Damien’s POV
The mont Sera walked away from , sothing in my chest went tight and cold. I watched her push through the crowd toward the terrace doors, her shoulders rigid with the kind of tension that ant she was barely holding herself together.
*Fuck.*
I wanted to follow her. Every instinct I had was screaming at to go after her, to pull her into my arms and fix whatever was broken. But she’d asked not to follow, and I’d learned to respect that request over the past few months.
Even when it killed .
"Damien?" Emma’s voice pulled my attention back to the imdiate disaster. She was standing there looking mortified, her perfect composure finally cracked. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t an to—I had no idea she was your mate. I just assud—"
"You assud wrong," I said flatly, not bothering to hide the ice in my voice.
Emma flinched. "Of course. I can see that now. It’s just, without the mate bond scent, I thought--""
"Stop talking."
The words ca out with enough alpha authority to make her step back involuntarily, her wolf instinctively recognizing the danger she was in. Smart woman.
I was about to go after Sera when a familiar voice interrupted.
"Damien, my boy!"
I turned to see Henry approaching, one of the pack’s most senior mbers and Lucas’s great-uncle. The old man was built like a linebacker despite being in his seventies, his silver hair perfectly grood and his expensive suit tailored to accommodate his still-impressive fra.
"Henry." I forced a smile, though it felt like my face might crack from the effort. "Good to see you."
"Likewise, son, likewise." He clapped on the shoulder with enough force to stagger a normal human. "Beautiful party, isn’t it? Young love and all that."
"Yes, Riley and Lucas seem very happy."
"They do indeed. Reminds of myself at that age." His pale blue eyes twinkled with mischief. "Speaking of which, I’ve been aning to have a word with you about your own situation."
My stomach dropped. "My situation?"
"Your bachelor status, of course!" Henry gestured around the crowded ballroom. "Look around, son. Everyone’s pairing off, settling down, building families. Even my great-nephew finally figured out how to propose to that lovely girl of his."
I really, really didn’t want to have this conversation. Not tonight. Not when Sera was sowhere outside, probably crying because of what just happened.
"Henry, I appreciate."
"Now, I know you’ve been focused on pack business," the older man continued, clearly not interested in being interrupted. "And that’s admirable. But a strong alpha needs a strong luna by his side. The pack expects it."
My jaw clenched so tight I thought my teeth might crack. "The pack expects what, exactly?"
"A proper mating, of course! Pure bloodlines, strong offspring, all the traditional requirents." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to what he probably thought was a conspiratorial whisper. "Between you and , I’ve been wondering why there’s no mate scent on you. Are you having trouble finding a suitable female?"
The urge to grab Henry by the throat and explain exactly why there was no mate scent was overwhelming.
"I’m not looking for a mate right now," I said carefully.
"Nonsense!" Henry waved a dismissive hand. "Every alpha needs a luna. It’s the natural order of things. And I have to say, that Rodriguez girl has been making quite an impression tonight. Intelligent, attractive, excellent breeding..."
My vision went red around the edges. "What did you just say?"
"Emma Rodriguez," He clarified, apparently oblivious to the dangerous shift in my mood. "The kind of female who could be both luna and business partner. Very practical arrangent."
My voice dropped to that lethal whisper that made grown wolves show their necks. "I already have a mate."
The old man blinked in confusion. "You do? But there’s no scent."
"I have a mate," I repeated, each word precise and deadly. "I have a wife. I have two children. And if you suggest I abandon them for so ’practical arrangent’ with anyone else, I will end this conversation in a way you won’t enjoy."
His face went pale as he finally registered the alpha power radiating from . The air around us seed to vibrate with barely contained violence, and I saw several nearby guests step back instinctively.
"Of course," he stamred. "I didn’t an any offenseâ€""
"Then don’t give any."
Without another word, I turned and stalked toward the terrace doors. Sera had been out there too long, and my patience for polite conversation had reached its absolute limit.
But as I approached the French doors, I realized sothing was wrong. Very wrong.
There were too many people gathered on the terrace. Too many voices raised in excitent or concern. And under it all, I could hear sothing that made my blood turn to ice.
Sera’s voice. Quiet, strained, trying to calm soone down.
I pushed through the crowd with enough force to send several guests stumbling, my enhanced senses imdiately cataloging everything wrong with this scene. The sharp sll of spilled champagne. The glitter of broken crystal scattered across the stone. And there, in the center of it all—
Sera.
On her hands and knees in a puddle of champagne, her hair hanging in wet strands around her face, her dress completely soaked. She was trying to push herself up but kept slipping on the wet stone, her purely human reflexes and strength failing her.
The sight of her like that—vulnerable, humiliated, struggling—unleashed sothing primal in that I’d never felt before. Not just anger. Not just protective fury. This was pure, undiluted rage that made my bones ache with the need to destroy sothing.
"What happened?" I snarled, dropping to my knees beside her without regard for my own expensive suit.
"I’m fine," Sera said quickly, but her voice was shaking. "It was an accident. The server tripped, and I just happened to be in the wayâ€""
"Ma’am, I’m so sorry!" A young man in server’s uniform was hovering nearby, his face white with terror. "I didn’t see you there! I’m so sorry!"
I barely glanced at him. All my attention was focused on getting Sera off this damn terrace and away from all these staring faces. I could feel their gazes like physical weights, pressing down on us with curiosity and judgnt and poorly concealed amusent.
"Let help you," I murmured, sliding one arm around her waist and the other under her knees.
"Damien, I can walk—"
"No, you can’t," I said firmly, lifting her against my chest with infinite care. "Your dress is soaked, and there’s glass everywhere."
"It’s fine," Sera said quietly, probably trying to defuse the tension she could feel radiating from . "Really, it was just an accident. Don’t bla anyone."
I carried Sera through the ballroom, not caring about the wet champagne soaking into my suit or the way conversations stopped as we passed. All that mattered was getting her ho, getting her safe, getting her away from all these people who looked at her like she was so kind of fascinating specin.
The car ride was silent except for the soft sound of Sera’s breathing and the hum of the engine. She sat pressed against the passenger door, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. Her hands were folded in her lap, and I could see the tension in every line of her body.
"Talk to ," I said finally.
"Nothing to talk about." Her voice was carefully neutral. "It was an accident. People spill things. It happens."
"Sera."
"Really, Damien. I’m fine."
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