She looked around the room, taking in details she had missed before. A desk in the corner piled with papers, bookshelves filled with an eclectic mix of titles, a guitar stand holding a beautiful acoustic instrument in the corner. The space was masculine but not aggressively so. Comfortable, lived-in, personal.
"You play?" she asked, nodding toward the guitar.
A flicker of something like embarrassment crossed his features. "Badly. It was my mother's hobby. I keep it more for sentiment than skill."
This glimpse of vulnerability, of personal history, humanized Damon in a way nothing else had so far. Elara found herself wanting to know more about the man behind the 'Alpha' title. But before she could ask, a wave of dizziness swept over her. She pressed a hand to her forehead, willing the room to stop spinning.
"You need to rest," Damon said, rising from his chair. "Marlowe left herbs for tea that should help with the aftereffects."
"I have been unconscious for two days," Elara protested weakly. "I am tired of lying down."
Damon studied her for a moment, then nodded. "A short walk, then. If you feel strong enough. Fresh air might help clear your head."
With his support, Elara rose carefully to her feet. Her legs felt like rubber, but they held her weight. As Damon guided her toward the door, his hand on her elbow, she realized she was wearing clothes she did not recognize. Soft gray sweatpants and a loose navy shirt that was clearly too large for her frame.
"Cora changed you," Damon quickly said, noticing her confusion. "Your clothes were affected by the energy surge."
"Affected?"
"Singed," he clarified. "Particularly around the pendant."
The implications of that were too unsettling to dwell on. Elara allowed Damon to lead her through a series of rooms that made up his private quarters. A study, a small kitchen, a dining area, all connected to the main living room where she had awakened. The spaces were elegant but comfortable, with large windows overlooking the forest.
Damon opened a door that led to a private terrace wrapped around the east side of the house. The morning air was crisp and invigorating. Scented with pine and the lingering freshness of recent rain. Mountains rose in the distance. Their peaks were still capped with snow despite the spring season.
"It is beautiful," Elara said, moving to the railing. Her legs still felt unsteady. But the fresh air was reviving her senses, clearing the fog from her mind.
"This has been pack land for generations," Damon said, coming to stand beside her. "My great-grandfather established the territory after the Blood War. Seeking isolation and safety."
"Because of the Sirens?" Elara asked, remembering Marlowe's history lesson.
"Because of all of it. The war. The politics. The human encroachment. He believed wolves needed wilderness to thrive." Damon's expression softened as he gazed at the forest. "I have tried to honor that vision. To protect both the land and the pack."
"By becoming Alpha," Elara said. She hesitated, then added, "Cora mentioned you were not always next in line. That there was conflict."
Damon's jaw tightened, but he did not seem angry at her question. "The previous Alpha, my uncle, was leading us down a dangerous path. Alliances with questionable packs, including Viktor's. Decisions that threatened our independence and safety." His voice lowered. "I challenged him. I won."
The simple statement contained volumes of unspoken history. Elara sensed that winning such a challenge was not merely a matter of debate or even a simple fight.
"And Thorian?" she asked.
"Was my uncle's chosen successor. He has never forgiven me for disrupting that plan." Damon turned to face her fully. "He is not a bad wolf, Elara. Just loyal to a different vision of what our pack should be."
This insight into pack politics helped explain some of the tension she had witnessed. But it also raised a new question.
"Why are you telling me all this? I am an outsider. A potential threat, according to some of your pack." Elara said.
Damon was quiet for a long moment. His amber eyes studied her face as if searching for something. "Because whatever is happening to you, this awakening of your Siren heritage, it is connected to all of us. To the future of werewolves and Sirens alike." His gaze dropped to her pendant. "And because that vision you had confirms what Marlowe has suspected. The Blood Moon ritual is not just about power. It is about balance."
"Balance between what?"
"That," he said with a small smile, "is what we need to find out."
They stood in companionable silence for several minutes, watching a hawk circle lazily above the forest canopy. Elara was surprised by how comfortable it felt. This quiet moment with a man who was, by any definition, a predator. A werewolf. An Alpha. Yet here, in the golden morning light, he seemed more man than beast.
The moment was broken by a soft knock on the door. Cora entered, carrying a tray with steaming mugs and a plate of food. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of Elara standing.
"You are up!" she exclaimed, setting the tray on a small table. "Marlowe said you might need another day at least."
"Apparently, I am stubborn," Elara replied with a weak smile.
"The most stubborn Siren in two centuries, according to our elder," Cora agreed, her tone light but her eyes assessing as she took in Elara's appearance. "How are you feeling? Really?"
"Like I have been through a washing machine," Elara admitted. "My head is pounding, and I have fragments of a vision I cannot fully piece together. But I am upright, at least."
Cora handed her a mug filled with a fragrant herbal tea. "Marlowe's special blend. It will help with the headache and the disorientation."
The tea was oddly pleasant despite its medicinal scent, with notes of mint and something earthier. Warmth spread through Elara's body as she drank, easing the ache in her muscles.
"Better?" Damon asked, watching her closely.
She nodded, surprised to find the fog in her mind clearing. "Much better, actually. What is in this?"
"Traditional pack remedies," Cora explained. "Enhanced with a few ingredients Marlowe found in the Codex. Herbs specifically beneficial to Sirens."
The mention of the Codex brought back flashes of the vision. The Blood Moon. The wolves. The ritual. Elara's hand tightened on the mug as she fought to steady herself against the sudden barrage of images.
Damon's hand on her arm anchored her to the present. "Easy," he murmured. "Do not try to force the memories. Marlowe says they will surface naturally as your mind adjusts."
"What if I need to remember now?" Elara asked. "The Blood Moon is coming. If this ritual is as important as my ancestor believed,"
"We have time," Damon assured her. "The Blood Moon is still weeks away."
"And in the meantime," Cora added, "you need to focus on recovery. And perhaps on understanding what you can already do, before worrying about ancient rituals."
Elara looked at her questioningly. "What I can do?"
"Your voice," Cora said. "Its power is clearly growing. You might need to learn to control it, rather than letting it control you."
The idea had not occurred to Elara. For years, she had suppressed her ability. Using it only in the most carefully controlled circumstances. Terrified of a repeat of the Chicago incident. The thought of deliberately exploring it, of trying to expand her control, was both frightening and oddly liberating.
"How would I even begin?" she asked.
Damon and Cora exchanged a look that suggested they had already discussed this. "There is a place," Damon said. "A training ground the pack uses for young wolves learning to control their shifts. Isolated. Away from electronics and civilians. It might be suitable for experiments."
"Controlled ones," Cora hastened to add, seeing Elara's expression. "With proper supervision."
The idea was tempting, despite the risks. If she could learn to control her voice rather than fear it, perhaps she could stop running. Stop hiding. Maybe even understand the purpose her ancestor had alluded to.
"When?" she asked.
"Tomorrow," Damon said firmly. "After you have had more rest and the herbs have had time to work." His tone brooked no argument. "Today, you recover."