Chapter 8

Damon's POV

The car door shut behind her. I watched through the tinted window as Dr. Harper led Mrs. Cross toward the forest entrance, her midnight blue gown trailing behind her like spilled ink.

The interior still held her scent. Jasmine. White musk. Something else underneath that made my wolf stir in ways it hadn't in years.

I leaned back against the leather seat and closed my eyes.

Wrong move.

The scent wrapped around me, and suddenly I wasn't in the car anymore. I was back in that hotel room, staring at a door that had just opened without warning.

Oliver had been confirming the seller's identity on his phone. I'd been standing by the window, waiting. The Vera perfume formula was worth the trip. Worth the risk of meeting an anonymous seller who'd contacted us through encrypted channels.

Then the door opened.

A woman stood in the doorway. Head down. Shoulders trembling. Her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm..."

She didn't finish. Just stood there, frozen, like she was forcing herself not to run.

I knew immediately she wasn't the seller. Wrong body language. Wrong everything.

She started unbuttoning her coat. Her fingers shook so badly she could barely work the clasps.

She didn't stop. The coat slipped off her shoulders. Underneath, a white blouse. She reached for those buttons too.

The blouse fell away. Pale skin. Delicate collarbones. And that scent hit me like a physical blow.

My wolf surged. Not with aggression. With recognition.

Mate.

No. Impossible. I didn't believe in that fairy tale bullshit. Soulmates were propaganda the old families used to justify arranged marriages and bloodline obsessions.

But my body didn't care what I believed. Every instinct screamed at me to close the distance between us. To keep her. To fuck her.

I forced myself to stay still. "You know what you're doing?"

She nodded. Once. Quick. Like she was afraid she'd lose her nerve.

That nod broke something in me.

I moved before I could think. Crossed the room in three strides. Caught her wrist. Her pulse hammered against my fingers.

Just this once. Just this once and I'll never lose control again.

The memory fractured. Pieces of it came back in flashes. Her gasp against my mouth. The way she trembled when I lifted her. Sheets tangling around us. Her fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

The sounds she made. God, the sounds.

I'd never lost control like that. Never. Not even during my first shift. I prided myself on discipline. On the iron grip I kept on every impulse, every desire.

But with her, all of that shattered.

Afterward, I'd gone straight to the shower. Stood under freezing water until my skin went numb. It didn't help. I could still smell her. Still feel her.

What the hell did I just do?

When I came out, the bed was empty. Sheets still warm. Her scent lingering in the air like a ghost.

She was gone.

I walked to the bed. Touched the pillow where her head had been. My fingers came away damp.

She'd cried.

The realization hit me harder than it should have. I didn't even know her name. Didn't know why she'd come to that room. Didn't know if she'd meant to find me or someone else.

All I knew was that I'd taken something from her. And she'd left before I could figure out what.

Oliver had been thorough with his investigation afterward. Too thorough.

"The room was booked under Alexander Cross's name," he'd reported, standing in my office three days later. "But hotel records show he never checked in. Went straight to the presidential suite instead."

"And the woman?"

"No registration. No key card usage. Security footage shows her entering the floor at nine forty-seven PM and leaving at eleven thirty-two PM. Face partially obscured. We can't get a clear ID."

I'd stared at the grainy screenshot. Dark hair. Slender frame. Nothing distinctive enough to trace.

"The seller never showed," Oliver continued. "Likely got cold feet. The whole thing was probably a setup from the start."

"Probably."

Oliver had hesitated. "Do you want me to pursue this further? Find the woman?"

I should have said yes. Should have tracked her down and demanded answers. Found out why she'd come to that room. Why she'd looked at me with those terrified, desperate eyes and nodded anyway.

But I didn't.

"No." The word came out flat. Final. "She's not connected to the seller. Let it go."

Because what would I have said if I found her? Sorry I lost control? Sorry I couldn't stop myself? Sorry I still dream about you and wake up hard and furious?

Better to let her disappear. Better to pretend it never happened.

Except I couldn't forget. The scent memory was too strong. Burned into my brain like a brand.

And now, sitting in this car, breathing in jasmine and white musk, every buried memory came roaring back.

My phone vibrated. I opened my eyes and answered without looking at the screen.

"Speak."

"Alpha." The estate manager's voice was tight with panic. "Miss Amelia. She's having another episode. The medical team can't control her. She's—"

A scream cut through the line. High and raw and animal. Glass shattered in the background.

My chest tightened. "Sedate her."

"We've tried. She's fighting it. Alpha, she's hurting herself again—"

"Then restrain her." I kept my voice level. Cold. Even though every word felt like swallowing glass. "Do whatever it takes. I'll be back within hours."

I ended the call.

Oliver glanced at me through the rearview mirror. Waiting.

"Proceed as planned," I said. "We're attending the Hunt."

If I don't find Vera, my sister's wolf will never heal.

The memory came unbidden. Fifteen years old. Zip ties cutting into my wrists. Smoke filling my lungs. Amelia screaming as the warehouse burned around us.

We'd gotten out. Barely. But something in her wolf had broken that night. Shattered beyond repair.

Every full moon, she lost control. Shifted without meaning to. Attacked anyone who came near. Hurt herself when there was no one else to hurt.

The doctors called it trauma-induced dysregulation. Said her wolf spirit had fractured under the stress. That it might never fully heal.

But there was one thing that helped. One thing that could calm her when nothing else worked.

Vera's perfume.

I'd found the first bottle by accident. A gift from a business associate who'd somehow acquired one of her limited releases. I'd brought it home, and Amelia had stopped mid-attack the moment she smelled it.

For three hours, she'd been calm. Lucid. Herself.

So I'd tried to buy more. Tried to contact Vera directly. Offered any price she named.

But Vera had vanished. No new releases. No public appearances. Every lead went cold.

Until the last one. A whisper in the underground market that the Cross family had connections to her.

It wasn't much. But it was all I had.

I looked toward the forest. Somewhere in there, the Hunt was beginning. Every major Pack would be present. Including the Cross family.

Including Mrs. Cross, with her jasmine and white musk scent that shouldn't exist outside my memories.

"We're going in," I said.

Oliver put the car in gear.

The forest swallowed us whole.