Page 7 of Howl For A Kiss (Rebellious Mates #3)

SIX

DAMON

D amon watched Elena pack up her belongings in her small office inside the damaged rebel warehouse.

Her movements were surprisingly sharp and controlled despite the emotional storm he could sense brewing beneath her composed exterior.

Her fitted black thermal top stretched across her shoulders as she reached for items on high shelves, the tactical vest adding bulk to her otherwise feminine frame.

Every gesture spoke of barely contained grief and survivor's guilt.

He'd been helping her quietly for the past thirty minutes, wordlessly anticipating what she needed and providing steady support without overwhelming her with conversation. The woman was drowning in loss, and he recognized the signs all too well.

Fifteen years ago, I felt exactly like this, he thought grimly, carefully wrapping her archery equipment in protective cloth.

The memory of that devastating phone call still echoed in his mind—Beta Cross had been murdered, and eighteen-year-old Damon Gray was being summoned to assume the position immediately.

He'd been the youngest Beta in Silvercrest pack history, just like his predecessor's son Logan would eventually become the youngest enforcer. The parallel wasn't lost on him now as he watched Elena struggle with mounting leadership responsibilities that had been thrust upon her through tragedy.

Back then, Damon had been in advanced military training, excelling in every tactical assessment and earning respect from instructors twice his age.

When Alpha Alaric had personally called to offer him the Beta position, Damon hadn't hesitated.

He'd thought it was his true purpose, his chance to serve something greater than himself.

What an idiot I was, he reflected, folding Elena's extra tactical pants with practiced efficiency. Within weeks, his entire identity had transformed from a curious and ambitious young man to a rigid enforcer of pack law. Every personal desire had been sacrificed on the altar of duty and loyalty.

The arrangement with Tara had been the ultimate example of that sacrifice.

She'd been beautiful, intelligent, and completely wrong for him—not his fated mate but deemed suitable by pack standards.

They'd both agreed it was necessary for his position, and the perfect way to demonstrate his commitment to traditional values.

When Tara and their unborn child had died in that territorial dispute, Damon had channeled his grief and rage into obsessive obedience. For fifteen years, he'd become exactly what the pack needed him to be, erasing himself piece by piece.

Until four months ago.

Alpha Alaric's mysterious disappearance had shifted everything. Kieran's leadership brought whispers of change, and the fragile acceptance of Maya as the first hybrid Luna in over three centuries had cracked open possibilities Damon had never dared imagine.

But now the High Council was pushing back harder than ever, employing human operatives and conducting experiments that violated every principle Damon had sworn to uphold. Their shifter world teetered on the edge of civil war between rigid tradition and desperate change.

And Elena represented everything that terrified him about that conflict. She was a hybrid rebellion leader—beautiful, fierce, and completely dedicated to dismantling the system he'd spent his adult life enforcing. Their mating would create political chaos that could destroy both their worlds.

Yet watching her struggle with leadership burdens he understood intimately, Damon found himself wanting nothing more than to shield her from every source of pain.

"The weapons cache," Elena said quietly, breaking his internal monologue. She gestured toward a reinforced cabinet in the corner of her small office. "Tyler always insisted we keep emergency supplies in here."

Damon moved to help her transfer the ammunition and backup firearms to a military-grade duffel bag, noting how her hands trembled slightly when she touched Tyler's personal knife—a wicked blade with engravings on the handle.

"He carved those symbols himself," she murmured, running her thumb over the intricate patterns. "Said they'd bring protection in battle."

"They're beautiful," Damon replied honestly, recognizing the craftsmanship. "He was talented."

Elena's composure finally cracked. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she clutched the knife to her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "I got him killed," she whispered. "My reckless mission, my arrogance. Eight good fighters are dead because of my stupid decision."

Damon abandoned the supplies he'd been packing and crossed the small space to kneel beside her. His large hands framed her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears with tenderness.

"Listen to me," he said firmly, his voice carrying unmistakable authority. "Tyler chose to follow you because he believed in your cause. Those fighters chose to stand with you because they trusted your leadership. Their deaths are tragic, but they're not your fault."

