Chapter 6

Ophelia’s POV:

“That’s not what I meant… I’m fine. It’s just a little cut,” I stammered, my voice sounding thin and unconvincing even to my own ears. I tried to pull my arm back again, my skin burning where his fingers touched

Damon’s jaw clenched. He leveled a look at me, pinning me to the spot. Before I could protest further, the air in the corridor shifted. I felt it before I understood it and my eyes widened. "What are you doing?!"

He was letting loose his Alpha pheromones. It was an obvious predatory move meant to subdue. It had been four years since I had been so exposed to that intoxicating, suffocating mix of cedarwood and caramel. 

My body betrayed me instantly. My wolf, suppressed and battered as she was, recognized his authority. I felt my knees go weak, the strength draining from my muscles as if he’d pulled a plug.

Taking advantage of that window of weakness, his hands swept under my knees and back. In one fluid motion, he hoisted me into a princess carry. My breath hitched, and I went stiff as a block of ice in his arms.

Too close. He was far too close.

I could feel the steady thrum of his heart against my ribs. The scent of him was everywhere now—filling my nose, coating my tongue, sinking into my pores. My nape was still burning, a phantom itch radiating from the hollow emptiness where a mate mark should have been. I shouldn't have been feeling this way. I should have been angry.

But as he marched down the hall, I felt something deep inside me—I didn’t know if it was my heart or my very soul—start to weep. It was a silent, aching lament, branding every point of contact into my memory. My mind recorded the way his thumb pressed into my side, the warmth of his chest, the sheer solidity of him. It was a cruel brand I would be forced to remember over and over again in the lonely nights to come.

“If you don’t get a proper check-up done, you might not be here long enough to look after her,” he growled.

His eyes remained fixed forward. He didn't look down at me, not even once. Reaching a triage bay, he kicked aside a privacy curtain with his shoe and unceremoniously set me down on the crinkly paper of the patient bed.

He turned to the waiting nurse, his voice dropping into that tone of absolute command that made people scramble. “I’m waiting outside. Make sure to be thorough. I want her vitals, her injuries, everything.”

Then he pivoted back to me, his eyes glinting with a dark, restless anger. “If she doesn’t cooperate, call me.”

The words ‘call me’ weren't a suggestion; they were a clear threat. It was like he was telling me, without a shadow of a doubt, that if I denied the nurse, he would come back in here and strip me himself to conduct the exam.

Fucking hell, Ophelia. Be a little less shameless. I scolded myself internally, but my pulse refused to slow down. It was as if my body had stepped into a time machine, reverting to the girl I was five years ago—the girl who looked at Damon Vitale as if he were the sun and the moon. My traitorous heart was reacting on its own, ignoring the years of pain and the child currently fighting for her life just rooms away.

I finally let out a long, shaky breath of relief once the curtain swished shut behind him. I forced myself to focus as the nurse began cleaning the gash on my head. She checked my pupils for signs of concussion, and then moved on to my vitals.

Fifteen minutes later, the adrenaline had faded into a dull, throbbing ache. I sat there with a drip attached to my wrist, the cool saline entering my veins. Damon had re-entered the cubicle, standing at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, looming over me like a dark shadow.

Thankfully, the nurse hadn't asked me to remove my hoodie. She had been efficient, checking the visible skin on my thighs where my shorts ended and scanning my neck for obvious trauma. I knew there weren't any marks in the places that were too visible; Raymond was too calculated for that. He preferred the places he could hide.

The only thing that caught the nurse—and Damon—off guard was the bruise blooming across my cheek. It was a deep, angry purple-black. It was bad enough that she’d had to ice it for a long time before applying a cooling ointment and a fresh bandage.

I opened my mouth to ask about Valeria, my heart hammering against my ribs, when the sound of the emergency doors swinging open nearby made me jump. I didn't wait for permission. I shoved the curtain aside and hurried to get off the bed, ignoring the way my head swam as I ripped off the IV.

Damon cursed under his breath but didn’t stop me, following me instead.

The doctor was walking toward us, his face drawn. When his eyes met mine, he seemed to startle. His gaze flickered down to the bandage on my face, then to my bare legs, and finally to my hand where the drip had been.

I couldn’t give a shit about how I looked right now, “How is she? How is my daughter?” I questioned.

