“I was supposed to be their protector. Instead, I became the weapon used against them.”
“You were in love—or thought you were. You made the same mistakes any young dragon would make when faced with family pressure and political maneuvering.” Kaelith leaned back in his chair, studying his Alpha with the kind of insight that came from years of friendship. “The difference is, most dragons learn from their mistakes and move forward. You’ve been frozen in that moment for a century.”
The words hung in the air like smoke, acrid and inescapable. Damon wanted to deny it, to retreat into the familiar armorof anger and control, but something in Kaelith’s expression stopped him.
“Love made me vulnerable,” he said instead, the admission scraping against his throat like broken glass.
“Love didn’t do that. Trusting the wrong person did. There’s a difference.”
Before Damon could formulate a response to that particular piece of wisdom, Kaelith was pushing to his feet with renewed energy.
“Come on. Let’s go surfing. You need to get out of your head for a while.”
The suggestion caught Damon off guard. Surfing had become his meditation over the decades, the one activity that demanded complete presence and left no room for the ghosts that haunted his thoughts. In the water, he wasn’t an Alpha or a protector or a failure—he was simply a man matching his strength against the ocean’s power.
“That’s not a terrible idea,” Damon admitted.
FOUR
DAMON
They moved inside the beach house, a structure that perfectly reflected its owner’s personality: functional, unadorned, built for durability rather than comfort. The main area was sparse but well-crafted, with dark wood furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the endless ocean view. No photographs adorned the walls, no personal touches softened the stark lines—just the bare minimum required for survival and solitude.
Damon retrieved his wetsuit from the bedroom closet, the familiar ritual of preparation already beginning to quiet his restless thoughts. The suit was black, just like his dragon’s scales, and fit his powerful frame like a second skin. As he pulled it on, he caught sight of himself in the mirror—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, the scars that mapped his torso telling stories he preferred not to remember.
Two hundred years old and still running from shadows.
Kaelith emerged from the guest room already suited up, his red hair bright against the dark neoprene. He grabbed both surfboards from their rack near the back door—Damon’s a massive longboard built to handle his size and strength,his own a more agile shortboard designed for speed and maneuverability.
The walk to the water’s edge was conducted in comfortable silence, both men automatically scanning the horizon for potential threats even as they prepared for recreation. But the ocean soon welcomed them with perfect sets rolling in from the deep Pacific, waves that had traveled thousands of miles to break against the volcanic shore of Everflame Isle. Damon waded into the surf, feeling the familiar embrace of saltwater, and the way it seemed to wash away everything except the present moment.
He paddled out beyond the break line, his powerful strokes cutting through the water with practiced efficiency. Behind him, Kaelith followed with the fluid grace of someone born to the ocean, both men settling into the rhythm that had sustained them through countless sessions over the years.
The first wave of the set approached like a moving mountain, its face clean and glassy in the afternoon light. Damon positioned himself perfectly, reading the water’s intentions with the same instincts that made him a formidable Alpha. As the wave lifted him, he popped to his feet in one fluid motion, his board responding to his subtle shifts in weight as he carved across the face.
Here, finally, was peace. No clan politics, no anniversary ghosts, no weight of leadership pressing down on his shoulders. Just the pure, elemental joy of matching his skill against the ocean, of finding that perfect balance between control and surrender that had always eluded him on dry land.
Out here, I can be just Damon.
The sun had begun its descent toward the horizon when Damon finally emerged from the Pacific, saltwater streaming from his wetsuit as he carried his board up the beach. The session had been exactly what he’d needed—hours of pure focus that had temporarily silenced the ghosts haunting him. Besidehim, Kaelith shook water from his auburn hair, both men moving with easy exhaustion.
As they approached the beach house, Damon’s enhanced senses picked up a familiar scent carried on the wind—jasmine and steel, authority wrapped in feminine grace. His steps faltered for just a moment before he forced himself to continue up the wooden stairs.
His aunt Evelina sat in one of his teak chairs, her posture as regal as if she were holding court in the clan’s grand hall instead of waiting on his private deck. Her dark hair, streaked with silver that caught the fading light, was pulled back in an elegant bun that emphasized the sharp angles of her face. She wore a flowing crimson dress that seemed to move with its own wind, and her deep green eyes—so similar to his own—tracked his approach with the patience of a predator.
“Is everything alright?” The words came out sharper than intended as Damon propped his surfboard against the deck railing. Evelina rarely visited his beach house, understanding his need for solitude better than most. Her presence here meant something had shifted, and not in a direction he was likely to appreciate.
“Define ‘alright.’” She rose from the chair with fluid grace, her movements carrying the same controlled power that marked all their kind. “The clan is restless, Damon. They’re beginning to question whether their Alpha still remembers they exist.”
Kaelith cleared his throat diplomatically. “I should head back and check the evening patrols.” He disappeared into the house to change, leaving Damon alone with the one person who could reduce him to feeling like a sullen adolescent with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.
“We’ve discussed this.” Damon’s voice carried the finality that usually ended conversations. But Evelina had been immuneto his intimidation tactics since the day she’d taken him in and treated Damon like her own son after his parents’ death.
“We’ve discussed your need for distance. But it’s been a century, Damon. We haven’t discussed the pressure I’m facing as clan matriarch to have you interact with the clan more and to see you properly mated.” She moved closer, her presence radiating the kind of authority that had kept their people united for centuries. “They want connection. They want to know your legacy and bloodline will continue.”
“That’s not going to happen. Not after what occurred with Sylvie, not after the raid. Love brings chaos and pain—nothing more.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Evelina’s voice cut through his objection like a blade. “Love didn’t cause that tragedy. Tharen did. Your uncle manipulated the situation, used your distraction against you, but the emotion itself wasn’t the weapon—he was.”
