07 Five Years Ava

Damon

Five years.

I stood at my office window, watching rain streak down the glass. Five years since I'd signed those papers. Five years since I'd watched the guards drag Evelyn away.

The mansion felt different without her. Quieter. The colors somehow duller, though nothing had actually changed. We still had the same furniture, the same artwork. I hadn't let the staff redecorate, though Susan had tried a few times.

Susan. Another complication I didn't want to think about right now.

A crash from down the hall pulled me from my thoughts. Then small, quick footsteps running toward my office.

"Daddy!"

The door burst open and Ava tumbled in, her dark hair escaping from what had probably been a neat braid that morning. One of her socks had slipped down around her ankle, and there was a smudge of what looked like chocolate on her cheek.

Five years old today. Hard to believe.

"Dad, it's my birthday!" She launched herself at me, latching onto my leg. "Everyone in the mansion gave me a present except you!"

I felt the familiar twinge of irritation at "Dad." I'd never encouraged her to call me that. Had actually told her not to, more times than I could count. But she persisted, as stubborn as her mother.

Her mother. I pushed the thought away.

"Ava." I kept my voice calm but firm as I gently detached her arms from my leg. "How many times have I told you not to call me that? I'm not your fa—"

I stopped. Her bottom lip was already trembling, her golden-brown eyes filling with tears. Eyes that looked too familiar.

"Daddy!" Her voice rose with that particular pitch that children discover when they know they're about to be denied something. "You're the only parent I know!"

She grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, holding on as if I might vanish if she let go. I set her down beside me, more firmly this time. She crumpled to the floor immediately, tears spilling over.

The staff hovering in the hallway exchanged looks. I could read their thoughts plain enough: Poor little girl, with a father who won't even acknowledge her.

"Goddamn it," I muttered, too low for her to hear.

Five years of this dance. Five years of seeing Evelyn's features in her face—the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the stubborn set of her jaw. And always that nagging doubt in the back of my mind, the one I refused to acknowledge. The one that whispered: What if she really is yours?

I knelt down beside her, sighing. "Happy birthday, Ava." I kept my voice steady. "Now that you're five, aren't you getting too old for these tears?"

She hiccupped, still crying but watching me through wet lashes.

I don't know what made me do it. Maybe her birthday. Maybe the way she looked at me with those damn eyes. I unclasped my watch—silver with a moonstone face, a Hilton family heirloom meant to be passed to the next Alpha—and fastened it around her tiny wrist.

It hung there, comically large, nearly slipping off when she moved her arm. But you would have thought I'd given her the moon itself from the way her face lit up.

She stopped crying instantly, running her fingers over the watch face in wonder.

I looked at her—really looked at her. At those eyes the exact shade of Evelyn's, at the stubborn little chin that jutted out when she was upset. At the hair that never stayed in place no matter how the nannies tried to tame it. Just like her mother's.

The house had grown cold since Evelyn left. Even on the hottest summer days, there was a chill that never quite disappeared. I'd gotten used to it, that emptiness.

But I missed her. God help me, I did. Especially since finding out that she wasn't the one who betrayed us to the rogues. A confession from the true culprit three years too late, long after Evelyn was gone.

I looked back at Ava, at the watch sliding around her wrist. I still didn't believe she was mine. The timing, the photos—they all said otherwise. But I couldn't hate her, either. Not really. Not when she had so much of Evelyn in her.

"Daddy, you said Mommy would be here for my fifth birthday." Her voice was small, hopeful.

The guilt hit me like an actual punch to the gut. I'd been telling her that story for years now—that her mother traveled a lot, that she came by when Ava was sleeping, that she left the presents I claimed were from her.

Easier than the truth. Easier than explaining why her mother wasn't here, why she'd never seen her, why Evelyn had left without saying goodbye. Left without her.

"I'm sorry, Ava." I watched her hope crumble. "Your mom... she can't make it today."

Her lower lip trembled again. "Mom doesn't want me because she doesn't love me, right?"

Before I could answer, she backed away, stumbling over her own feet. Her elbow caught the edge of a small table, knocking over the cake one of the staff had brought in. Frosting and cake smeared across the floor as she turned and ran from the room, the watch bouncing against her arm.

