For once, Elara did not feel like challenging his authority. The brief time upright had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit. Her legs trembled with fatigue. And the headache, while dulled by the tea, still pulsed behind her eyes.
"Alright," she agreed. "Tomorrow."
True to his word, Damon appeared the next morning as Elara finished a light breakfast in his quarters. She had slept deeply, without the disturbing fragments of vision that had plagued her before. The herbal tea, which Cora had provided again before bed, seemed to have stabilized whatever was happening with her Siren abilities.
"How do you feel?" Damon asked, studying her with those perceptive amber eyes.
"Better," Elara said truthfully. "Stronger. Less like my head is going to explode."
"Good." He gestured to a bundle of clothing he had brought. "Cora sent these. Something more suitable for outdoor activities than borrowed sweatpants."
Elara changed in the adjoining bathroom, grateful for the practical outfit. Sturdy jeans, a soft Henley top, and a light jacket. Her pendant rested against her skin, cool and inactive for now. Though she could sense a potential for heat, for power, lying dormant within the silver spiral.
When she emerged, Damon led her through a different section of the house than she had seen before. They avoided the main living areas, taking a service corridor that opened directly to the grounds behind the house. Elara suspected this route was chosen to minimize her contact with other pack members.
"Are they afraid of me now?" she asked as they walked a narrow path into the forest. "The pack, I mean."
Damon considered his answer carefully. "Not afraid, exactly. Uncertain. Your power display affected every wolf on the property. It was unexpected."
"Did I hurt anyone?"
"No," he assured her. "But power that can influence wolves on that scale is something they have not encountered in generations. It will take time for them to adjust."
The path widened as they moved deeper into the forest. Eventually opening into a large clearing surrounded by ancient pine trees. The space was clearly designed for training. Earthen targets stood at one end, while various obstacles and equipment were arranged throughout the area. A small, rustic cabin stood at the far edge. Its windows reflected the morning light.
"This is where young wolves learn control," Damon explained, gesturing around the clearing. "Where they face their first shifts in a safe environment, away from humans and technology that might be damaged."
Elara noticed a few electronic devices at the edges of the clearing. Speakers mounted on posts, a weather station, and what appeared to be cameras for monitoring training sessions. Otherwise, the space was refreshingly analog, connected to nature rather than the modern world.
"It is peaceful," she observed, breathing in the clean forest air.
"It is designed to be. Shifting is emotional. Chaotic. This environment helps balance that." Damon led her to the center of the clearing, where a circular area had been cleared of debris. "I thought we might start here."
The word "we" caught her attention. "Wait! You are staying?"
"Unless you would prefer someone else." His expression was carefully neutral. "Marlowe offered, but given her age, Cora is on border patrol this morning."
The thought of exploring her abilities with Marlowe watching was somehow more intimidating than having Damon present. At least he had already witnessed her power firsthand, both at the pub and during her collapse after the vision.
"No, you are fine," she said quickly. "I just was not sure you would want to be the test subject."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "My control is the strongest. If anyone can withstand your voice, it is me."
His confidence would have seemed arrogant if Elara had not seen evidence of his extraordinary self-control. Even during the attack at her apartment, when he had partially shifted to protect her, he had maintained awareness and focus that spoke of years of discipline.
"So, how do we do this?" she asked, suddenly nervous. "I have spent years suppressing my voice, not exploring it."
"Start small," Damon suggested. "Perhaps with something simple. Like attempting to convey a specific emotion."
Elara nodded, thinking back to her performances. She had always been careful to moderate her effect on audiences. But even so, she knew certain songs could reliably create specific moods like calm, joy, and nostalgia.
"I will need to sing," she said. "That is how it works best for me."
"Go ahead." Damon took a step back, giving her space. "I am prepared."
Taking a deep breath, Elara closed her eyes and searched for a melody. Something gentle to begin with, something safe. A lullaby her mother had sung to her as a child came to mind. Simple. Soothing. With no words that might accidentally trigger anything from the Siren language.
