Damien stared at her, utterly speechless. The word "we" echoed in the vast, silent penthouse. He had just confessed to being a literal monster, a creature that had hunted her, terrorized her, and left claw marks on her door. He had laid the ruins of his life at her feet, expecting her to either flee in terror or use the information to crucify him. He had anticipated every possible outcome except this one. He had not anticipated an ally. He had not anticipated a partner. The sheer, magnificent audacity of her, to look a monster in the eye and offer a strategic partnership, was so far beyond the realm of what he thought humanly possible that he felt a dizzying sense of vertigo. In that moment, she was more fearless than any man he had ever faced in a boardroom, more courageous than any soldier he had ever read about. And to the beast that still slumbered in his blood, her strength was more intoxicating than her scent. A flicker of hope, an emotion he had ruthlessly purged from his life years ago, ignited in the cold darkness of his soul. It was terrifying.
"You aren't scared," he said, the words just soft enough to be an amazement. Not a question. "I am terrified," she corrected him instantly, her dark eyes flashing with honesty. "But I've been scared before. Scared doesn't pay the rent. Right now, scared gets us killed. So, I'm putting it aside. Talk to me, Damien." She pointed to the large, minimalist sofa. "Tell me everything you remember from the dreams. Every word. Every image. Names, places, symbols. We're building a case file, and right now, you're my only source." Role reversal complete. The man who commands a global empire from this very room now transformed into a source for interrogation. He found the whole experience to be humbling and, to his utter amazement, deeply relieving. The weight of the world was no longer his alone. He walked over to the sofa and sat, the first time he had truly rested since before the hunting trip. Selena sat in an armchair opposite him, pulling a small notebook and pen from her bag, all business. She had taken the venue of his confession and turned it into an impromptu war room.
He forced shut his eyelids having coerced his mind back into the chaotic dreamscape of the curse. "The clans…there are names but they're more like titles. The Silver Crescents…they seemed to be the law-keepers. The Iron Fangs… warriors. There was another…the Night Weavers…they dealt with secrets, lore." The names felt strange and mythic on his tongue. "They answer to a Conclave of Elders. The wolf that bit me… my ancestor, I suppose… it was cast out from the Silver Crescents for believing the curse was a gift, not a burden. He wanted to spread it." Selena was busy scribbling in her notebook, fixed expression of intensity upon her face. "Okay, so we have factions. Law vs. Chaos. What about the prophecy?" she asked, pen poised. "It's vague," he admitted, frustrated. "A union between the cursed bloodline and a human mate. They called the human 'the fulcrum' or 'the key.' Her choice would either 'cleanse the blood' or 'unleash the beast forever.' That's it. It's nonsense." "It's not nonsense if they believe it," she shot back, her gaze sharp. "And if they're hunting you, they believe it. What about you? Your family? Your father's paranoia?"
It was a punch-in-the-guts question. His thoughts went straight to his much-hated, touchy father, a man who has spent his days shying away from monstrous DNA, making him cruel and brittle. "He kept journals," he reluctantly admitted. "Dozens of them. Leather-bound books riddled with his ramblings, his fears. I stored them all after he died. Thought he was crazy." "Where're they?" Selena asked, leaning forward, her eyes bright with sudden, intense purpose. "In a climate-controlled vault in the sub-basement of this building." Her face lit up. It was the look of a reporter who had just found a primary source, a treasure trove of evidence. "That's where we start," she declared. For the next hour, they worked. He dredged up every fragment of dream and instinct, and she organized it, structured it, turning his supernatural chaos into logical, actionable intelligence. In her hands, his curse became a case file, his doom a problem to be solved. He found himself watching her, admiring the fierce, sharp spark of her intellect. The primal pull he felt towards her was still there, a constant thrum beneath his skin, but it was now overlaid with a profound, soul-deep respect. This was the woman fate had chosen for him.
As she was envisaging a possible timeline of his family's history, a new, cold realization hit him. Her mind was centered on the past, on the journals, but this threat was a present one. The threat was closing in. These clans, these ancient predators, weren't going to track him down through property records or corporate filings to take him out. They were coming for him the way he hunted animals in the forest. They would track his scent within his energy. And they would be looking for his connections, his weaknesses. They would be looking for her. "Selena," he said, his voice slicing through all of her strategizing. She looked up, and the intensity in his eyes made her pause. "You can't go home." Her brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? My notes, my laptop—" "They can be retrieved," he interrupted, standing up. The protector, the Alpha, was re-emerging but focused, this time on her safety, not possession. "If they're half as good at hunting as the beast in me, they'll already be watching you. Your apartment is the first place they'll look for a link to me. They won't see you as a reporter. They'll see you as the key to the prophecy." He walked to stand in front of her, looking down at her, his expression grim. "They'll see you as bait. You're not safe there. You're not safe anywhere but here." The statement hung in the air, an undeniable, terrifying truth. Her investigation had just become her house arrest. The penthouse, the monster's lair, had just become her only sanctuary.