The day passed in tense silence.
Mara worked from the penthouse—laptop on the dining table, pretending normalcy while her wrist burned.
The countdown glowed faintly through her sleeve.
29:14:22
29:14:21
Every tick felt like a heartbeat. A death sentence.
Damian stayed nearby. Not hovering. Just… present. On the sofa, reading reports. But his eyes kept finding her.
Like he was memorizing her face.
At noon, he brought her a sandwich. "Turkey. Avocado. No mayo."
She hadn't told him that.
"How did you—?"
"You picked it off your coworker's plate yesterday." He handed her a napkin. "You have strong opinions about condiments."
She laughed—a real sound that made his eyes soften.
But the laughter died when her phone buzzed.
A text. Unknown number.
– The countdown started the moment he touched you. Every second with him brings you closer to death. I can stop it. Midnight. Pier 17. — L."
Damian read it over her shoulder. His jaw clenched.
"He's lying."
"Is he?" Mara touched her wrist. "Because this mark appeared after you kissed me. After we—"
"After we bonded." His voice was sharp. "The mark means we're connected. Not dying."
"Then why is it counting down?"
He had no answer.
She stood. Paced. "What if Lucian knows something you don't? What if—"
"He's my brother." Damian's voice was cold. "I know exactly what he's capable of. Manipulation. Lies. He wants to separate us."
"Why?"
"Because he sided with our father. And when I killed him—when I chose my mother's freedom over pack loyalty—Lucian swore revenge."
Mara stopped. "You killed your father."
"To save her. Yes."
"And your brother has hated you ever since."
"Yes."
She looked at him—really looked. Saw the weight he carried. Thirty years of guilt. Nightmares every night. A wolf dormant from grief.
"I'm not going," she said. "To the pier. I'm staying here."
Relief flooded his face. "Thank you."
"But you need to tell me everything. About the bond. About my power. About what I am."
He nodded. "Tonight. After you rest."
But rest didn't come.
The nightmare hit at dusk.
Fire. A woman burning. Wolves snarling.
And a voice—deep, male, furious: "Choose, boy! Your mother or your pack!"
Younger Damian, eighteen maybe, standing between a pyre and a snarling Alpha.
The woman—Selene—chained to a stake. Flames licking her feet.
"Let me burn!" she screamed. "Don't give him what he wants!"
The Alpha—Damian's father—stepped forward. "Bond with me, or watch your son lose everything."
Selene spat at him. "I'd rather die."
"Then die you shall."
He threw a torch.
Flames erupted.
Selene screamed—not from pain, but from rage.
Silver light exploded from her body. The chains shattered. She stepped through the fire—unburned.
And her eyes—God, her eyes—locked on young Damian.
"Run," she whispered.
Then she turned to the Alpha. To her mate.
And burned him alive.
Mara woke screaming.
Damian was there instantly. Door bursting open. Eyes glowing gold.
"I felt it," he said, crossing the room. "Your fear. Like a second heartbeat."
She was shaking. Sweating. "I saw her. Your mother. She—she killed him. Your father. She burned him."
Damian went still. "You saw that?"
"Like I was there."
He sat on the edge of the bed. "The bond. It's showing you memories. Mine. Hers."
"She didn't just die in that fire," Mara whispered. "She caused it."
"Yes." His voice was hollow. "She rejected the bond. The backlash incinerated them both. My father. And her."
"But you said you chose—"
"I chose not to force her." He looked at his hands. "But she chose death over slavery. And the power she unleashed—it killed everyone within fifty feet."
"Including you?"
"I survived. Barely." He lifted his shirt. A massive scar covered his chest. "Third-degree burns. I should have died."
Mara touched the scar. He shivered.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't be." He covered her hand with his. "She saved me. Gave me time to escape before the fire took her."
Silence.
Then Mara asked: "What if I'm like her? What if the countdown—what if it's me who destroys us?"
"You won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do." He pulled her close. "Because you're not her. You're you."
But his words felt hollow.