She began softly, her voice barely above a whisper at first. The familiar melody wrapped around her like an old friend, comforting in its simplicity. As she gained confidence, she allowed her voice to strengthen slightly, focusing on the emotion she wanted to convey: peace, tranquility, and safety.
When she opened her eyes, she found Damon watching her with an expression of perfect calm. His usual alertness had softened, his shoulders relaxed, his hands open at his sides rather than held in their usual controlled posture.
"That was nice," he said, his voice lower, gentler than usual.
"You felt it?"
"A sense of calm. Like the moment before sleep, when everything is quiet and right with the world." He shook his head slightly, as if clearing it. "Very subtle, but definite."
Encouraged, Elara tried again, this time choosing a more upbeat melody. A folk song about spring and renewal. As she sang, she focused on joy. On lightness. On the simple pleasure of being alive.
Damon's response was visible. His posture straightened. His eyes brightened. And a genuine smile spread across his usually serious features. It transformed him completely, making him look younger and more carefree.
"That is," he began, then laughed softly. "I have not felt that lighthearted in years."
"Too much?" Elara asked, concerned she might be manipulating him against his will.
"No," he assured her. "I am still fully aware and in control. It is more like a suggestion of emotion, rather than being forced to feel something."
They continued this way for nearly an hour, Elara experimenting with different melodies and emotions, Damon providing feedback on the effects. She found she could create various emotional states. From peaceful contemplation to energized alertness. From gentle melancholy to quiet joy. None seemed to override Damon's will or self-awareness, which was deeply reassuring.
"Let us try something different," Damon suggested after a brief rest. "Instead of emotion, what about a simple command? Something harmless, like asking me to take a step forward."
This was where Elara's confidence faltered. Emotional influence was one thing. But direct commands? That ventured into territory too close to what had happened in Chicago.
"I am not so sure if that is a good idea," she said hesitantly. "The last time I tried to control someone directly,"
"Was a life or death situation," Damon finished for her. "You were defending yourself against an attack. This is different. Controlled. Consensual."
His use of the word "consensual" struck her. It reframed the exercise from something potentially manipulative to something mutual. An exploration with clear boundaries and permissions.
"Alright," she agreed. "But something very simple."
She thought for a moment, then began to sing again. This time, she focused her intent differently. Rather than an emotion, she concentrated on a gentle suggestion: Step forward. Just one step.
The effect was immediate and startling. Damon moved forward one precise step, then stopped, his eyes widening in surprise.
"That was stronger," he said. "I felt the urge to move very distinctly."
"Could you have resisted?" Elara asked, suddenly anxious.
He considered this. "Yes, I think so. It was not overwhelming. More like a compelling suggestion than an irresistible command."
They tried several more simple commands. Raise a hand, turn in a circle, and sit on the ground. Each time, Damon complied but insisted he maintained the ability to resist if he chose to.
"This is good progress," he said as they took another break. "You are showing remarkable control for someone who is only just beginning to explore their abilities."
"I have had years of practice suppressing it," Elara reminded him. "That is its own kind of control."
"True." Damon studied her with those perceptive eyes. "Ready to try something more challenging?"
"Like what?"
"My wolf," he said simply. "At the pub, your voice somehow silenced it. I would like to see if you can do that intentionally."
The request surprised her. "You would voluntarily let me suppress your wolf? Isn't that intimate for your kind?"
A flicker of vulnerability, perhaps, crossed his features. "It is. But we need to understand the full extent of your abilities. Especially if Viktor is seeking to use a Siren's voice to control wolves during the Blood Moon."
His reasoning made sense. But Elara suspected there was more to it. A curiosity. Perhaps even a need to understand the connection between them that had manifested that first night.
"How would we even test that?" she asked.
"I will partially shift. Just enough to bring my wolf to the surface. You try to sing it back down." Damon moved to the center of the clearing. "Do not worry. Even partially shifted, I am in control."