Chapter 221 Rescued by Ronan
Damian’s POV
When I woke, the ceiling above me was cedar, the air was thick with the scent of a healthy pack, and Ronan Vale was sitting backwards on a chair beside my bed, grinning like I’d dropped in for dinner.
"You know," he said, "most people just call ahead."
Ronan. Whose pack lands sat two hundred miles from where I’d gone into the water. I’d crossed half a country on broken ribs.
The moment I could hold a thought straight, I asked for a phone. "I need to reach Rick. My Beta. And Vanessa, the crew—they think I’m dead—"
"That’s exactly the problem." Ronan’s grin vanished. "Someone rigged a crane, planted a kid, and sent rogue hit squads sweeping the coast within a day of your fall. That takes money, planning, and ears inside your circle. Every phone around you has to be considered burned—Rick’s, your office, all of it. You call in, whoever wants you dead knows you’re alive within the hour."
My hands curled into fists on the blanket. "So I sit here. Dead."
"There’s one line they wouldn’t dare tap," Ronan said, watching me carefully. "One person they’d never expect a dead man to reach for through a stranger."
Aria.
Her number wasn’t in any pack directory. Her life barely touched mine on paper—we’d made sure of that, to keep her safe. The one thread they couldn’t see.
"Contact her," I said hoarsely. "Get her here. Whatever it takes."
Ronan raised an eyebrow. "And if she doesn’t trust a strange wolf crawling out of the dark?"
I looked down at my hand—at the pale band of skin where my ring had sat since the day she put it there.
Then I worked it off my finger, every millimeter feeling like tearing off a piece of myself, and dropped it into his palm.
"She’ll trust this."
---
That had been yesterday.
Ronan had left to make contact. And I’d been stuck here ever since, pacing the room like a caged animal. Wondering if she’d believe him. Wondering if she’d come.
*She’ll come,* my wolf said again, reading my thoughts. *She loves you. She’ll come.*
"And if she doesn’t?"
Silence.
Then, quietly: "Then we go to her. Injuries be damned. We drag ourselves back to New York and we make her listen."
Despite everything, I felt my mouth twitch. Almost a smile.
"Dramatic."
"Learned from the best."
I sank back against the headboard, eyes fixed on the door. Waiting.
*Please, Aria. Please come.*
---
Aria’s POV
The helicopter blades slowed to a stop, and my hands were still trembling.
We’d landed at a small private airstrip thirty minutes ago—transferred from Ronan’s helicopter to his jet without so much as a pause to catch our breath.
The entire flight had been a blur of adrenaline and fear, my mind racing faster than the aircraft carrying me toward him.
Toward Damian.
*He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.*
I’d been repeating it like a mantra since the moment Ronan had shown me that ring.
But some traitorous part of my brain still couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t accept it as real until I saw him with my own eyes. Touched him with my own hands.
"Miss Smith." Ronan’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "We’re here."
I looked up. The jet had taxied to a stop in front of a sprawling estate that looked more like a fortress than a home. Stone walls. Iron gates.
Guards posted at every entrance—wolves, all of them, their eyes tracking our movement with that unsettling intensity I’d grown used to around pack members.
This was Ronan’s territory. His pack’s stronghold.
And somewhere inside, Damian was waiting.
My seatbelt was off before I even registered the movement. I was on my feet, heading for the exit, my entire body vibrating with the need to *move*. To get to him. To confirm he was real and whole and—
"Easy." Ronan caught my elbow gently. "He’s not going anywhere."
"I need to see him." The words came out sharp. Desperate.
"I know." His green eyes were surprisingly kind. "Come on. I’ll take you to him."
The walk through the estate felt like it took hours. Every hallway looked the same. Every turn seemed to lead deeper into the maze of corridors and closed doors. Pack members nodded at Ronan as we passed—some curious, some wary, all of them giving me looks that made my skin prickle.
I was human. An outsider. And judging by the way they watched me, they knew exactly who I was.
The Alpha King’s human mate.
My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. My palms were slick with sweat. I couldn’t breathe properly—every inhale felt too shallow, too thin.
*What if he’s worse than Ronan said? What if—*
Ronan stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. Plain wood. Brass handle. Nothing special about it except it was the only thing standing between me and Damian.
"He’s been waiting for you," Ronan said quietly. Then he stepped aside.
I didn’t knock. Didn’t hesitate. Just turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The room was small. Sunlight streamed through a single window. There was a bed, a chair, a small dresser.
And Damian.
He was sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, bandages wrapped around his ribs and left shoulder. The white gauze stood out starkly against his tanned skin, and I could see the edges of bruising spreading beyond the wrappings—deep purple and sickly yellow.
His face was bruised too. A cut above his eyebrow had been stitched closed, the black thread stark against his skin.
But his eyes—those gray eyes that had haunted my dreams for the past three days—locked onto mine the second I stepped through the door.
And suddenly, I couldn’t hold it together anymore.
"Damian." His name broke on my lips like a sob.
I crossed the room in three strides. My hands reached for him before my brain could catch up, needing to touch him, needing to *feel* that he was real and warm and breathing.
"Aria—"
I crashed into him. Carefully—some distant part of my mind remembered the injuries—but hard enough that my forehead pressed against his uninjured shoulder and my hands fisted in the blanket covering his lap.
And then the tears came.
Hot. Uncontrollable. Ripping through me like a dam breaking.
"Thank God. Thank God you’re okay. Thank God—" The words tumbled out between sobs, broken and raw. "I thought you were *dead*. I thought I’d lost you. I thought—"
"Hey. Hey." His arms came around me immediately, strong and solid despite the bandages. One hand cupped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair.
"I’m here. I’m right here, sweetheart."
"They said you fell. They said the Adriatic—" I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t force the words past the lump in my throat that felt like it was choking me.
"I know. I know what they said." His voice was rough, strained, but somehow still the most comforting sound in the world. "But I’m okay. I’m here."