Chapter 89
Damon
The sting of steel against my wrist felt good. Clean. Honest.
I pivoted, blade arcing low, slamming into Ronan’s guard hard enough to rattle bone. He grunted, deflected, and shoved back, sweat glistening along his brow.
Our boots scraped violently against the stone floor of the private training ring, scarring the space with every furious step.
Again.
I lunged. Ronan barely blocked the downward strike. The impact drove him back two paces.
Again.
He parried and returned a blow to my side that I absorbed without flinching.
Again.
“Damon!” Ronan barked, stepping out of range and throwing up a hand. “Enough.”
But I didn’t stop. The fury still thrashed inside me, feral and unsatisfied. I came at him again–shoulder first, then a feint, then a hard cut toward his ribs. He blocked, barely, but the moment faltered.
I swept his legs out from under him with a grunt and pinned the flat of
His breathing was harsh beneath me, but so was mine.
my blade against his throat.
“You’re not training,” he muttered, voice low and steady. “You’re trying to bleed out everything that’s bothering you.”
I dropped the blade and backed off, chest heaving. My arms trembled–not from exhaustion, but restraint.
“She lied to me and I thought I was past it.” The words tore out of me like splinters.
Ronan rolled to his feet, brushing dust from his chest. “She survived. There’s a difference.”
“She hid everything. Her name. Her blood. Her wolf. Her damn soul.” My jaw clenched so tightly I could taste blood. “And still…” I shook my head. I couldn’t say it.
Ronan’s voice was quieter now. “You love her.”
Walking to the far edge of the arena, I rested both hands on the stone wall, sweat dripped from my jaw to the ground. I was furious, unmoored, haunted.
“Her father is a piece of work,” I rasped. “But everything she showed me felt real. Every moment. That night in the greenhouse… exhaled sharply. “I fell for her then.”
“She’s not Natalie,” Ronan said gently behind me.
“No.” I turned back to face him. “But when I look at her, I still hear Natalie’s voice sometimes. I hate it and it’s not fair to her.”
Ropes
crossed his arms. “Then stop punishing her for it.”
I scoffed and grabbed a towel from the bench, dragging it across the back of my neck. “Henry’s gone. Elena too. I made sure of it.”
“No scandal,” Ronan said. “You protected/her.”
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Chapter 89
“She’s already hanging by a thread in this palace,” I said. “She doesn’t need more eyes on her. Or whispers about what or who the
Ronan stepped closer. “Then you’ve made your choice. Just be sure you’re not building a life with a ghost. Or protecting her so much that she forgets the can stand on her own. She can fight her own battles, nearly kicked your ass as I recall”
His words sliced deep; Lila wasn’t weak, and I was bordering on treating her that way.
I looked toward the palace–toward the corridor I knew led to her suite. To the woman who put her mother’s life above her own.
“She told me once,” I murmured, “that she didn’t want to be chosen for what she wasn’t. Only for what she is.”
“Then you’d better be damn sure you know who that is,” Ronan said, retrieving his blade.
I just stood there, fists clenched, heart thundering with the truth of my feelings for her and what I might have done in tearing her away from her family and her Pack.
I growled, more at myself than anything, and snatched my sword up ending the sparring session that left me more wound up than before.
Even the guards kept their distance as I made my way back to my chambers. I didn’t blame them. My fists were still tight on the grip of a blade I wasn’t ready to set down.
I pushed open the doors and stepped into the cool dark of my quarters. The fire had burned low, and I didn’t bother lighting more candles, I poured a
drink–didn’t taste it.
Across the room, half–shrouded in shadow, the painting remained where I’d left it. The one of Natalie that I removed from the gallery after Elena had discovered it.
Her eyes held the same mischievous glint. Her mouth curved in the same knowing smile I used to reach for in the dark. And now I looked at that face and saw another layered over it.
I hated that the resemblance still stirred something in me, even after everything. Especially now that I knew the truth.
Lila wasn’t Natalie. She never had been. She was the daughter of a man I despised. A girl who’d grown up clawing her way into a world that didn’t want
her.
But all I could think about was the sound of her voice in the greenhouse, trembling and brave, asking if what we had was real. It was. Gods help me, it
was.
A knock echoed behind me–sharp and short. I didn’t answer. Whoever it was could wait.
I stepped toward the painting, full glass still in hand, and stared at the delicate line of Natalie’s jaw. The soft fall of her hair. The smile she wore only for
- me.
It had been ten years, and I could still remember the scent of her skin. The weight of her hand in mine. The night she died.
But the memories felt thinner now. Distant. Faded like smoke that had finally stopped staining my lungs.
Zane stirred in the back of my mind, restless but not angry. Lila is here now, and she is mine.
I swallowed hard and looked away.
Another knock sounded at the door. Short. Casual. Confident. Only one man knocked like that. I didn’t call him in, but the door creaked open anyway.
“Asher,” I said without turning.
“Don’t stop brooding on my account,” he drawled, strolling inside like he owned the place. “Though I must say, the mood lighting is a bi dramatic. All you need is thunder and a tragic backstory, Well, more tragic.”
I faced him with a glare. “What do you want?”
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Chapter 89
He wandered over to the liquor table and poured himself a drink, like he hadn’t just invited himself into my private chambers. “Word around the halls says you’ve been… intense.” He glanced at the portrait. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You always had a type?
I froze. “Careful.”
He sipped. “It’s just an observation. Lady Ashford has her smile. That fire.” He gestured toward Natalie’s portrait. “It’s uncanny”
My blood went cold.
“You came here just to stir shit?” I asked flatly.
Asher gave a lazy shrug. “Just thought you might want to hear it from family before the rest of the court starts whispering. You know how they are. Especially when there’s a pretty echo of the dead Luna hanging by the throne.”
I stepped toward him, slow and deliberate. “She’s not an echo.”
“No?” His brows lifted in mock surprise. “Because it looks like you’ve got a type, cousin. Brave, Stubborn. Beautiful.” His eyes gleamed. “And destined to break your heart.”
The words twisted deep in my chest–a splintered thought I hadn’t let myself entertain until now.
What if Asher was right? What if Lila–brave, brilliant, beautiful Lila–was always meant to leave? What if this thing growing between them my slow undoing?
I clenched my jaw and forced the thought down, locking it behind the steel of a matching expression. I wouldn’t let that fear become prophecy. But the thought was there now, faint and festering.
And it hurt. The glass in my hand cracked.
Asher’s smirk faded just enough for me to see the satisfaction beneath it. “I wonder if she knows. About the portrait. About why you look at her the way you do.”
I said nothing.
“I’m just saying,” he added lightly, “if you’re trying to replace a ghost, you might want to pick someone who doesn’t bleed.”
The tension in my chest snapped. I moved in one swift step, shoving him hard against the edge of the table. Glass clattered, and his smirk vanished.
“I’m not replacing anyone,” I growled. “And you won’t poison this.
Asher didn’t fight back. He just met my eyes, expression cool now. “A little late for that.”
I released him with a shove and turned away, heart pounding. His footsteps retreated toward the door.
“Just remember,” he said over his shoulder, “you can’t resurrect the dead. But you sure as hell can bury the living.”
The door shut behind him. The silence returned, but it no longer comforted.
I looked back at the portrait, At her face. At Lila’s shadow buried inside it. And then I looked away.
“She’s not you,” I whispered. No, she was Lila. Stronger. Warier. Resilient in ways Natalie had never needed to be. And 1-
I was already hers.
I needed to see her. But first, I had to bury the last ghost. My eyes flicked to the painting one last time.
“She’s not you,” I said more firmly. And this time, it didn’t ache to say it.
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