Delih sat on the hospital bed, watching Damian cradle her son with an unreadable expression. Her mind whirled as she tried to piece together why he was convinced the child was his.

  Why would he think that?

  The nurse had clearly stated that Lyra was a werewolf—just like him. Shouldn’t he have noticed the difference?

  Delih frowned and sighed, pushing the thoughts aside.

  Come now, Delih… you need to keep him safe until you find Lyra.

  She turned her gaze back to Damian, only to see something rare—a genuine smile pying on his lips as he gazed down at the baby in his arms.

  Something about it made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

  Scoffing, she crossed her arms. “Let my child go and leave, Damian. I won’t be marrying you.”

  His expression instantly hardened.

  Carefully, he pced the child back in the bassinet, his movements slow and deliberate. Then, without warning, he stalked toward her. Before she could react, his hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer.

  “Delih Sincir,” he murmured darkly, his tone ced with something she couldn’t quite pce. “I thought you whored yourself out to another man. Dare I say you hate me that much?”

  She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Our marriage was decided by the elders, Damian. You were never my first choice.”

  A tense silence stretched between them.

  Damian studied her, his golden eyes sharp and piercing. Then, just as she was about to push him away, he stepped forward, positioning himself between her legs. His hold on her tightened, making her pulse spike.

  “Should we try for another child so soon?” he murmured.

  Delih’s eyes widened in arm. “No!”

  Damian chuckled, his ugh deep and rich as he cupped her face.

  “You’ll move in with me in a few days,” he decred smoothly, brushing his thumb over her cheek before stepping back.

  Delih swallowed hard, heart pounding.

  This was spiraling out of control.

  Damien leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

  Delih shut her eyes tight, every fiber in her body screaming that this felt wrong. But what choice did she have? Her child’s safety was all that mattered now.

  ‘If only I knew how to find Lyra…’

  Damien knew people… lots of people. If she pyed her cards right, maybe she could use that to her advantage. But would finding Lyra be enough to get her out of here? To run? To disappear forever?

  ‘Once I move in with Damien… there’s no going back.’

  A chill passed through her.

  Wait… the nurse. She said Lyra was a werewolf. Just like her.

  Delih’s breath caught. Her gaze lifted to Damien’s face.

  ‘Does that mean Damien is a werewolf too?’

  Her hands trembled as she pushed gently against his chest, breaking the kiss.

  Damien’s golden eyes met hers, filled with a satisfaction that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

  She searched his face, his eyes, his jawline, even his hair for something, anything, that would confirm it. But there was nothing. No glowing mark. No shift in his features.

  Only that wolf-like intensity in his gaze.

  Damien smiled as if he could read her thoughts. “What are we naming him?” he asked softly. “Or… shall I name him for us?”

  Delih’s heart sank. For a moment, she didn’t say a word. Then, swallowing her pride, her hope, and a scream that threatened to rise, she met his eyes with a hollow look.

  “As long as his name starts with an L,” she murmured, voice dull, “it doesn’t matter.”

  Damien smiled again. And that smile, though charming to anyone else, made her skin crawl.

  She looked at the bassinet. ‘Hold on, Lyra,’ she thought, ‘please… just hold on.’

  The car pulled through towering iron gates, winding up a cobbled path toward the grand Bckwood Estate. The manour rose like a dark castle out of the mist, draped in ivy and shadows, its windows glowing with a warm light that felt more ominous than inviting.

  Delih stepped out onto the stone steps, her child nestled in her arms. As the grand oak doors creaked open, the scent of polished wood, aged leather, and something faintly earthy like pine and fur rushed out to meet her.

  She was immediately swallowed by it.

  The foyer was vast, with arched ceilings, gold-brushed chandeliers, and a twin staircase that curled toward the upper floors like marble serpents. Servants lined both sides of the hall, dressed in dark uniforms with silver buttons, their heads bowed in unison as she crossed the threshold.

  Damien stood beside her, tall and proud, his hand resting possessively at the small of her back. “All of this belongs to you now, Mrs. Bckwood,” he announced, his voice echoing through the hall like a procmation of fate.

  Delih’s stomach twisted. The title hit her like a colr snapping shut.

  She offered no smile, only a nod. “I’m tired,” she said, her voice quiet. “I just want to sleep.”

