Eight

SERA

“Like what?”

“Like you want her to be your son instead!” Marcus yelled at his father.

Oh.

Oh, that.

 I released a sigh of relief, perched against the door left ajar, eavesdropping.

Don’t lecture me on right and wrong, please. I had lost track of all of that.

My heart thrummed violently in my chest like a band of drums, my grip tightening around the dress I was holding, and a bottle of kerosene in the other hand.

I had come to burn the dress of Marcus’s favorite chair in his chambers, purely out of spite—which is very, very validated—when I had heard Damien’s voice and my system was forced to a stop.

The sound of his deep voice was more than enough to keep me spiraling. I heard the entire conversation. Marcus’ insecurities and foolishness. He did deserve to be Damien’s son.

Four years living with this family and I knew how much reverence the pack members, old and young, had for Damien. They all said he was the best Alpha from their lineage, and even now that I was sure I hated him, I couldn’t argue with that.

Several times he’d put the pack first, ceaselessly defending our territories. Damien had once taken a gunshot for one of his men during a rogue attack.

He was so respectable, so selfless, and that was why I didn’t understand why he couldn’t be selfish with me this one time. Approaching footfalls jolted me out of my thoughts and I ran to the other side of the hallway, realizing I had lost track of their talk.

I watched Damien storm the opposite way. A few seconds later, Marcus followed, crawling more than he walked.

Simply seeing him left a sneer on my lips. I waited until he was fully gone, then entered his chambers with my wedding dress and my bottle of kerosene.

Because I was petty and spiteful. Validly so.

After I returned to bed and sank deep into the blankets, closing my eyes tight and trying to think of anything but how much of a mess this day had been. Because my brain hated me, Damien’s face popped right behind my eyes, making me sit up, flushed, shaking my head frantically to swat the thoughts away.

Not tonight.

I swallowed hard, grabbing a pillow and holding it over my head. I was so mad at Damien that I would hate myself if I did anything with his pictures or the thoughts of him tonight.

“He isn’t even all that.”

Lies.

“I hate him so so much!”

More lies.

I placed the pillow between my thighs and squeezed my legs hard against the fluffiness, praying for sleep just so this terrible day would be completely over.

***

Breakfast together has always been a thing in the packhouse. But I was guessing that dynamic had changed because of how messy we were now. I didn’t go downstairs for breakfast.

I went to the courtyard and trained with Callum, Damien’s Beta, whom I eventually bested out of pure rage. That is, after he beat me seven times but who’s counting?

Callum was unbelievably strong and the best person to spar with. It also helped that he didn’t ask me any questions about yesterday.

After that, I took a long shower, getting into a black mini dress, tying my long dark hair into a ponytail, and wearing some lip gloss. It felt performative to wear a dress when what I’d normally throw on was a leather jacket and some baggy pants.

Maybe I was being performative.

For what? For Damien to see? Pfft. Oh, please. I got over him yesterday.

Agnes came knocking a moment later to tell me Nadia was waiting for me downstairs so I made haste. Talking to my best friend about yesterday might help, asides the part where I wanted—sinfully—the man who should be a father to me.

Climbing down the stairs to the ground floor, I heard noises from the first floor in Marcus’ voice. I considered turning around but only sinners run when they have sinned.

Except, I was a sinner. I had sinned. I wouldn’t run. 

On the corridor of the floor, I saw maids scurrying around, carrying out whatever was left of Marcus’ burnt mattress, and he yelled orders at them.

“Who did this?!” He kept asking from inside the room. “What the hell happened last night?”

A smile snaked my lips. Good for you. The only thing I felt bad for were the innocent maids. I would make it up to them later.

“Morning, Seraphina.”

A gasp spilled from the depth of my lips when I turned around to Damien looking questioningly at me like he’d been there for a while, watching me smirk at Marcus’ plight.

My heart… started racing again. “Morning, Daddy,” I responded to him blankly, hoping it made him uncomfortable. One step closer and I leaned in, pecking his cheek. 

Damien’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing as he watched me. But he was too controlled a man. His expression was back to being stoic in seconds. 

He looked like he had just completed his morning workout.

His hair was matted down by sweat. His toned, stupidly handsome face was flushed, his lips were…

…moving?

“Sera?”

“Yes?” 

“You take the children’s school from tomorrow,” Damien said. “Not just combat. Arts too. Shane Voss would be joining the program so you two must get along.”

“Shane Voss? Son of Alpha Alan Voss? I thought you hated Alan.”

“I did. Do. But it helps foster good relationships between us packs. And they have great defense. If the school works out, we get more weapons from their armory. Maybe even a partnership.”

I nodded. Shane Voss led the BlueMoon pack and was the cockiest, most vain Alpha in the west. I mean, the man has four wives and eight concubines. Unfortunately, his pack and ours share a border which made it very easy to step on each other’s toes. We had been enemies since last two years when Damien had helped one of Alan’s sons after suffering an injury from a rogue attack.

And so they became… not enemies. 

But after every meeting with Alan, Damien would complain about how bitchy—I taught him that word—Alan was, and how Alan always shifted randomly to flex his dark-furred wolf.

Damien’s was white. Pure, majestic, beautiful—

“Sera?”

“Yes? Yes! Yes. The school. I… uh…will take the school and hope Shane isn’t as bitchy as his father.”

Damien’s lips curled into a smile. Barely. It almost made things easier, like we were normal again and we both weren’t dying to see the other naked. 

I know I am. I fucking am.

“Good.” Damien slipped past me, then paused before going up the stairs. “It’s dangerous to light fires in the house, child.”

And then he just left. 

After outing me and calling me a child. Did I feel like a child when he almost fucked me on that bed? I rolled my eyes and headed downstairs where Nadia was busy with Agnes, stuffing her mouth with pie.

“Wow. You smell angry,” she said without turning around on the couch. 

I rolled my eyes again. “You can’t smell people’s emotions, Nadia.” I slumped on the couch beside her, sighing exasperatedly.

Nadia placed the plate on the table, turning to me as her expression turned serious. “Do you… want him dead?”

I raised a brow.

“Marcus,” she added. 

So, something to know about Nadia was… this woman could get bad-shit crazy. Her ex-boyfriend could testify to that after she paid someone to hand him over the railing on the pack’s third bridge when he’d mocked her for being an omega.

I knew to be careful what I wished for before I received a package with Marcus’ head in it.  “Hm.” I pretended to contemplate. “Chop his dick off.”

“Your wish is my command!” She laughed easily. “I can’t believe he did that and with that… cheap, cakey-faced, whiny-voiced, uneven-complexioned little slut!”

“Would that be me?” A sharp voice slithered through just like the owner. We turned around and there was Vivienne.

With a freakishly big duffel bag.