The doctor cleared his throat, glancing nervously at Damon before looking back at his clipboard. “We’ve stabilized her for the moment, but her vitals had dropped to a critical level. To be honest, this is a case I’ve rarely seen in a child this young. The reason for her sudden deterioration seems to be emanating from her pheromone glands.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “What?”

“There seems to be an acute insufficiency of Alpha pheromones to fuel her growth,” the doctor explained, gesturing with his pen. “Simultaneously, there is an overabundance of Omega pheromones in her system. It’s creating a biological conflict—the Omega scent is essentially disrupting her Alpha development. It’s a systemic collapse. If you hadn't made it in time… she would have passed away within the next hour.”

A violent shiver of dread ran down my spine at the thought of that. I shook my head, my hands trembling. “W-what do you mean insufficient Alpha pheromones?”

Was it because she was a recessive Alpha? Not producing enough pheromones?

“Well, now that your daughter is out of danger, you can relax for a moment,” the doctor said, his voice softening slightly. “However, as you mentioned on the document,” He eyed Damon, then continued, “Valeria is a recessive Alpha. While recessive Omegas like yourself are uncommon, recessive Alphas are even rarer. Their biological growth process is exceptionally volatile. They cannot self-sustain their pheromone levels; they need to be supplemented by enough Alpha pheromones from a guardian—mother or father—to ensure their wolf matures properly.”

The doctor then quirked a brow toward Damon, who had been standing behind me in silence. “Are you the patient’s father?”

I stiffened. I felt Damon move, his presence pressing against my back. 

“No… I’m her uncle,” he said.

I nodded quickly, my chest feeling tight.

“Ah… I see. Is the father absent?” the doctor questioned.

I tensed for a long, agonizing moment. I could feel Damon’s gaze boring into the side of my head, waiting for the answer. I finally decided to nod. It wasn't a lie, after all. Raymond was never a father to her; he was a jailer. He was barely ever there for her, and when he was, his scent was nothing but a threat.

“That would make sense,” the doctor sighed, scribbling on his chart. “I will prescribe medications to assist in her recovery. Fortunately, we don’t need her to be admitted for too long. You can take her home if her vitals remain stable over the next twenty-four hours. As for her condition… she needs Alpha pheromones. Exposure to it for at least two hours a day. It would be significantly more effective if the Alpha is a dominant one and a close relative.”

The doctor eyed Damon pointedly. Damon, surprisingly, hadn't exploded or questioned my "absent father" comment yet. He simply nodded to the doctor with a cold, understanding professionalism.

It put me on edge. The silence was worse than the shouting. If this was the old Damon, he would have been demanding answers. His calm was a terrifying new development.

However, my moment of relief was short-lived. As soon as the doctor stepped out of the bay, Damon turned on me. Before I could even think to protest, he grabbed my arm and dragged me back toward the patient bed. I watched in a daze as he practically shoved me back onto the mattress, snatched the hospital blanket, and threw it over my bare thighs. He yanked the privacy curtain shut with a violent snap of the rings.

“She’s fine now. Out of danger,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register. “So you better start talking.”

He pulled out his phone, his thumbs moving rapidly across the screen as he typed a message. He shoved it back into his pocket and loomed over me.

“What do you mean the father is absent?” he demanded.

I met his gaze, my chest tightening until it hurt. I realized I would have to come out and say it sooner or later. He was a Vitale; he would find out eventually. But looking at the way he’d acted—how he’d actually listened to my panicked screams on the road and brought me here instead of to Raymond, and how he'd probably been the one to fill in the documents while I was getting treated—maybe… just maybe he’d be willing to help me. If not for me, then for Valeria.

Damon Enzo Vitale had no known weaknesses. He was ruthless, stone-hearted most of the time. But I remembered a version of him from years ago—a version that was soft-hearted toward children. It was a secret he guarded fiercely. He didn't know that I knew.

“Just what I said…” I finally began, my voice cracking. “Raymond doesn’t like spending time with Valeria. He... he doesn't want to be a father to her.”

I turned my head away, unable to hold his intense stare. I reached out, trying to pull the curtain back so I could at least see the hallway where they had taken my baby.

The next moment, I felt a sudden, hot touch on the side of my neck. His hand had swept my hair to the side. 

My eyes widened in shock. I snapped my head around, my hand flying up to cover my neck, but it was already too late.

The movement was too slow. The secret was out.

Damon’s eyes were blown wide with shock. He’d seen the skin where the mate mark should have been. 

“Where…” his voice was a ragged whisper, filled with disbelief. “Where is your mate mark?”