6. We are his

Kaliah POV

There was this pull toward Damon, and I hated it.

I moved quietly through the room, tying the black ribbon around my eyes. My fingers found the knot without effort now. With a soft sigh, I reached for my boots by memory, careful not to wake Kiran.

Or so I thought.

A loud yawn cracked through the silence.

“Seriously?” I muttered, freezing mid-lace.

“Morning to you, too, sunshine,” came Kiran’s groggy voice from his room. He shifted in his bed, blankets rustling like a storm in a laundry basket.

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not even light out.”

“And yet here you are, acting like you’re going to war.”

“I am going to war. With my balance. And possibly a few tree branches.”

He chuckled, and I heard the creak of his mattress as he sat up. “You know, you could sleep in. Just once. Maybe try something radical, like rest.”

“Rest doesn’t make you a warrior. Training does.”

“You’re blind, not invincible,” he said, yawning again. “Go easy.”

“Go back to sleep, Kiran.”

He grunted, flopping back onto the bed. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when a squirrel kicks your ass.”

I smirked and went downstairs, letting the cool morning air brush against my face.

This wasn’t like the inn where I had been training. It felt heavier here. Like every tree knew my past and every gust of wind carried whispers of judgment.

He is nearby. Can’t you smell him?

My wolf’s voice slid through my thoughts, low and insistent.

I ignored her.

You must. He is your mate.

I stumbled. My heart kicked hard in my chest.

“No,” I whispered, clutching my jacket tighter. “My mate was Axel. And he betrayed me.”

Then you renounced him. The bond is gone. Damon is worthy.

“I don’t care.”

You do.

“No one decides for me—not you, not fate.”

Still, my skin prickled. My pulse betrayed me. He was near.

I could feel him like a storm building at the edge of a horizon I didn’t want to see.

“He’s not mine,” I growled.

But we are his.

I stopped walking, my boots crunching against the earth.

“Leave me alone,” I hissed.

But I wasn’t talking to the wolf anymore.

A step behind me. Another. Slow. Deliberate.

“Are you going to stand there watching me?” I asked, not turning around.

A pause, then a soft chuckle. “Perhaps I like what I see.”

I stiffened, fists tightening at my sides.

Before I could respond, another voice broke through.

“Hey, there you are, Kalilah!”

Kiran.

I didn’t know whether to be grateful or furious.

“You followed me?” I snapped.

“Technically, I limped,” he said dryly. “And you weren’t quiet. My window’s open, remember?”

He paused, eyes narrowing as he noticed Damon. “Oh. You’re here.”

Damon didn’t respond. His presence loomed like a weight on my back.

Kiran looked between us, then sighed. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” I answered too fast.

Kiran raised a brow. “You sound real fine.”

“I needed air.”

Damon’s voice came quiet and calm. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Kiran’s voice sharpened. “You’ve got a habit of it.”

“Enough,” I snapped. “If this turns into a testosterone contest, I’m walking into the woods and letting the squirrel finish me off.”

Kiran chuckled. “Told you they were dangerous.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

He stepped closer, tone lowering. “You okay?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. But I’m trying.”

“Good. And if he gives you trouble…”—he tilted his head toward Damon—“I’ll throw a pinecone at him.”

I laughed—soft, but real.

Behind me, Damon muttered, “I heard that.”

“Perfect,” Kiran said brightly. “Then take the hint.”

Damon turned away, footsteps fading into the trees.

Kiran lingered. “Seriously, Kal. Are you alright?”

I folded my arms, jaw clenched. “Define alright.”

“Okay. Are you breathing? Did you scream into the void? Do you need to punch something?”

“I didn’t scream or punch. Yet.”

“Progress. I’ll take it.”

I turned my head slightly toward him. “It’s not progress. It’s restraint. If I touch him, I might not stop.”

Kiran’s humor faded. “Then don’t put yourself in that spot until you’re ready.”

“I don’t want this,” I whispered. “Whatever this is between us… it terrifies me.”

“Then don’t name it yet,” he said. “Just breathe. Train. Heal. And when you’re ready… decide.”

I nodded once. It was all I could do.

***

The next day the same thing happened. I knew he was there before he made a sound.

The air changed when Damon entered a space—got heavier, like gravity had a favorite. My wolf stirred the second his scent hit the edge of the clearing.

He's watching again.

I didn’t stop my movements. Didn’t let him see how aware I was. But I felt him. Every second. Every breath.

When I finally finished the drill, I stood still in the center of the grass, fists loose at my sides, sweat trailing down my spine. My lungs burned—but they weren’t from exertion.

It was from him.

“You’ve been watching me again,” I said without turning.

His voice came from behind me, low and rough. “You knew?”

“You’re not quiet.” I paused. “And you smell like pine and frustration.”

He stepped closer. I didn’t need sight to know how close he was. My body reacted before my thoughts caught up—tense, alert, every nerve alive like it expected to be touched.

“You’re improving,” he said.

“I’m surviving,” I bit back. “Not the same thing.”

“You’re doing both.”

I hated how his voice slid down my spine like a caress. My wolf whimpered, pacing, nosing at the edges of my mind like a caged thing. He’s here. Take him. He’s ours.

No. I swallowed it down.

“Why are you here, Damon?”

He hesitated. I heard it in the way the air shifted, the tiny delay in his breath.

“To see how you’re holding up.”

I turned toward the sound of his voice, slowly. My blindfold was soaked now, clinging to my skin, but I didn’t care. “I’m blind, isolated, and trying not to murder anyone before dinner. I’m thriving.”

His silence said too much. My wolf leaned into it, eager.

“Don’t pity me,” I added.

“It’s not pity,” he said quietly.

“Then what is it?” I challenged. “You hover. You stare. You show up like you want something but never say it.”

I could feel the tension radiating from him now. Hot and barely contained.

“I’m not a stray you’re nursing back to health,” I whispered. “If you’re here to fix me, save us both the trouble.”

“I don’t want to fix you,” he said, voice rough. “I—”

He stopped.

I waited. Heart pounding. Wolf howling.

Say it. Just say it. Let him say it.

But he didn’t.

Instead, the silence grew thick and electric, and my fingers twitched with the effort it took to stay still. Every inch of me was on fire. My wolf pushed hard.

Touch him. Just once. He won’t pull away. He’s waiting for it.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I said, my voice cracking before I could stop it. “But you can’t keep doing this. Hovering at the edge like you’re afraid to step forward.”

“I’m not afraid,” he said.

Then prove it, I thought. But the words wouldn’t come.

Neither of us moved.

“I should go,” I murmured, finally. “Before I forget I hate this.”

Before I forget I want it.

I turned, walking away—every step harder than it should’ve been.

Behind me, I felt him watching. Still not moving.

Still not ready.

And maybe the worst part was… neither was I.