He never wanted me

~ HE NEVER WANTED ME~

His voice feels like hands sliding slowly down my waist.

My breath trembles.

He stops right in front of me, tall, massive, built like destruction given flesh.

Exactly my type. He studies me like he’s waiting for me to say something usual.

The way he looks at me is unsettling.

Like I belong to him and he’s furious about it.

The words slip out before I can stop them.

“Holy… shit.”

His dark eyes flare, hot, feral and predatory.

And in that moment, one truth sinks in with brutal clarity.

If the old Clary poisoned herself to escape this man, then she was either insane, didn’t have a type, or was running from something far darker than him.

Because this man looks like sin, power, and danger wrapped together.

“Leave us.”

Damon’s command echoes through the room, his deep and calm voice tingling me.

Everyone freezes.

The overly sweet girl, her pathetic boyfriend and our mother hovering near the door.

Mom hesitates, voice trembling. “Clary, sweetheart… are you sure..”

I lift a hand, dismissive and almost bored.

“I’m fine.”

I’m hungry for this beast.

I want to step closer. Close enough to touch him.

I shouldn’t.

Every rational thought screams that I shouldn’t.

But something ancient coils beneath my skin, maybe fate, instinct, hunger dragging me toward him like gravity.

My mother stares at me like she’s seeing a ghost wearing my face.

Then Damon glances at her. Just once.

She flinches.

Swallows hard.

And ushers everyone out.

The door shuts.

The silence thickens instantly.

It’s only us now.

Damon stands near the window, moonlight cutting across his body like it worships him. He’s perfectly still, hands relaxed at his sides but tension coils through him like a predator waiting to strike.

I rise from the bed slowly.

Steady and slowly.

I sway my hips, not on purpose, but not stopping it either.

I walk straight up to him, close enough to feel his heat, and plant myself in front of all that raw, dangerous power.

He lifts his gaze.

Those dark eyes burn into me, confusion, fury, and something uncertain in his expression.

“Why did you do it?” he asks.

His voice is sharp, irritated and angry.

“Do what?” I ask honestly.

His jaw tightens.

He steps closer, so close his breath brushes my face.

“You know exactly what I mean.” His voice drops lower. “Why did you try to kill yourself?”

Oh.

Right.

The poison.

The stupid choice I apparently made.

“Well,” I begin slowly, “you mean why I..”

He moves before I finish.

His hands grip my shoulders firmly and hot, pulling me closer until his face is inches from mine.

“Did you really need to go that far,” he growls, “just because I said I could never love you?”

I blink.

“What?”

His grip tightens.

“That I would never see you as mine,” he continues, voice rough with restrained fury, “only as the Luna of the packhouse.”

My heartbeat stutters violently.

This isn’t what I was told.

I was told I hated him.

He’s talking like I was heartbroken.

His hands stay on me tightly, heavily and burning.

Then he adds.

Cruel in a way that comes from anger, not indifference.

“Killing yourself will never make me love you. You will be nothing else but my mate.”

The words slam into me.

So I’m not even wanted.

I’m a contract. A bargain between families.

Yes, he’s hot but does he think being his wife is a trophy? Or that he’s doing me a favor?

And he says it like it’s a fact written in stone.

He shakes his head once, eyes flashing with annoyance.

“I told you,” he continues, “I will marry you because fate demands it. Because our families require it. But don’t ever think I chose you.”

Wow.

He is mean and cruel with words.

Does he even know that Betty is the one he should be marrying?

His attitude sucks, and I don’t want to marry but if this family really took care of me all my life, then that means I owe them this.

And the worst part?

He fully expects me to cry or beg him.

So I push his hands off me.

He stiffens, shocked that anyone would dare.

“Okay, stop,” I say, poking his chest. “Even if the old me was obsessed with you like crazy, dying over a man is stupid.”

His eyes widen slightly.

“And saying that to a girl?” I add, poking him again. “You’re so mean.”

Silence.

He looks at me like I’m speaking a forbidden language.

Like I’m not behaving the way I’m supposed to.

Like the rejection he prepared for isn’t happening.

“Well,” I sigh dramatically, shrugging, “since we’re ‘fated’ or whatever, we will get married and see what the future brings.”

His expression is priceless.

Pure shock.

Before he can respond, the door slams open.

“Alpha Damon,” my mother pants. “There’s something you should know.”

She looks at me, then at him.

“Clary… lost her memories. Completely.”

The world shifts.

His head snaps toward me.

“What do you mean, lost?”

“She doesn’t remember anything,” my mother whispers. “Not the pack. Not the past. Not even the engagement.”

His gaze returns to me, sharper now and calculative.

“Satisfied?” I ask with a smirk.

He ignores me.

“The wedding will happen soon,” he says coldly. “She will be ready.”

He turns toward the door.

Impulse strikes.

“WAIT!”

He stops.

“Do we really have to get married?”

My mother slaps a hand over my mouth instantly.

“I am so sorry, Alpha Damon!”

He turns.

Slowly.

His eyes burn with fury, confusion, and something dangerous.

His chest rises once.

Then he storms out.

The door slams.

My mother grips her chest, terrified.

“Clary,” she says, her voice trembling, half fear, half scolding. “Are you insane? Please don’t provoke him. Not now, not ever.”

I look at her, confused.

“Why? He didn’t even yell.”

She presses a shaking palm to her forehead.

“Because he doesn’t need to raise his voice to kill, child. You’re lucky he walked out instead of dragging you back to his packhouse. You can’t keep frightening me like this.”

“Frightening you?” I let out a sad laugh. “You sold me to him instead of your precious daughter, the one who is truly his mate. What do you think he’ll do to all of us if he finds out I’m his fake mate?”

“We picked you from the woods and took care of you until this age,” she says. “Something your real parents couldn’t do for you. If trading your life for our real daughter is needed..”She lowers her voice manipulatively. “you can do it for us. As repayment for years of kindness.”

She’s right.

My real parents didn't hesitate to leave me in the woods to die, but my true family is the one that saved me.

My father walks in, and from his expression, it’s obvious he heard everything. He looks furious.