  Damien nodded and led her through the long halls, their footsteps muffled by thick rugs and silence.

  When he opened the door to the master bedroom, Delih blinked in surprise.

  It was… beautiful. Frighteningly so.

  The room had clearly been redecorated for her. Pale velvet drapes hung beside tall windows, filtering in soft moonlight. The bed was massive, covered in plush linens and embroidered pillows in dusky rose and cream. A vanity sat in the corner, its gold trim glinting in the mplight.

  But her gaze shifted to the right, where a portion of the room had been gently sectioned off for the child.

  A hand-carved wooden cradle sat beside a rocking chair, fnked by shelves of toys and bnkets. Above it, in silver script, was a name carved into a pque:

  “Lukan.”

  Strong. Resilient. A name that meant “born of the light” in an ancient wolf tongue.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Damien gently brushed her arm. “Lukan Bckwood,” he said with pride, walking over to pce a kiss on the baby’s head. “He’ll grow strong. Like his father.”

  Delih didn’t respond. She simply walked over to the bed, id Lukan in the cradle, and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

  She could feel Damien’s eyes on her.

  She was in the wolf’s den now wrapped in silk and silver, but no less trapped.

  *

  The crackle of the fire cast long, dancing shadows across the stone walls. The room smelled of burning cedar, old parchment, and something distinctly wolfish dominance, heavy and suffocating.

  Damien sat in a high-backed leather chair, Lukan swaddled in his arms. The infant was asleep, tiny fingers curled loosely near his chin. Damien’s gaze never left the boy’s face, his expression unreadable and softened by something close to tenderness, but carved with steel beneath.

  The door creaked open, and his beta, Victor, stepped inside. Victor was one of the few men who could meet Damien’s gaze without flinching.

  “My Alpha,” Victor said, bowing his head slightly. “You called for me?”

  Damien nodded once. “Close the door.”

  Victor obeyed without hesitation. Silence settled in thick yers.

  “She doesn’t want visitors from the Sincir family,” Damien said after a beat, still watching Lukan sleep. “No letters, no calls, no appearances.”

  Victor’s brow creased. “May I ask why?”

  Damien’s jaw twitched. “She’s exhausted. Emotionally and physically. Her recovery is slow. I don’t want them upsetting her further.”

  Victor stepped closer. “You mean you don’t want them upsetting your cim.”

  Damien’s golden eyes snapped up, glowing faintly in the firelight. The heat in his stare was a warning. But Victor held his ground his loyalty meant telling the truth, even when it drew blood.

  “She’s my mate,” Damien said coldly. “Whether she accepts the mark or not. She is the mother of my heir. That makes her ours.”

  The fire hissed, licking up the chimney.

  Victor exhaled slowly, folding his arms. “The Crimson Hollow Pack sent another message. They’re ciming we’ve been hiding hostages from the st border skirmish. They’re threatening retaliation if we don’t return them.”

  Damien’s fingers curled tighter around Lukan’s bnket.

  “Do they have proof?” he asked.

  “No. But they’re getting bold. If they even suspect the child exists, they’ll see him as leverage. Especially if they think his blood ties to the Sincir name and the Bckwood line give him power.”

  Damien stood slowly, towering in the firelight, the baby cradled close to his chest. “Let them come,” he said darkly. “Let them try.”

  Victor looked grim. “Damien... If you announce Lukan’s birth to the packs, it confirms your strength. But it also puts a target on his back and hers. The Hollow Pack doesn’t follow honour. They’ll tear her apart to get to him.”

  “I know that,” Damien snapped, his canines threatening to break through. “But hiding Lukan is weakness. And I will not have the Bckwood name whispered like a secret. My son will be known. Respected. Feared.”

  The baby stirred in his arms, and Damien calmed, brushing a thumb gently over Lukan’s brow.

  “He is the future. And I’ll burn the world before I let anyone take him.”

  Victor inclined his head. “Then I’ll increase the guard. And I’ll handle the Hollow Pack... personally.”

  “Do it quietly,” Damien murmured. “And find out if any rogue packs have heard whispers of a Sincir heir. I want to know who talks. And who bleeds.”

  Victor nodded once. “Yes, Alpha.” Then paused at the door. “And... the mother? Should I keep an eye on her too?”

  Damien’s eyes darkened. “Always.”