I stayed kneeling there, staring at the mess, feeling something uncomfortably like shame settle in my chest.

"You should tell her the truth, Damon."

I looked up to see Cole leaning against the doorframe. My Beta had a knack for showing up at my least proud moments.

"If you let her discover it herself, she's going to hate you," he continued. "I can assure you of that."

I stood, brushing imaginary dust from my knees. "I know," I admitted. "But how do you tell a five-year-old that her mother was banished? That I'm the one who sent her away?"

Cole shrugged. "You figure it out. Better from you than from someone else." He stepped into the room, lowering his voice. "The rogues hit the southern border again last night. Three injured, no deaths this time."

"Increase patrols along the ridge line," I said, grateful for the change of subject. "And send extra guards to the western entrance. If they're testing our southern defenses, it might be a distraction."

Cole nodded, then hesitated. "Some of the pack were talking about organizing a night out. Cards, drinks. You should come. You've been..." He searched for a diplomatic way to put it. "...intense lately."

"It's Ava's birthday." The excuse came automatically. "I should stay home with her."

Cole's eyebrows rose slightly at that, but he was smart enough not to comment. We both knew I hadn't spent a full evening with Ava in months.

I glanced at my wrist, momentarily confused by the absence of my watch. Then I remembered. "It's time for me to check on Susan anyway."

Cole's expression shifted, something like concern flashing across his face. "How is she?"

"The fever's not breaking." I moved toward the door. "I heard about a new pack doctor, actually. Supposed to be good with complicated cases."

"I'll make some calls," Cole offered. "See if we can get an appointment."

I nodded my thanks and headed down the hall toward the east wing, where Susan had been staying since getting sick two months ago.

Her door was ajar. I knocked lightly before pushing it open. The room was dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon light. Susan lay in bed, her skin pallid against the dark sheets, her hair limp with sweat.

She looked nothing like the vibrant woman who'd shown me those photographs five years ago, who'd convinced me of Evelyn's betrayal, who'd stepped into the role of Luna without hesitation after the banishment.

Something in my chest tightened at the sight of her suffering. Not love—I'd never felt that for Susan, despite her hopes. But a sense of obligation. Of responsibility. She'd been there when I needed someone, and I owed her for that, at least.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, touching her forehead. Still burning.

"The fever is taking over my entire being," she said, her voice weak. "I need a doctor soon, or I'll die."

Always dramatic, even now. But she wasn't entirely wrong. This illness had dragged on too long, resisting all the usual remedies.

I sat on the edge of her bed, and she immediately latched onto my arm, pressing her cheek against it. Looking for comfort, or maybe just showing possession. With Susan, it was often hard to tell the difference.

"We'll find you a doctor," I assured her. "Cole is making arrangements."

She sighed, relaxing slightly. Then she sat up, deliberately shifting in a way that made her silk nightgown slide down. The thin strap fell away, exposing her bare breast. I caught the flash of pale skin, the dark nipple, before turning my head. 

"You shouldn't do that," I said quietly.

"Is she still in your heart?" Susan's voice took on the hard edge it always did when she thought of Evelyn. "It's been years, and she'll never come back! Why do you make me feel like I'm not enough?"

The old argument, one I was tired of having. I stood, putting distance between us.

"I don't permit you to speak of my mate in that manner," I said, my voice cooler than I intended.

"Your mate?" Susan laughed, a brittle sound. "You divorced her, remember? Banished her. She's nothing to you now."

I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the truth was, I didn't know what Evelyn was to me anymore. Ex-mate, officially. But the bond had never fully broken, not really. I still felt her absence like a physical ache some days.

"I heard of a highly skilled pack doctor," I said instead, changing the subject. "I'll book you an appointment and you'll be fine in no time."

I left before she could respond, closing the door firmly behind me. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed, trying to get my thoughts in order.

Five years since I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Five years of living with the consequences. And now, on Ava's birthday, the past felt closer than ever.

I pushed off from the wall and headed back toward my office. I still had a pack to run.

But first, I needed to find Ava. To... not to apologize, exactly. But to check on her. Make sure she was okay.

It was her birthday, after all. And whatever else she might or might not be to me, she deserved that much.

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