She pulled back. Looked at him. "Get in bed with me."
He hesitated. "Mara—"
"Please. I don't want to be alone."
He nodded. Lay beside her. On top of the covers. Clothed. Respectful distance.
But she turned toward him. Buried her face in his chest.
He went still. Then—his arms came around her. Gentle. Firm. Safe.
She breathed him in. Cedar. Smoke. Him.
Her body relaxed. Then—shifted.
Her leg slid between his.
A test.
He didn't pull away. Just held her closer.
His hand slid up her back. Slow. Soothing. Then lower. To her waist.
His thumb traced her hip.
She lifted her head. Met his eyes.
Dark. Hungry. Holding back.
"Mara," he whispered.
"Don't stop," she said.
His breath caught.
His hand moved—up her side. Over thin cotton. To the underside of her breast.
Not cupping. Just… feeling.
She arched slightly.
A soft sound escaped her.
He groaned—low, broken.
His mouth found her neck. Not biting. Just lips. Tongue. Heat.
He kissed upward—jaw, cheek, temple. Then back down. To her throat.
His hand slid around. Fingers brushing her breast.
She gasped.
His mouth stilled. His hand stilled.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured.
She didn't.
Instead, her hand rose. Covered his. Pushed it higher.
His breath shortened.
His fingers brushed lace. Then the swell beneath.
She moaned.
He shuddered.
His palm cupped her fully now. Squeezed gently.
Her nipple hardened against his hand.
He groaned. His thumb found it through fabric. Circled. Pressed.
She arched into his touch.
"Damian—"
His mouth captured hers. Deep. Hungry.
His hand kneaded her breast. Then slid down. Over her stomach. To her sleep shorts.
He paused, pulled back, and ooked at her.
"Tell me to stop," he said—voice raw.
"No," she gasped.
His hand slid lower. Over fabric. Between her legs.
Pressed against her heat.
She was already wet. Soaking through.
He felt it. Made a sound—half curse, half prayer.
"You're always ready for me."
"Yes," she whimpered.
His fingers pressed harder. Rubbed slow circles through fabric.
She ground against his hand.
"Please—"
He hooked his fingers in the waistband. Started to pull down—
Then stopped.
Withdrew his hand.
Sat up.
Ran a hand through his hair.
"Mara," he said—voice strained. "I can't."
She sat up too. Breathing hard. Confused. "Why not?"
"Because tonight?" He looked at her. Eyes burning. "Tonight I want it to be perfect. Not fear. Not comfort. Not a distraction from a countdown."
She blinked. "You think this is fear?"
"I think—" He touched her cheek. "—if I take you tonight, you'll wonder if it was real. Or just the bond forcing us together."
She studied him. Saw the tension. The way his fists clenched. The sweat at his temples.
The rigid bulge in his pants.
He wasn't rejecting her. He was protecting her.
Slowly, she reached out. Took his hand. Pressed it to her chest. Over her heart.
"Feel that?" she whispered.
He nodded.
"It's not fear," she said. "It's yes."
He closed his eyes. Leaned in. Forehead to hers.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. "Let me know you tomorrow. When the sun is up. When you're sure."
She smiled. "Okay."
He stood. Walked to the door. Paused.
"Lock it if you want."
She shook her head.
He nodded. And left.
She lay back. Heart racing.
Not from the dream. From him.
From the way he'd stopped. From the way he'd seen her.
She turned to the balcony. His door was open. He stood there—arms crossed, staring at the city.
Watching. Waiting.
She didn't call him. But didn't close her door either.
And this time—she fell asleep smiling.
Thinking about tomorrow.
About the sacred grove he'd mentioned.
About finally saying yes completely.
But on her wrist, the countdown ticked.
28:09:15
28:09:14
And three hundred miles north, in a frozen facility—
A cryo-chamber opened.
Silver mist poured out.
And a woman stepped through.
Naked. Silver-haired. Silver-eyed.
SELENE.
Alive.
And the first word she spoke:
"Damian."