Chapter 8 – Cracks in the Armor

This stupid skinny stripe of sunlight snuck through the curtains and fucking punched me right in the eyes.

I let out this sad, whiny groan thing and flopped over like a dead fish on the lumpy piece-of-shit cot Damon had basically hurled into the corner last night. “Protection,” he’d grunted, like that was supposed to make it normal, but he’d stood there way too damn long, arms crossed, staring while I yanked the blanket up over my chest like it was armor.

His eyes were so dark and stuck on me. Like if he looked away I’d disappear into thin air… or like if he stayed one more second he might do something really stupid he couldn’t undo. Now even a couple feet of space between us felt ridiculous and painful, like someone had threaded fishing line under my ribs and kept giving it these lazy, mean little tugs every time he breathed too far away.

I hated how much I noticed.

I dragged myself sitting up, heel of my hand smearing sleep crust and probably last night’s mascara across my cheek in one gross swipe. Damon—of fucking course—was already awake, shirtless, one thick forearm braced against the window like the training yard had personally fucked his mom. His back was a disaster of old scars, pale and crooked, the kind that made me wonder what kind of hell he’d walked through to get them.

I didn't’t want to know. I couldn’t stop picturing it anyway. The second I moved, his shoulders twitched. He always felt my eyes on him. Always. It pissed me off so much I wanted to scream.

“You’re up,” he said, still facing the window. Voice sounded like he’d gargled broken glass after smoking three packs.

“Yeah.” It came out all croaky and small. I cleared my throat twice, annoyed at how pathetic I sounded even to myself.

He turned his head just enough. Dark eyes raked over me—slow, shameless, no apology. My hair was a rat’s nest plastered to one side of my face, shift twisted up my thighs, morning light hitting my skin like it was trying to make me look pretty when I felt like absolute roadkill. Something flickered in his face. Not the usual ice-cold fuck-you glare. Something hotter. Hungrier.

Almost… confused. Like he’d caught himself staring and was mad at his own body for liking what it saw.

“Eat.” He jerked his chin at the tray someone had left—stale bread, a sad chunk of cheese, water in a pitcher that looked like it remembered the last century. “Then we train.”

“Train?” I swung my legs off the cot. Bare feet hit cold stone and I hissed like an angry cat. My stomach did this weak, fluttery thing—not full panic, just that horrible mix of dread and want, like standing at the top of a really high slide you know is gonna hurt your ass but you’re already leaning in.

He spun around fully, arms folding across his chest like he was buckling armor back on. The fresh cut from last night was already just a thin pink whisper on his forearm. “Killing one scout doesn’t mean jack shit. They’ll send more. We need to know what you can actually do.” He sliced a frustrated hand through the air between us.

“What the fuck this bond is turning us into.”

My wolf shoved at my ribs—not mad, just restless and greedy. Like it could smell him from here and wanted to rub all over him like a cat in heat. I swallowed so hard it hurt. “Fine. Whatever.”

Damon stalked over in three pissed-off strides and stopped so close I could feel the heat pouring off his bare chest. Pine. Smoke. That sharp alpha smell that always made my heart do a clumsy, embarrassing somersault. He looked down at me, voice dropping so low it felt like a secret meant just for my ears. “Stop being scared of your own damn wolf. Show me.”

“I don’t even know how to make the stupid thing behave,” I muttered, staring at the fast thump-thump in his throat because looking up into his eyes felt like stepping in front of a moving truck.

“Then we’ll figure the shit out together.” His fingers closed around my wrist—warm, firm, not mean—and he tugged me toward the door. His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, light as nothing, but it lit my nerves up like someone struck a match against my skin. I sucked in a sharp breath. He froze—just a split second—long enough

I knew damn well he’d felt the same stupid zap.

Then he kept walking like it was nothing. Like we weren’t both pretending our skin wasn’t screaming.

Down in the fenced yard he slammed the gate shut. The clang rang out way too loud in the quiet morning air.

