All Chapters of Fated to my Alpha nemesis : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

I blink twice. Then stare at the door for several seconds, incredulous. I half expect Damon to walk right back in. He doesn’t. The fire crackles softly behind me as rain lashes against the cabin walls. I wait. And wait. And wait. Soon, I can’t sit still anymore. I have no idea how long Damon has been outside, but it feels too long. I push myself carefully off the couch, testing my weight against my ankle. Pain flares immediately. But not nearly as badly as before. Whatever Damon used on it works disturbingly well. I grab one of the thicker blankets from the pile near the fire and wrap it tightly around myself before limping toward the door. The cold wind hits me instantly when I step outside. Almost sharp enough to cut. And wet enough to sink through fabric within seconds. The storm has weakened slightly, but the clouds overhead still churn angrily across the sky. Which is not comforting. At all. Darkness stretches between the trees in uneven shadows

His gaze drops to my throat. And every muscle in my body locks instantly. The rain suddenly feels freezing against my skin. Damon’s breathing roughens above me, chest rising sharply beneath his soaked shirt as his eyes stay fixed on the pulse fluttering frantically beneath my throat. Oh Goddess. This is bad. This is very bad. I try to pull my wrist free on instinct. His grip tightens immediately. Not painful. Just enough to stop me from moving. Then slowly— Far too slowly— He lowers his head. My breath catches violently. “Carylon,” I whisper. No response. His nose brushes lightly against the side of my throat. Like he’s breathing me in. The contact sends panic crashing through me. Rain drips steadily from his hair onto my skin as his mouth hovers dangerously close to my neck. Then I feel it. Teeth. Barely grazing my skin. My entire body goes rigid. Oh Goddess. I squeeze my eyes shut immediately, bracing for pain. For tearing flesh. For blood. For something

The cabin falls quiet again except for the storm outside. Rain lashes unevenly against the windows while I continue cleaning the cut across Damon’s back carefully. I can’t imagine being back out there in that cold again. I’d had enough freezing rain for one night, and I much preferred the company of the fire crackling in the fireplace. Any day. Any time. Gently, I drag the damp cloth along the edges of the wound. Most of his injuries had already started healing. This one hadn’t. The deeper part of the cut still looked raw and angry beneath the water and blood. “Why isn’t this healing?” I ask, dipping the cloth back into the bowl beside me. “The weapon used to make that cut was probably infused with wolfsbane.” I nod slightly before returning to my work. Damon’s shoulders remain rigid beneath my hands as I clean the wound. Not tense exactly. Braced. Like he’s waiting for it to hurt more. Like he’s still expecting punishment. Honestly, the man approaches s

“How can you even ask me that?” I say quietly, my voice shaking despite my best effort. Damon immediately notices the change in my expression. His brows pull together slightly. “What’s wrong?” I let out a short laugh that sounds nothing like amusement. “You mean to tell me you really don’t know why?” My voice comes out thinner than I want it to. Unsteady. But still, I continue. “You expect me to just forget the fact that I trusted you and you destroyed that trust?” Damon says nothing. Just watches me carefully. My chest tightens painfully. “You mean to tell me,” I continue, my voice sharper now, “that you don’t know I hold you partly responsible for my father’s execution?” Partly responsible because, deep down… More than Damon… I blame myself. For all of it. Damon stills completely at my words. Something shifts across his face. It isn’t anger. Or defensiveness. It almost looks like confusion. “Michaela,” he says slowly, carefully, “do you think I told my father wh

DAMON’S POV The world forms in fragments and pieces of thought. Like something trying to assemble itself in the wrong order. There’s ground beneath my feet. I think. Darkness presses in, thick and absolute, swallowing the space before I can decide where it is I’m standing. A door closes softly behind me. The sound echoes too long. Too clean. I turn slowly, staring at the familiar hardwood floor tugging at the edges of my memory. But I don’t remember opening this door. Strange. There is a voice somewhere at the edge of my mind. It doesn’t sound like mine. And yet it does. It insists on something I cannot hold long enough to understand. It speaks of mistakes. Mistakes made. The words repeat like they are being spoken through water. I try to focus. But the harder I reach for the voice, the more distorted it becomes. The farther away it gets. Then suddenly the darkness shifts. It doesn't seem to retreat. Just… circle. Like it is making room