Chapter 222 I think I’ve got something
Damian’s POV
I pulled back just enough to look at him. Really look at him. The bruises. The cuts. The way he held himself too carefully, like every breath hurt.
"You’re not okay," I whispered, my voice cracking. "You’re hurt. You’re—"
"Healing." He cupped my face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears still streaming down my cheeks. "I’m healing, Aria. I promise. Wolves heal fast, remember?"
"You could have died."
"But I didn’t."
"You *could have*." My hands came up to grip his wrists, holding him to me like he might disappear if I let go.
"If you hadn’t washed up where you did. If those rogues had found you earlier. If—"
"Aria." He leaned forward, ignoring the wince of pain the movement caused, and pressed his forehead to mine.
His breath was warm against my lips, his scent—cedar and something uniquely *him*—wrapping around me like a protective blanket.
"I didn’t. I’m here. And nothing—*nothing*—is going to take me away from you again. Do you hear me?"
I nodded. Or tried to. It was hard to do anything except breathe him in, feel the warmth of his skin against mine, let the reality of him sink into my bones.
He was alive. He was here. He was *real*.
We stayed like that for a long moment. His hands on my face. My fingers clutching his wrists.
The rest of the world falling away until it was just us, just this tiny room and the sound of our breathing.
Finally—reluctantly—I pulled back far enough to really look at him again.
"You scared the hell out of me," I whispered.
"I know. I’m sorry."
"Don’t do it again."
"I’ll do my best." His mouth curved into something that was almost a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Then the smile faded entirely.
"Thank you for coming. I know Ronan showing up out of nowhere must have been—"
"He showed me your ring." I swallowed hard, remembering the moment Ronan had pulled that silver band from his pocket. The way my world had tilted on its axis. "He said you needed me."
Something flickered in his eyes. Relief. Gratitude. Something deeper that made my chest tighten.
"I did. I do." His thumb traced the line of my jaw, gentle and reverent. "I couldn’t risk contacting Rick or my father directly. Whoever’s behind this—they’re watching every line of communication I have. Every phone. Every email. Every person in my inner circle. But you..." He trailed off.
"I’m not pack," I finished quietly. "I’m not on anyone’s radar."
"Exactly." His jaw tightened. "You’re the one person they wouldn’t think to monitor."
The weight of that settled over me. The fact that I was useful precisely *because* I was human. Because I existed outside the complex web of pack politics and wolf hierarchies.
For once, being an outsider was an advantage.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out his ring. The silver band caught the light, gleaming softly.
"You left this behind," I said softly.
"I had to. It was the only way to make sure you’d believe Ronan."
I turned the ring over in my palm, feeling the weight of it. Then I reached for his hand.
"Give me your finger."
He extended his left hand without hesitation, and I slid the ring back onto his fourth finger where it belonged.
"Don’t take it off again," I whispered, my throat tight. "Not for anyone. Not for anything. Because if you do..." I met his eyes. "I won’t put it back on. Do you understand me?"
His gaze softened, and something raw and vulnerable flickered across his face. He lifted my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, then to my palm, then to the inside of my wrist where my pulse was still racing.
"I understand," he murmured against my skin. "I promise."
Then he pulled me close again and kissed me properly. Slow and deep and thorough, like he was trying to memorize the taste of me.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle him. My hands found his again, fingers lacing together like they’d been designed to fit that way.
"Do you have any idea who did this?" I asked, forcing my brain back into problem-solving mode. "Any leads at all?"
His expression darkened. "No. Not yet."
"But you must have *something*. Some clue, some—"
"The trip was public knowledge, Aria." His voice was tight with frustration. "Half the packs on the East Coast knew I’d be in Croatia for the infrastructure meetings. The site visit was on the official schedule. Anyone could have known where I’d be and when."
"What about the rogues? The ones who tried to kill you after—"
"Ronan’s been looking into them." Damian’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the bruising. "But so far, nothing. No pack affiliations. No traceable connections. It’s like they appeared out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly."
I frowned, turning over the information in my mind. Public schedule. Random rogues. A carefully orchestrated accident that looked natural enough to fool investigators.
This wasn’t opportunistic. This was *planned*.
"What about the site itself?" I pressed. "The crane that fell—was it sabotage?"
"Probably. But by the time the authorities got there to investigate, any evidence would have been destroyed or hidden."
He exhaled slowly, and I could see the exhaustion creeping into his features.
"And I couldn’t exactly stick around to investigate myself. Not with a pack of rogues hunting me through the forest."
"So we have nothing."
"We have nothing."
The words settled between us like stones. Heavy. Discouraging.
But I refused to let them crush me. Refused to let whoever did this win.
"Then we need to create something," I said quietly. "Think, Damian. Go back through everything. The site. The fall. The fight with the rogues. There has to be *something* you remember. Some detail that didn’t seem important at the time but—"
"Aria—"
"Please." I squeezed his hands, leaning forward. "Just try. For me. I know you’re exhausted and hurting, but this might be our only chance to figure out who’s behind this before they try again."
He was quiet for a long moment, his gray eyes searching mine. Then he closed his eyes, and I watched his expression shift. Concentration replacing frustration. Memory replacing present.
"Wait..." Damian murmured, eyes still closed, brow tightening as if grasping at something just out of reach. "I think I’ve got something."
"What is it?"