Page 14 of Howl For A Kiss (Rebellious Mates #3)

TWELVE

DAMON

T he November wind cut through the morning air like a sharp blade, and Damon felt Elena shiver against him despite the heat still radiating between them from that earth-shattering kiss.

His wolf was practically howling with satisfaction— finally she'd made the first move he'd been dreaming about since that first electric handshake at her rebel base.

"We really need to get you inside," he said, his voice rough as he reluctantly stepped back from her warmth. "It's freezing, and you've been out here without a jacket too long."

Elena nodded, wrapping her arms around herself as the reality of the cold seemed to hit her all at once. "You're right. I can barely feel my fingers."

Damon resisted the urge to take her hands and warm them himself—they'd already pushed the boundaries of public displays far enough for one morning. Instead, he placed a protective hand on her lower back and guided her toward the cabin.

"Take a hot shower," he suggested as they reached the front door. "I'll make us some breakfast."

"That sounds perfect," Elena said, and the grateful smile she gave him made his chest tighten with an emotion he wasn't ready to fully acknowledge yet.

As Elena disappeared down the hallway toward her bedroom, Damon headed for the small kitchen area, his mind still reeling from the taste of her lips and the way she'd melted into his arms. His mate was everything he'd never known he needed—brilliant, fierce, vulnerable, and devastatingly beautiful.

The perfect match for his controlled nature and buried intensity.

The kitchen was already showing signs of life as several of Elena's rebels milled about, making coffee and stretching away the remnants of sleep. Damon surveyed the available ingredients, his culinary instincts kicking in as he formulated a plan.

If he was going to be Elena's second-in-command, he needed to win over her people. And nothing said loyalty like a home-cooked meal.

He pulled eggs, bacon, and fresh bread from the stores Cade had provided, along with some vegetables that would work well for a hearty breakfast hash. As he began cracking eggs into a large bowl, Maggie approached with cautious curiosity.

"You cook?" she asked, her tone suggesting this wasn't what she'd expected from a rebel fighter.

"Part of military training," Damon replied smoothly, whisking the eggs with practiced efficiency.

It wasn't entirely a lie—he'd learned to cook during his early Beta years when he'd needed something to occupy his hands and mind during the long, lonely nights.

"Logan always said a well-fed team is an effective team. "

Maggie nodded approvingly, but her eyes remained sharp with interest. "You trained directly under Logan? That's impressive. He's got quite a reputation."

Damon began laying strips of bacon in the large skillet, keeping his expression neutral despite the dangerous territory this conversation was heading into. "Logan's... intense. But fair. He taught me that precision matters more than brute force."

"And before that training? What pack territory are you originally from?"

That question hit closer to home than Damon was comfortable with, but he'd prepared for this. "Born and raised in Silvercrest territory. Lost my parents young, so the military training became my family."

It was mostly true, though he omitted the part about becoming Beta at eighteen and spending the last fifteen years enforcing pack law. Maggie seemed to accept the explanation, her posture relaxing slightly as she busied herself setting out plates.

"Elena's lucky to have found you," she said quietly. "She's been carrying too much weight alone..."

Damon's hand stilled on the spatula as unexpected emotion gripped his chest. The protective instincts that had been simmering since he'd first met Elena flared into something fiercer and more primal.

"She won't be alone anymore," he said, his voice carrying a conviction that seemed to surprise even Maggie.

By the time Elena emerged from her shower, Damon had prepared a feast that filled the small dining area with the rich scents of bacon, eggs, and fresh herbs.

She looked absolutely stunning in her thermal black top and beige cargo pants that hugged her curves perfectly, and her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that showcased the elegant line of her neck.

Damon's pulse quickened as he imagined pressing his lips to that exposed skin.

Focus. You're supposed to be her tactical partner, not a lovesick fool.

"This smells incredible," Elena said as she took the seat beside him, her blue eyes bright with appreciation.

The thirteen rebels gathered around the table, and for a moment, the easy camaraderie reminded Damon of pack meals from his youth—before duty and responsibility had made him too isolated to enjoy simple pleasures like shared food and conversation.

"I have an announcement," Elena said once everyone had filled their plates. Her tone shifted into the authoritative cadence Damon was beginning to recognize as her leadership voice. "We're aborting the mission to the human operatives' hub tonight."

Several rebels looked up with surprise, and Daniel—her senior fighter—frowned. "Elena, you've worked hard the past day to plan that mission. The intel and attack plan are solid."

"The critical intel from Lena this morning changes everything," Elena replied firmly. "Tyler sacrificed his life for those ancient records, and now we finally have viable intelligence about the Council's corruption. That has to be our top priority."

Damon felt a surge of pride at her tactical reasoning. Even in the midst of emotional upheaval, she could still think strategically and prioritize the mission that would have the greatest impact.

"We're splitting into two teams," Elena continued. "Small stealth operations to investigate both potential suspects. Daniel, I want you to take Evan and reconnoiter Elder Isolde's estate. Damon and I will handle Elder Thorne."

Damon nodded his agreement, carefully keeping his expression neutral despite knowing Elder Thorne's estate better than he'd cared to admit. The number of times he'd been there for Council events and pack business as Beta would have to remain his secret for now.

"Stealth gives us the best advantage for intel gathering," Damon said, supporting Elena's decision. "We need more proof before we act."

"Exactly," Elena said, and the way she looked at him—like he truly understood her vision—made Damon's chest warm with something dangerously close to hope.

