Page 55 of Damien’s Mate

Somehow she knew that this was what he’d always wanted, ever since he was a lonely boy with a mother who’d vanished and a father who’d made him the scapegoat for his own pain and feelings of failure.

Maybe she understood that wanting because it was the same as hers. Only she’d always thought the Lion Guard would give it to her.

Every day she got the communication orb out of its box, holding the cold metal in her hand until it warmed.

But she didn’t activate it. She kept telling herself she wasn’t back to full strength, that when she presented herself to the Lord High Commander she wanted him to see the strong warrior her father had raised her to be.

She wanted to know, in that moment, that she was giving them the version of herself that would make her father the most proud.

So every day she put it back without using it. Tomorrow, she told herself.

Tomorrow.

As her bones and internal organs healed, Lila began her training workouts again. Before long, that included working out with the members of the Wild Blood Crew.

She’d been shocked to learn that Flynn—alpha of the crew Brandon, Kitty, and the twins had grown up in—was ex-Lion Guard. She’d had no idea that there were other Lion Guard in this world—and she didn’t think her father had known either.

She also didn’t know that anyone ever left the Guard, except in a coffin.

More shocking was that Flynn was apparently mated to a full-blooded Draken princess of the House of Al-Maddeiri, who’d survived the massacre of her clan over forty years ago.

“Draken and Lion Guard do not mix—it’s taboo.” Lila figured if they already knew about the Lion Guard, there was no harm in telling them she was descended from them. “In fact, that’s why the other Draken wiped out the Al-Maddeiri clan. For diluting Draken bloodlines with lesser shifters.”

Colt snorted. “Yeah well. Don’t mention that around Flynn and Kira. Especially the ‘lesser shifters’ part. At least, not if you don’t want to get clawed or flamed.”

The upside was, the former Bad Bloods had all been trained in Lion Guard fighting techniques, so they made excellent sparring partners for Lila to sharpen up her skills on.

They also taught her some fighting skills her father never would have approved of. “My parents taught us these,” Kitty explained, after an interesting lesson in crippling techniques for non-lethal takedowns of enemy combatants. “They were cage fighters. That’s how they met.”

“I’d hate to know how the rest of your parents got together,” Damien said.

“I think my mom was drunk,” Colt said thoughtfully.

“That explains a lot,” Callie remarked, which made him laugh and kiss the top of her head.

Damien loved watching Lila fight, especially in lion form. She was so beautiful—lithe and graceful and deadly. But as the days went on, and she got stronger and faster and healthier, the broken-glass feeling in his chest got worse.

One day soon, she’d be back to her old self. And he knew when that happened, that no matter how much she liked him, no matter how much she enjoyed the sex and the talk and the laughter, she was going to leave.

There was nothing he could give her that would compare to the image of the Lion Guard her father had built up in her mind.

Or her need to finish his mission and make him proud.

He wondered sometimes, when he saw Nick’s ghost wandering around, if Lila’s father was somewhere around too, whispering in her ear when she slept, willing her to be the person he’d molded her to be.

He wished he could try to talk her out of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not that he wasn’t selfish enough—he probably was. But he couldn’t stand to think of taking away her reason for being, just to substitute his sorry ass in its place, like he was a cause worth devoting her life to.

Even he wasn’t cocky enough to believe that.

There was no question of him joining in the workouts, though he would have liked to learn some of the hand-to-hand techniques the others knew. But his knee was still a mess, and he knew it would never heal if he didn’t rest it, even though just sitting on his ass frustrated him almost to the point of explosion.

With nothing to do all day, he started cooking. For the first time in his life he could afford all kinds of fancy food, so he started watching fucking cooking shows on TV and making the different recipes.

At least the crew enjoyed them. And his secret brownie recipe was a big hit. Maybe he should see if they’d hire him on as their own personal Rachael Fucking Ray.

He also started whittling again—something his dad had taught him that he hadn’t done since he was a teenager.

It was strangely satisfying to make something beautiful with his hands. If only that wasn’t offset by him being intensely pissed off at turning into a retired guy with a bum knee and pansy-ass sedentary hobbies, all before he hit thirty.