Cassidy
"Wait… a witch?!"
Damon's voice cracked like thunder through the room.
He blinked rapidly, as if the thought had blindsided him—something long buried clawing its way to the surface.
Kieran looked up sharply. So did Elara.
"Do you believe so?" Celeste asked, eyes narrowing. "Could your mother have been… a witch?"
Damon's mouth opened—then closed. He sat back down slowly, running a hand over his face.
"It's just…" He let out a humorless laugh. "I've never been able to link to the pack. Not since I got here."
No one spoke.
We all knew that.
Even I'd overheard the whispers. That after ten years, Damon still hadn't bonded with the wolves. Still hadn't felt the pull of their mental tether.
"We thought you were just slow to adapt," Kieran said slowly, guarded. "Maybe your wolf hadn't accepted the pack. Some thought something was blocking you."
"Yeah. Something definitely blocked me—the witch blood in my veins," Damon muttered.
