“That’s exactly why I had to leave,” he growled, resuming his restless pacing. “Desire and love get people killed.”
But his dragon wasn’t interested in logic or past failures. It wanted its mate, and it was making its displeasure known through every restless movement, every spike of heat, and every image of Isla that flashed through Damon’s mind.
She probably thinks I rejected her.
The idea of Isla feeling hurt because of his behavior sent an unexpected stab of pain through his chest.
How can I explain to her that she’s my fated mate but I can’t be with her?The impossible situation made his jaw clench with frustration.How do I tell her that getting close to me puts her in danger without scaring her away completely?
Because despite everything—despite his fear, his guilt, his century of careful isolation—some part of him didn’t want to scare her away. Some traitorous part of him wanted to explore whatever this connection between them might become.
And that’s the most dangerous thought of all.
Damon stopped pacing and stared out at the ocean, watching waves crash against the volcanic rocks with mindless repetition. The sun hung lower now, painting the sky in shades of orange and coral that would normally bring him peace. Instead, all he could think about was wanting to watch the sunset with her in his arms.
“I can’t stay here,” he muttered, the walls of his sanctuary feeling more like a prison with each passing minute. “I need to clear my head.”
The waves weren’t ideal for surfing though today—too choppy and too unpredictable. But running had always been his second-best option for finding mental clarity. Physical exertion had a way of quieting his dragon’s more demanding impulses, and right now he needed all the help he could get.
Damon changed into running gear with efficient movements, pulling on shorts and a moisture-wicking shirt before heading for the beach. The moment his feet hit the sand, some of the tension in his shoulders began to ease. This was familiar territory—just him, the ocean, and the rhythm of his own breathing.
This is what I need,he told himself as he began an easy jog along the water’s edge.Nature. Solitude. Control.
But even as his legs found their stride and his breathing settled into the meditative pattern of a long run, Damon couldn’t escape the truth that burned in his chest.
EIGHT
DAMON
For the first time in a century, he wanted something more than mere survival.
Ten miles of punishing sand and salt spray had finally quieted the relentless demands echoing through Damon’s skull. His dragon, which had been clawing at his ribs like a caged beast since the moment he’d touched Isla’s hand, had settled into a grudging silence. The rhythmic pounding of his feet against the shoreline and the burn in his lungs had provided exactly the kind of brutal clarity he needed.
Control,he reminded himself as he climbed the steps to his beach house, sweat cooling against his skin in the evening breeze.
The familiar mantra that had carried him through a century of isolation felt solid again, dependable. He’d almost convinced himself that the afternoon’s encounter had been nothing more than a momentary lapse in judgment—a brief stumble that he could recover from.
Then his phone rang.
Evelina’s name flashed across the screen, and Damon’s hard-won peace evaporated. His aunt never called unless something required his immediate attention, and given the timing, healready knew exactly what—or rather who—this conversation would concern.
“I assume you aren’t happy about my behavior?” His greeting held no pretense.
“Good evening to you too, nephew.” Evelina’s voice held that particular edge that meant she was prepared to go to war. “I trust you’ve finished running away from your problems?”
Damon’s jaw clenched so hard he heard his teeth grind. “I wasn’t running away from anything.”
“Really? Because from where I stood, it looked remarkably like a grown man fleeing from a perfectly lovely woman who’d done nothing more threatening than smile at him.”
The accusation hit its mark with surgical precision. Damon prowled toward his kitchen. “I don’t owe explanations to anyone.”
“Actually, you do.” Steel crept into Evelina’s tone. “You owe an explanation to Isla, who spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what she’d done wrong. You owe an explanation to me, since I vouched for your character when I arranged this meeting. And most importantly, you owe an explanation to your clan, who are watching their Alpha act like a spooked child for far too long.”
Each word landed like a dagger. Damon gripped the marble countertop, fighting the surge of shame that threatened to crack his carefully maintained composure. The last thing he wanted was for Isla to feel unwanted, but the alternative—letting her get close enough to be hurt—was unthinkable.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking of me.” The admission scraped his throat raw.
“What I’m asking for right now is for you to have dinner with a woman who traveled across the country today.” His aunt’s voice softened just enough to reveal the concern beneath her frustration. “But Damon, I’ve given you a century to dealwith your guilt and trauma. A century to hide behind duty and isolation while your clan grows more restless by the day.”
