Chapter Six

Lena woke to the morning light filtering through her window. The room was still unfamiliar, but the quiet elegance of it had begun to feel less oppressive. Stretching, she swung her legs out of bed and slipped into a pair of slippers before heading downstairs, drawn by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

In the dining room, Damien sat at the head of the table, already immersed in his breakfast. He was dressed casually in a black button-up shirt and dark jeans, but his posture radiated the same controlled authority she'd come to associate with him.

"Morning," she greeted hesitantly as she approached the table.

Damien looked up, his expression softening slightly. "Morning. Sleep well?"

She shrugged, taking a seat across from him. "As well as I could in a strange place."

He offered a faint smile. "You'll get used to it."

Lena poured herself a cup of coffee, the silence between them stretching as she took a sip. She hesitated before breaking it. "So… what exactly am I supposed to do here while you're off being mysterious?"

He raised a brow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Mysterious?"

"Well, you're clearly not going to tell me what your 'business' is," she said, setting her mug down. "So, yeah. Mysterious fits."

Damien leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady on her. "Relax. This is the safest place for you to be. You don't need to worry about anything."

"That's not really an answer," she pointed out, crossing her arms. "I can't just sit around doing nothing. It's…" She struggled for the right word. "Stifling."

His smirk faded, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. "I know this is all new for you, but trust me, Lena. You're safer here than anywhere else. I'll be gone for a few days, but in the meantime, you'll be fine."

Her lips parted to argue, but before she could say anything, the door to the dining room swung open.

Rylan strode in, his boots clicking against the polished floor. He was tall, with nice features and an easy confidence that made him immediately likable—or infuriating, depending on the person. His dark eyes landed on Lena, and a grin spread across his face.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice smooth. "You didn't tell me we had company, Damien."

Damien's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't respond.

Rylan stepped closer, his grin widening as he extended a hand to Lena. "I'm Rylan, Damien's second-in-command. And you must be the famous Lena I've been hearing so much about."

Lena hesitated before shaking his hand. "I didn't realize I was famous."

"Oh, you are," Rylan said with a chuckle, his gaze lingering on her in a way that felt almost intentionally provocative. "More than you know."

"Rylan," Damien said sharply.

Rylan glanced at him but didn't drop the grin. "What? I'm just being friendly."

"Be friendly somewhere else," Damien said in a dangerously low tone. "And while you're at it, spread the word: Lena is off-limits to everyone."

Rylan's brows shot up, and he let out a low whistle. "Off-limits, huh? That's a bold move."

"Do it," Damien said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Rylan raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back. "Alright, alright. Message received." He turned back to Lena, his grin softening. "It was nice meeting you, Lena. Don't let him boss you around too much."

With that, he strode out of the room, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.

Lena turned back to Damien, her eyes narrowing. "Did you really have to do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, his tone neutral.

"Embarrass me," she snapped, crossing her arms. "I can handle myself, you know."

Damien pushed back his chair and stood, his movements slow and deliberate as he walked around the table. Her heart began to race as he stopped in front of her.

"I didn't do it to embarrass you," he said curtly.

"Then why?" she demanded, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.

"Because I know my pack," he replied, his tone softening. "And I know Rylan."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, she felt the weight of his protectiveness. But then his gaze shifted, and something else flickered in his eyes—something darker, more intense.

"I don't see you as a child, Lena," he whispered. Damien's eyes slid down to her lips, and for a long beat, he allowed his gaze to linger there, committing every detail of her to memory. His eyes traced the curve of her jaw, the way her chest rose and fell with her uneven breath, the way the soft fabric of her nightgown clung to her skin. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time in a way that was more than just physical—he was memorizing her, body and soul, marking every detail as his.

Her breath caught as he stepped closer. The moment felt suspended, as though everything around them had disappeared, leaving only the undeniable pull that grew with every inch of his proximity.

"You're not a child," he repeated, his gaze dropping briefly to her lips before meeting her eyes again. "And you're not someone I take lightly."

The intensity of his words—and the way he said them—sent a shiver down her spine. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came.

"Do you understand?" he asked, his voice still low, but now tinged with something almost possessive.

Her cheeks burned, and she nodded, unable to look away from him.

The moment stretched until Damien finally stepped back, the tension snapping like a taut string released.

"Good," he said simply, his tone returning to normal. "Now, finish your coffee."

And just like that, he walked out of the room, leaving Lena sitting there with her heart racing and her mind spinning.