“It’s impressive.”
There’s no compliment in it. Only assessment.
“And you think you can just take it?” I ask.
“I know I can,” he replies.
Confidence. Absolute. Unshaken.
“Why?” I press. “You have territory. You have resources. What makes this worth the risk?”
His gaze snaps back to mine. Sharp. Focused.
“Because it’s strong,” he says. “And strength should belong to those who canholdit.”
A familiar philosophy. One I’ve heard before. One I’ve spent years fighting against.
“You mean those who candominateit,” I correct.
His smile returns.
“Same thing.”
No. It’s not. But arguing that won’t change anything. Damon isn’t here for a debate. He’s here to stake a claim.
“And your mate?” he continues, his tone shifting just slightly. “She’s part of that strength now, isn’t she?”
My vision sharpens. Danger spikes, immediate and absolute.
“You don’t say her name,” I warn.
He chuckles again.
“Relax,” he says. “I haven’t touched her. Yet.”
That’s it. That’s the line. My tiger jumps forward hard enough that I almost shift right there, bones straining, muscles tightening as instinct takes over. I take a step forward. Closing the distance.
“Try it,” I say, my voice low and lethal. “And you won’t leave this forest alive.”
Silence. Then?—
Damon’s expression shifts. Not to fear. Never that. But to something darker. Something that recognizes the threat—and welcomes it.
“There it is,” he says softly. “I was wondering when you’d show me your teeth.”
I don’t respond. I don’t need to. He already sees it. Feels it. The line between us isn’t just territorial anymore. It’s personal.
“You’re predictable now,” he says. “You know that, right?”
“I don’t care.”
“You should,” he replies. “Because predictability gets people killed.”
My jaw tightens.
“Then come try it,” I say.
Another pause. Longer this time. Then?—