His mate was incredible. And she trusted him.

Now if he could just keep his carefully constructed cover intact long enough to prove himself worthy of that trust.

The late morning light filtered through the small window of Elena's makeshift office as Damon followed her inside, closing the door behind them with deliberate care.

The cramped space felt even smaller with both of them in it, and he found himself hyperaware of every movement she made as she spread maps across the modest desk he'd assembled for her.

"Elder Thorne's estate," Elena said, her voice holding that note of controlled intensity that told Damon she was throwing herself into tactical planning to avoid processing the morning's revelations about the prophecy.

Her finger traced the perimeter of the property on the detailed map.

"If he's truly behind the genetic experiments, the proof will be in his private office. "

Damon studied the map, his chest tightening with the familiar weight of deception as he recognized every detail of the estate he'd visited countless times in his official capacity as Beta.

The irony was almost laughable—here he was, planning to break into the home of a man who'd shared dinner with Damon there just two months ago during a Council event.

"Going straight for his office might be problematic," he said carefully, keeping his voice neutral despite knowing exactly how problematic it would be.

Thorne's office occupied the entire top floor of the three-story mansion, accessible only by a grand staircase that passed directly through the main hall where guards maintained constant watch.

"The layout of these older Council estates tends to be. .. defensive."

Elena's blue eyes sharpened with interest, and Damon felt that familiar flutter of pride at earning her attention even as guilt gnawed at his conscience.

"You've studied Council architecture?" she asked, and there was something in her tone—curiosity mixed with the faintest edge of suspicion—that made Damon's wolf restless.

Careful. She's too intelligent to accept vague explanations much longer.

"Like I mentioned before, my grandmother was a healer," he said, the partial truth tasting bitter on his tongue.

"She was called to treat Council elders occasionally when I was younger.

I accompanied her to Elder Thorne's estate once when I was about sixteen—he'd taken ill with some rare condition that required her specific expertise. "

The lie came easier than it should have, built on the foundation of truth about his grandmother's healing abilities. She had treated Council elders, though never Thorne specifically, and Damon had indeed visited the estate—just not as a teenage boy trailing after his grandmother.

Elena leaned forward, her thermal black top pulling snug across her curves in a way that made Damon's pulse spike dangerously. "What do you remember about the security?"

Everything. The guard rotations, the patrol patterns, the blind spots in the surveillance system, and the fact that Thorne dismissed half his security detail after midnight because he believed his reputation and Council connections made him untouchable.

"We'll want to go in after midnight," Damon said, his voice roughened as Elena's proximity filled his senses with her sweet scent. "Estates like that typically reduce their guard presence during the small hours—too expensive to maintain full security when the occupants are sleeping."

"How do you know that?" Elena's question came sharp and immediate, her eyes searching his face with a burning intensity that made Damon feel like prey.

Because I've attended enough late-night Council briefings to know their security protocols by heart.

"Military training covers estate infiltration tactics," he said smoothly, though sweat beaded at his nape despite the cool air. "Logan drilled us on wealthy targets—how they think and how they defend themselves. The wealthy always assume their status protects them."

Elena nodded slowly, but Damon caught the way her gaze lingered on his face, cataloging micro-expressions with the same tactical precision she applied to mission planning. His mate was brilliant, and that brilliance was going to expose his deception sooner rather than later.

"The main entrance faces east," he continued, desperate to redirect her attention to the mission details. "But there's a service entrance on the north side, near what would be the kitchens. My grandmother... mentioned it was where the staff entered."

Another careful half-truth. He knew about the service entrance because he'd used it himself during a few particularly sensitive Council meetings where discretion had been paramount.

"Here," Elena said, pointing to a spot on the map. Her finger brushed against his as they both leaned over the desk, and the contact sent electricity racing through him. "This looks like it could be the maintenance area you're talking about."

"That's it." His voice came out huskier than intended as her familiar warmth pressed against his side. "There's usually a blind spot in the surveillance coverage there—too mundane for most security planners to consider properly."

Elena turned to face him, and suddenly they were mere inches apart, her eyes studying his with a piercing intensity that made his wolf growl with need.

But beneath the growing heat, he caught something else—wariness, confusion, the sharp intelligence that was piecing together inconsistencies in his story.

"You have an incredible memory for a place you visited once as a teenager," she said softly.

Shit.

"Photographic memory," Damon replied, which was actually true. "It's been useful in my... training."

The pause before 'training' was subtle, but he saw Elena catch it. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and Damon felt the lies he'd carefully constructed beginning to show under her scrutiny.

"Damon." Her voice held a note of command that sent heat shooting straight to his groin even as dread pooled in his stomach. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Before he could formulate another careful half-truth, Elena's gaze dropped to his mouth, and the tactical conversation shifted into dangerous territory as her tongue darted out to wet her lips. The innocent gesture hit him with force, and his hands clenched into fists to keep from reaching for her.

"We should..." he started, his voice rough with barely contained desire.

"Should what?" Elena's eyes were dark now, her pupils dilated as they tracked the movement of his throat when he swallowed hard.

The setting sun painted the office in shades of gold and amber, and Damon realized they'd been alone together for hours without him noticing the passage of time.

Elena had that effect on him—she made the rest of the world fade until only she remained, beautiful and fierce and completely captivating.

How the hell was he supposed to explain fifteen years of Beta duties when she looked at him like he hung the goddamn moon?