice low.
She should lie. Should pretend a confidence she did not feel. But somehow, she knew he would sense it. "Yes," she whispered. "But not only of you. Of whatever's happening to me. Of what I might be."
Something softened in his expression. "That's fair."
He moved to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "Lock it behind me if it makes you feel safer. No one will disturb you tonight."
After he left, Elara did exactly that. Turning the lock with a satisfying click. She set her bags down and surveyed the room that would be her refuge for who knew how long.
The events of the night crashed down on her all at once. The black rose. The attackers. Damon's transformation. She sank onto the edge of the bed. Her legs suddenly unable to support her.
Werewolves. Sirens. What next? Vampires and fairies?
Moving to the window, she gazed out at the moonlit forest surrounding the house. Somewhere out there, Jonah Thornwood hunted her. Determined to avenge his brother's death. And maybe someone else, someone powerful enough to hire professional mercenaries, wanted her for reasons she still did not understand.
Her only protection was a man who could transform into a beast. Who claimed she was a creature of myth. Who looked at her with eyes that burned gold when his control slipped.
Elara pressed her forehead against the cool glass. Her reflection ghostly in the darkness beyond.
What have I gotten myself into?
In the silence of the strange room, with only the distant howl of what might be wolves, Elara Matthews faced the truth she had been running from her entire life.
If werewolves were real, then perhaps she truly was something other than human. Something powerful. Something feared.
Something hunted.
The pendant at her throat pulsed once, warm against her skin, as if in confirmation. Outside, a wolf howled, the sound echoing across the forest like a claim.
Like a promise.
Or a warning.