Elena's light blue eyes searched his face desperately. "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I've carried that same guilt for fifteen years," Damon admitted, his carefully constructed walls crumbling under her anguished gaze. But he didn't reveal any intimate details because he wouldn't dare expose his true Beta identity to her. She wasn't ready for that yet.

Her breath hitched at his words. "But you kept going."

"I had to. Just like you have to now." His thumbs continued their gentle caresses across her damp cheeks. "Your people need you to lead them through this chaos, not drown in self-blame."

Elena leaned into his touch unconsciously, her wolf recognizing something essential in his proximity even if her conscious mind didn't understand the mate bond yet.

"I don't know how to do this without Tyler," she admitted vulnerably.

"You won't be doing it alone," Damon promised, his eyes burning with protective intensity. "I meant what I said about being your second-in-command. I'll be the tactical partner you need, plus your personal bodyguard."

For a moment, the air crackled with unspoken possibilities. Elena's scent shifted subtly, carrying notes of arousal that made Damon's wolf pace restlessly.

Then Elena pulled back abruptly, swiping at her remaining tears with the back of her hand. "Right," she said briskly, rebuilding her emotional defenses. "We need to finish packing. Cade's expecting us before dark."

Damon nodded and returned to his task, but he could feel the electric tension still humming between them. The mate bond was strengthening with every shared moment, every touch, and every vulnerable exchange.

Five minutes later, Elena surveyed her now-empty office with hollow eyes. "I think that's everything critical," she said softly.

Damon shouldered two of the heavier duffel bags without being asked. "Your fighters are already assembled outside."

Elena picked up Tyler's knife one final time before securing it in her hip holster beside her own blade. The gesture spoke of honoring memory while accepting brutal reality.

"Ready?" she asked, though Damon could see the pain it cost her to leave this place behind.

"Let's go," he replied simply.

As they walked toward the damaged warehouse's exit, Damon made a silent vow. Whatever political complications their connection might create, whatever dangers Elena faced as a hybrid rebellion leader, he would not abandon his mate.

The twenty-mile hike to Cade's rebel base stretched ahead of them through snow-covered wilderness, but Damon found himself anticipating the journey. Every step would give him more time to understand the remarkable woman fate had chosen for him.

"All right, everyone," Elena called to her assembled fighters. "Let's move out."

The trek through the snow-covered wilderness was like a trial by frost. Damon adjusted his grip on the two military-grade duffel bags, their weight insignificant compared to the burden of deception he carried.

Elena moved beside him with fluid grace despite her heavy pack, her tactical vest catching glints of the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the evergreen canopy.

She's magnificent, he thought, watching her navigate fallen logs and icy patches with the confidence of someone who'd spent years surviving in harsh conditions.

Her blonde hair caught the light as it cascaded past her shoulders and those unusual blue eyes seemed to catalog every detail of their surroundings.

The irony wasn't lost on him—here he was, the Beta of the Silvercrest pack, pretending to be a simple rebel fighter while trekking through territory with a hybrid who didn't even know her own nature.

Kieran's words echoed in his mind: This deception won't hold indefinitely.

Damon realized that two weeks of leave wouldn't be nearly enough time to sort through the complexities of their situation.

"So," Elena said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "Tell me about your childhood. Growing up in Silvercrest territory must have been different from my... unconventional upbringing."

Damon chose his words carefully, crafting truth without revealing his Beta position. "Traditional. Structured. My grandmother raised me after my parents died when I was young."

Elena's expression softened with understanding. "I'm sorry. That must have been difficult."

"She was a healer like I mentioned before," Damon continued, grateful for this thread of honesty he could offer. "Taught me about shifter genetics, pack dynamics, and traditional healing methods."

"That explains a lot. How you knew immediately about my hybrid nature." Elena paused for a moment. "My father... he kept me in our cabin miles from anyone else. I thought it was just him being cruel, and that he didn't want me to enjoy my childhood, but now..."

"Now you're realizing it was protection," Damon finished gently.