Chapter 2 Wolves Don't Run Forever

Outside, the a storm raged over Damon's apartment. Lyra couldn't help but feel the pounding of her heart was synchronized with the persistent rumble of thunder. The image in the mirror was not one of pristine elegance as expected, instead, she stood on the leaden floor in a wedding gown with eyeliner smeared on her face.

"Be the last person to leave the room, and claim that divorce is not sweet," Damon remarked sarcastically, locking the door without taking a single glance at her, determined to distance himself. However, a soft tremor that we seldom pay attention to would keep surging in her head forevery in doubt.

"Damon, do you still keep that gun?"

He turned and locked his gaze onto her. The faint light made her appear ghostlike and ethereal. "Don't start. You were supposed to stay incognito for goodness sake."

"I thought you were planning on sightseeng not contemplating self inflicted mutilation."

"Now, before boredom makes me insane, could you possibly explain why there happens to be a dozen hand painted star postcards of places like London and New York around here?"

"You did say letting go of the past is healthy for the body an mind last time I checked."

"Right, but juxtaposition doesn't mean turning the globe upside down," she says taking a step towards him.

"I got a name, a story, and most importantly, a serum that activated my blood."

"You were a latent?"

"Not anymore."

She didn't move, but the energy flowing from her was powerful. Definitively alpha, though barely harnessed. Her scent had shifted too; she was no longer the mafia princess sweetly scented with powder. Instead, she was an intoxicating blend of jasmine and storm drenched pine.

Damon ran his hand through his dark locks. "If the Morettis figure out that you survived, they'll raze this city to the ground."

"They will," Lyra agreed, "which is why I need your help. Again."

He turned to her. "No. The last time I assisted you, you suitable vanished and let me believe you were dead. I buried you, Lyra."

"I did not have a choice. They were monitoring everyone. If they knew I had made contact with you, they would have killed you too."

"I'm not that easy to kill."

"That's what doesn't scare me." Voice trembling, she added, "Losing you again is."

Silence. Expectation. Things not spoken wrapped around them like thunderclouds brewed above-for a storm waiting to be summoned outside.

"On your wedding day?" exhaled Damon, still breathless, "You really fled from Luca Moretti?"

She nodded. "The wedding was never about love. It was about the contract-claiming the Valente empire."

"But Luca doesn't know who I am-or what I have become. He thinks he's marrying a lamb. To him, I am still a mediocre version of myself-an unaccomplished boy, who lacks agency-and the fortitude to face the world rallying against him. He has no clue that I've transformed, and evolved beyond into something more sinister-a man with fangs."

Damon's expression softened a bit as he looked at her. "Now, what do you wish for, Lyra? Are you looking for Revenge?"

"No," she whispered. "Power. Freedom. A life where I dictate my choices."

"He asked again, "and me?"

"She moved in closer, capturing Damon's full attention. "I need you beside me. Not as my protector. But as my partner, claiming the title of mate, if you'll have me."

Damon could feel his wolf stir under the surface. A primal growl simmered deep in his chest, responding automatically to her.

"After we accomplish this," Damon said, "we prepare for war."

"Let's go make the monster caged for so long pay, will we?" Lyra lit up like a firefly in the night sky: dazzling and intricate all at once. "Let's ensure they regret to the fullest trying to capture a wolf."