The moment he appeared in the doorway, silence fell like a dropped curtain. Every head turned, every conversation stopped, and Damon felt the weight of their collective stare like a physical thing.
Some faces showed shock—genuine surprise that their reclusive Alpha had emerged from his self-imposed isolation. Others displayed skepticism, as if they couldn’t quite believe he was real. But scattered throughout the crowd, he caught glimpses of something that made his throat tight with emotion. Joy. Pure, uncomplicated happiness at seeing him.
When did I become such a stranger to my own people?
Elder Martin was the first to approach, his weathered face creasing into a smile that reached his ancient eyes. “Alpha Damon. What a wonderful surprise.”
“Martin.” Damon’s voice came out steadier than he’d expected. “I should have done this sooner.”
“You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
More clan members approached, and to his amazement, Damon found himself falling into conversations that felt natural instead of forced. He asked about families, listened to concerns, and even managed to laugh at Kaelith’s increasingly ridiculous stories.
The anxiety that had been clawing at his chest began to ease, replaced by something he’d almost forgotten—the simple pleasure of connection.
Then Isla entered the room, and his world tilted off its axis.
She wore a flowing green dress that hugged her curves like a second skin, the color making her hazel eyes appear more emerald than brown. Her auburn hair was swept back in a casual style that left her neck exposed, and the sight of that vulnerable stretch of skin made his dragon rumble with possessive hunger.
She was absolutely breathtaking, and she wouldn’t even look at him.
Through the mate bond, he felt her deliberate avoidance like a physical ache. She moved through the crowd with graceful ease, charming his clan members with that warm smile and infectious laugh, but she might as well have been on another planet for all the attention she paid him.
Of course she’s avoiding you. You told her she was the problem.
The hours dragged by in a strange dichotomy of success and torture. His reintegration with the clan was going better than he’d dared hope—conversations flowed naturally and his people seemed genuinely happy to see him engaging again. But Isla remained determinedly out of reach, and the growing ache in his chest threatened to overshadow every positive interaction.
As the gathering began to wind down and the last guests filtered toward the door, Damon’s patience finally snapped. He found Isla in the gardens, deep in conversation with Kaelith near a cluster of tropical flowers that seemed to glow in the late afternoon sun.
“Isla.” His voice came out rougher than intended, making both her and Kaelith turn. “I need to talk to you.”
Kaelith took one look at Damon’s expression and made a hasty excuse about checking on something inside, leaving them alone among the fragrant blooms.
“Fine.” Isla’s tone was carefully neutral, but he could feel her tension through their bond. “But make it quick. I promised Evelina I’d go shopping with her for bookstore supplies.”
“Walk with me?”
She nodded stiffly, and he guided her down a stone path that wound between towering palms and vibrant hibiscus. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken hurt and frustrated desire.
“I’m sorry for yesterday.” The words came out in a rush. “For how I acted. I should have handled myself better.”
She didn’t respond, just kept walking with her arms crossed protectively over her chest, and the lack of reaction was driving him insane. Through the bond, he could feel her anxiety, her uncertainty, the hurt that still pulsed beneath her careful composure.
“I understand if you can’t forgive me,” he continued, desperation creeping into his voice. “But I want to try to connect with you. I want to do whatever it takes to show you I’m willing to open up more.”
Something in his words made her breath hitch, and when she finally looked at him, there was a flicker of hope in her hazel eyes that made his dragon roar with triumph.
That hope, that tiny crack in her defenses, shattered the last of his control.
Before conscious thought could intervene, Damon was moving, his hands framing her face as he pulled her close and captured her lips with his own.
For a heart-stopping moment, he thought she might pull away, might slap him and storm off again. Instead, her hands fisted in his white t-shirt, and she leaned into him with equal fervor, her soft lips parting under his with a breathless sound that sent fire racing through his veins.
The kiss was everything—consuming and hungry, tender and fierce, a claiming that bypassed his rational mind entirely.
The mate bond exploded between them like a supernova, flooding his senses with her vanilla scent, the silk of her skin,the perfect way she fit against him as if she’d been designed specifically for his body.
All mine,his dragon roared with savage satisfaction.
