“You’re in my territory,” I say, my voice steady.
He smiles. Slow. Mocking.
“Am I?” he replies. “Feels like open land to me.”
My tiger snarls, pushing forward hard enough that I feel it in my bones.
“It’s not,” I say. “And you know it.”
Damon tilts his head slightly, studying me.
“I know a lot of things,” he says. “For example…” His gaze sharpens. “I know you finally claimed your mate.”
The words land like a strike. Not unexpected.
“Careful,” I say, my voice dropping.
He chuckles.
“Oh, I’m being very careful,” he replies. “That’s why I’m here in person.”
That’s worse. Much worse. Leaders don’t step into enemy territory without a reason. Without a plan. Without confidence they’ll walk back out.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Damon spreads his arms slightly, as if presenting the forest around us.
“This,” he says simply.
My jaw tightens.
“Redwood Crossing.”
There it is. Out in the open. No pretense. No games. Just a declaration.
“You’re not taking it,” I say.
He laughs. Not loudly. But enough.
“That’s adorable,” he says. “You really think this is something you get to decide?”
“I do,” I reply evenly. “Because I’m the one standing here.”
His gaze darkens slightly, the amusement shifting into something more calculating.
“You’re standing here now,” he says. “But for how long?”
The stretch of silence is measured. Tense. Then?—
He steps closer. Not rushing. Not aggressive. Just… deliberate. Like he’s testing the space between us. Like he’s deciding exactly how far he can push before I push back. My tiger rises, claws scraping against the inside of my control.
Stop him.
Not yet. Not unless he forces it. Damon stops just inside the boundary line, his boots planted firmly on Redwood soil.
“You’ve built something here,” he says, his tone almost thoughtful. “A nice little haven. Order. Structure. Cooperation.”
He glances around again.
