CHAPTER 5: Healing Garden

I wake up to sunlight and the smell of something cooking.

For a second, I forget where I am. Think I'm back home, in my tiny room, with Dad making breakfast downstairs. Then I see the white walls, the unfamiliar ceiling, the fireplace with cold ash in it.

Right. Silvermoon. Damian's house. Not dead.

I sit up slow. My body doesn't hurt as much today. The rejection sickness is fading—still there, a dull ache in my chest, but not the bone-deep agony from before. I can breathe without feeling like someone's stabbing me.

There's clothes on the chair by the window. Jeans, a sweater, socks. All look about my size. Maya's work, probably.

I get dressed slow. The jeans are soft, worn-in. The sweater is thick and warm and smells like cedar. I run my fingers through my hair, find a brush on the nightstand, try to make myself look less like someone who almost died in the pain.

It doesn't work. But at least I'm dressed.

I follow the cooking smell downstairs.

The kitchen is huge. Like, embarrassingly huge. Marble counters, stainless steel appliances, an island the size of my old bedroom. And in the middle of it all, Damian Vargasin stands at the stove, flipping pancakes like it's the most normal thing in the world.

He's in sweatpants. A gray t-shirt. Bare feet. His hair is messy, sticking up in the back like he just rolled out of bed.

I stop in the doorway. Stare.

He glances over his shoulder. "Morning. Hungry?"

"You... cook?"

"Someone has to. Maya's culinary skills peak at microwave popcorn." He slides pancakes onto a plate, pushes it toward me. "Eat. You need it."

I sit at the island. The stool is tall, makes my feet dangle. I feel like a kid.

Damian pours coffee, sets a mug in front of me. Doesn't ask if I want it—just assumes. He's right.

"Thanks." I wrap my hands around the mug. The warmth seeps into my fingers. "For everything. For yesterday. For... not letting them take me."

He leans against the counter across from me. Arms crossed. Watching me with those silver eyes.

"You don't have to keep thanking me."

"Feels like I do."

"Well, you don't." He pauses. "How's the pain?"

"Better. Still there but... better."

"Good. Esther said a few more days and you'll be back to normal." He tilts his head. "Whatever normal is for you."

I almost laugh. Almost. "I don't even remember what normal feels like."

Something flickers in his eyes. Sympathy? Understanding? Hard to tell with him.

We eat in silence. Well, I eat. He watches. It should feel weird but it doesn't. His presence is solid, steady—like a tree you can lean against and know it won't fall.

Halfway through my second pancake, Maya crashes in.

"Oh good, you're up!" She grabs a pancake off my plate, shoves half in her mouth. "Mmph. Damian, the patrols are back. Nothing from Bloodmoon. Caden's apparently licking his wounds."

"Language." Damian says it automatically.

"Whatever." Maya flops onto the stool next to me. "So Selena, what's the plan? You gonna stay? Go? Join a circus? I feel like we should discuss."

"Maya." Damian's voice has an edge.

"What? She's got options. I'm just saying—"

"She just woke up. Give her space."

Maya rolls her eyes but softens. "Fine. But after breakfast, I'm showing you around. You can't hide in that room forever. The pack's curious. Might as well meet them on your own terms instead of having them stare at you during the next border drama."

I look at Damian. He shrugs.

"You're a rejected mate from an enemy pack staying in the Alpha's house." Maya ticks it off on her fingers. "Honey, you're the most interesting thing that's happened here in years. People are gonna talk. Might as well give them something to talk about that isn't total fiction."

I don't know what to say to that. She's right, probably. But the thought of facing strangers, of being looked at and judged and whispered about—

My chest tightens. The rejection ache spikes.

Damian notices. Of course he notices.

"Maya." His voice is quiet. "Go start the tour. We'll meet you outside."

She looks at me, then him, then nods. "Five minutes. Don't scare her off."

She leaves. The kitchen feels smaller without her.

"You don't have to do this." Damian's voice is careful. "The tour, meeting people. You can stay here as long as you need, hidden or not. Your choice."

"I can't hide forever."

"No. But you can hide until you're ready."

I look at him. Really look. The scar through his eyebrow. The strong jaw. The eyes that should be cold but aren't—not with me.

"Why are you so nice to me?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "I'm not your responsibility. I'm not your pack. I'm literally no one."

He's quiet for a long moment. The clock on the wall ticks. Somewhere outside, a dog barks.

"When my parents died," he says finally, "The pack was in chaos. Everyone looked at me like I was supposed to have answers, supposed to be strong, supposed to hold everything together." He pauses. "No one asked if I was okay."

My throat tightens.

"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad. I'm saying—I know what it's like to have your world end and have to keep breathing anyway. I know what it's like to feel alone in a crowd." He meets my eyes. "If I can make that even a little easier for you, why wouldn't I?"

I don't cry. I don't. But my eyes sting and my nose runs and I have to look away.

"Okay." My voice cracks. "Okay. I'll do the tour."

He nods. Stands. Offers me his hand.

I take it.

---

The pack house is huge. Like, mansion huge. Maya leads me through room after room—common areas, a library, a training room with mats and weights, a medical wing where Esther waves at me from behind a desk. Everywhere we go, pack members stop and stare. Some smile. Some whisper. A few look openly hostile.

I ignore them. Focus on Maya's chatter, on the feel of the sun through windows, on not tripping over my own feet.

"Here's the garden." Maya pushes open a glass door. "Esther grows all her herbs here. It's kind of her pride and joy."

We step outside. The garden is massive—rows and rows of plants I recognize from my training. Silverweed. Moonflower. Valerian. Things that heal, things that calm, things that help.

I walk through them without thinking. Touch leaves, smell flowers, let my fingers brush against petals. For the first time since the rejection, something feels familiar. Feels right.

"You know plants." Maya's voice is different. Softer.

"I trained as a healer's assistant. Back home." I kneel by a patch of chamomile, run my fingers through it. "My mom was a healer. Before she died. I guess I wanted to be like her."

"That's beautiful."

I shrug. "It's just plants."

"It's not." Maya kneels beside me. "It's you. And it's okay to have things that matter."

We're quiet for a minute. The sun is warm. The garden smells like earth and green things.

"You know what I think?" Maya says eventually. "I think the Moon Goddess doesn't make mistakes. I think she put you in my brother's path for a reason."

I look at her. "What reason?"

"I don't know yet. But Damian's different with you. Softer. He hasn't been soft since our parents died." She pauses. "Whatever happens, I'm glad you're here."

My eyes sting again. Stupid emotions.

Before I can respond, a shadow falls over us.

I look up.

Damian stands at the garden entrance. He's changed—dark jeans, a Henley, boots. His hair is still messy. His eyes find mine immediately.

"Selena." His voice is tight. "We need to talk."

I stand. Brush dirt off my knees. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer right away. Just looks at me with an expression I can't read.

"Your father's here."