“No one else watching,” he said. “Just us.”

My heart was trying to punch its way out of my chest. I nodded anyway, throat too tight for actual words.

He started circling me, slow, eyes narrowed like I was a puzzle he didn’t trust not to cut him. Not cruel anymore—more careful. Like whatever answer he found might hurt him worse than me.

“Shift.”

“I can’t go full yet.”

“Try anyway. Worst that happens is fuck-all.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Reached in. The wolf came fast—hot, impatient, over waiting. Bones throbbed. Skin stretched tight and itchy. My eyes snapped open glowing gold; teeth felt wrong and pointy; little claws poked out like they’d been waiting their whole damn lives.

Damon’s breath caught—real, loud. He stepped closer. “More. Push.”

I pushed. Pain knifed through my gut—the binding magic fighting dirty—but it cracked open just a sliver. Soft white light shimmered up my arms, faint and kinda beautiful, like moonlight leaking out of my skin by accident.

He lifted his hand slow, hesitant, like the glow might burn him. One finger traced the light. The second he touched me it zapped—sharp, electric, alive. The shimmer flared brighter right under his fingertip, pulsing with my heartbeat. Inside my chest my wolf let out this low, smug purr that rattled through my whole body.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice soft and wrecked in a way that flipped my stomach inside.

The light spiked—bright, blinding—then slammed back. Binding clamped down hard. Pain tore through me. My legs buckled.

Damon caught me before I ate dirt. Arms locked around my waist, yanking me against his chest.

My palms slapped hot bare skin, muscle jumping under my fingers. Faces so close I felt every shaky breath he let out. Mine came in little hiccup gasps.

The bond crashed in—messy, deafening in my head, his hunger and mine all tangled up until I couldn’t tell who was hungrier anymore. His arms tightened. One hand spread wide and possessive across my lower back. The other slid up, cupping my jaw like I might break if he let go.

“You’re stronger than you fucking think,” he whispered. His thumb dragged slow across my bottom lip, careful, almost tender.

I tipped my head back. “And you’re scared shitless of it.”

His jaw ticked so hard I heard it click. “I’m not scared of anything.”

“Bullshit,” I breathed.

One second. Two. Just ragged breathing, shared heat, his thumb still resting there like he’d forgotten how to move it. Then he kissed me.

Started rough—angry, like he could force the bond to behave if he just pressed hard enough.

But I kissed him back just as hard, desperate, like I’d been suffocating for ten years and finally got to breathe. Fingers digging into his shoulders, nails biting skin. His hand knotted in my hair, tugging my head back so he could go deeper—I tasted stale coffee, smoke, something raw and frantic.

He growled into my mouth—low, frustrated, needy—and backed me up until the fence post dug into my spine. Body caging me in, burning solid. One hand slid down my side; thumb grazed under my breast—first accidental, then slow and deliberate.

Heat coiled low and tight in my belly, embarrassing and so fucking good. The bond sang, too bright, too much.

We broke apart gasping. Foreheads knocked together—clumsy, real. His hand stayed on my cheek, thumb stroking my skin like he couldn’t make himself stop.

“This doesn’t change a damn thing,” he rasped. His voice cracked right down the middle.

“It changes fucking everything,” I said quietly. My fingers drifted to the rough old scar on his chest.

He flinched—just a tiny jerk—then shivered hard, like the touch hurt in the best possible way.

He eased back enough to actually look at me.

Eyes stormy, conflicted, raw with want. “We train. Focus.”

His arms didn’t budge. Didn’t let go. Not yet.

My wolf finally went quiet—warm, smug, like it was laughing at both of us. Enemies were coming. My power was waking up. And Damon… he wasn’t just feeling some mystical bullshit anymore.

He was feeling me.

And that massive, ugly wall he’d spent his whole life hiding behind?

It had a crack in it now.

And I was already crawling through.