Aysel's POV Damon stood before me, his scent sharp with rain and regret. I gave a small laugh, one that tasted like blood and moonlight. "The Damon I knew," I said quietly, "never asked whether I misunderstood anything. He simply stood by me, without reason." My eyes flicked toward the small cake in his hand, its sweet scent clashing with the storm outside. "You came because you were worried about me?" He nodded quickly, as though my tone carried a fragile hope he didn't dare crush. "Tonight... I thought you might be sad. And-it's your birthday." I didn't take the cake. Instead, my gaze dropped to the faint glint of his watch. "The Moonvale graves are always visited at the same hour-you know that. But from the Blackwood den to the graveyard and back here shouldn't take this long. Where did you go before coming here?" He opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. My voice stayed even, though the beast beneath my skin stirred. "The last two years, you were always with Celestine on this day. There's no reason she'd stay away now. We already clashed at the graveyard, didn't we? So you went to Moonvale again?" He flinched. The scent of guilt was unmistakable. "Damon Blackwood," I said, lowering my voice, my tone like the edge of a claw, "your promises are nothing but air. Even when you whisper apologies, your feet are already walking back to her." My words burned through the space between us. "I will never coexist with Celestine Ward. If she stands beside you, then you must choose. But hear me clearly-whatever you choose, there will be no going back." Our severance had already begun the moment he turned his back. "Aysel," he said, his voice cracking, his hand catching my wrist. "I'm sorry. Please-at least let me stay and eat the cake with you. Just this once." He still thought he could mend what instinct had already torn apart. "No." I jerked free. The motion sent the cake tumbling. Sweet cream splattered across the stone floor-our last tenderness shattered like sugar underfoot. "I don't need it anymore."Then, from inside the den, a low male voice called lazily, "Aysel Vale, come blow the candles." Damon froze. I saw recognition flash in his eyes-he knew that voice. It belonged to the one who'd once answered my communicator, the one he thought I'd used merely to provoke him. But if my resolve had already been set, if I'd already chosen another's presence over his shadow, then the man inside... I watched his jaw clench. Fury, jealousy, and the raw scent of dominance spiked in the air. The voice had been casual, but to an Alpha like Damon, it was a declaration-a warning to stay away from what no longer belonged to him. Just as I reached for the door to close it, his hand shot out, blocking it. Pain split the air-a sharp thud, the scent of blood. He'd caught his hand in the frame, but didn't flinch. His eyes burned crimson. "Who's inside? Why is he here?" "It's none of your concern." I frowned, trying to shut the door again. But he shoved it open, fury cracking his restraint. It was the posture of a male catching his rival at his Luna's den. We'd known each other since childhood; he could smell truth from a heartbeat away. The voice inside wasn't one he recognized. That only made it worse. To rise so swiftly from stranger to the one sharing my table-he could only assume the man sought something more than comfort. The den wasn't large. One glance, and everything lay exposed. His gaze found the dining table first-the bowl of broth still steaming, the dishes set for two, and the birthday cake glowing with small flickering candles. That fragile flame hurt him more than fire ever could. Now he understood why I said I didn't need his cake. Because he was too late. His eyes turned to the one who had prepared all this. Magnus-tall, dangerous, with the aura of an Alpha forged in iron. Sharp-boned, calm-eyed, his shadow thick with the power of the Shadowbane Pack. Under the candlelight, his features were cut from the night itself-strong brow, straight nose, and a jaw that spoke of battles survived.