Chapter 70: Whispers of the Past

The days of travel north were weighed with an eerie stillness.

Isla rode beside Damian, her fingers curled tightly around the reins, her mind lost in the heavy silence between them. The wind carried the scent of damp earth and old magic, a warning wrapped in the chill of the air.

Vincent was waiting and so was the past.

The First Bloodline.

Those golden eyes had haunted Isla’s vision since the first time she had glimpsed them, and now, they were more than just a dream. They were a call, one that pulled her toward something she didn’t understand, something that had been buried long before she was born.

Damian’s voice cut through her thoughts. “We should stop for the night.”

She blinked, glancing at the sky. The sun had begun its descent, spilling fire across the horizon. Around them, warriors were already dismounting, setting up a temporary camp.

Isla sighed. “Another night of waiting.”

Damian reached for her, his fingers brushing against hers in silent reassurance. “We’ll get our answers soon.”

But she wasn’t sure she was ready for them.

The flames crackled low, shadows dancing across the stone walls of the old outpost they had chosen for shelter. Isla sat near the fire, sharpening a blade she barely noticed in her hands. Across from her, Alaine and Leo spoke in hushed voices while Magnus argued with Cassian over their next strategy. Brienne was near the edge of the camp, watching the trees, lost in her own thoughts.

Then, a familiar presence settled beside her.

Damian.

He said nothing at first, just watching her as she worked. But she felt his gaze like a tangible weight, sinking deep into her skin.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re different.”

Isla swallowed. “You’ve said that before.”

“This time, I don’t think even you can deny it.” His voice was low, quiet.

She didn’t look at him, afraid of what he might see in her face. Instead, she let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

A pause. Then, so soft she almost missed it, he murmured, “I do.”

Her heart pounded. “What do you mean?”

Damian leaned in, his scent wrapping around her, intoxicating and familiar. “I think you were always meant to be more than you thought you were.”

Isla turned to face him. The firelight flickered in his silver eyes, casting them in liquid shadow. Her breath caught at the raw intensity in his gaze.

“I don’t want to be more,” she admitted. “I just want to be…”

His fingers found her chin, tilting her face toward his. “Mine,” he finished.

She shuddered, her pulse hammering. Damian’s thumb traced along her jaw, his touch achingly gentle despite the tension that coiled between them. “You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured.

The pull. The hunger. The way her body yearned for him even when her mind spun in uncertainty.

“Yes,” she whispered.

That was all it took. In a blur of movement, Damian had her pinned against the rough stone wall of the outpost, his body pressing into hers with unmistakable intent.

“I’ve been patient,” he rasped against her throat. “But every time I look at you, I want to mark you all over again.”

Heat flooded through her. “Then stop holding back.”

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Careful what you ask for, little wolf.”

Then his mouth was on her. Not gentle. Not patient. Just hunger. His lips crushed against hers, demanding, consuming. Isla melted into the kiss, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pressed her harder against the cold stone. His hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips, pulling her against him in a way that made her breath hitch.

Then, with agonizing slowness, he began his descent. His lips trailed down her throat, his teeth grazing against her skin. A gasp escaped her as he dropped lower, his hands pushing aside the fabric that kept him from her.

“Damian…”

“Let me worship you,” he growled against her stomach, his voice rough with need.