“You’re not— you’re not even gonna argue with him?” Damjan didn’t answer until we were both in the car, doors shut, the lot empty except for a row of staff vehicles and a dog working its way along the kerb outside.
He didn’t put the key in the ignition.
Training had started without us 10 minutes ago, and in 5 days of us training together, I’d never once seen him let that happen.
My whole body still ached from the night before, bone-deep, nowhere close to gone despite hours of sleep I didn’t actually get.
He just sat there, both hands flat on his knees, staring through the windscreen like that dog was the most interesting thing he’d seen all week.
“There’s nothing— there’s nothing to argue,” he said.
“He’s right.
Moving first is safer than waiting for Gregor to move for us.” “That’s not— that’s not what I asked.
I asked if you even want to do this, or if you’re just doing whatever Henrik tells you to, same as you’ve apparently been doing for 14 years.” “It doesn’t matter what I want.” “It matters to me.” “Since when?” Damjan said.
“Since always, actually.
I just didn’t think I’d have to say it out loud.” “I’m scared too, you know,” I said, when he didn’t answer that either.
“Not of you.
Of all of it.
The Council, the pack, my mum finding out from somebody else before I’ve even told her.
The whole world deciding who I am before I’ve figured it out myself.
I don’t get a vote in any of that.
Least you could do is tell me if I’m walking into it with you or without you.” “You’re not walking into anything without me.” “Then include me in it.
Stop managing me.” “Do you— do you want this?” Damjan said, instead of answering.
“Truly.
Not because Henrik is forcing it.
Not because your body already decided once, without asking either of us.
If none of that existed, would you still choose me?” The question hit harder than I expected.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I would.” “Then that is one of us who knows.” That hit low in my chest, sharp enough that I looked away from him, out my own window, at nothing in particular.
He didn’t say anything else after that.
His thumb dragged slowly against the steering wheel instead, back and forth, the leather creaking faintly under the pressure, hands needing a place to be that wasn’t on me.
“You don’t— you don’t have to marry me Saturday to protect me,” I said.
“There’s other ways.
We could wait.
Tell Henrik no.” “There is— there is no version of no that doesn’t end with Gregor finding out anyway, and us coming across as having had something to hide when he does.” “So that’s it, then?
We just do what he says because it’s easier than figuring out what we actually want?” “It is not about easier.” “Then— then what’s it about?
‘Cause from where I’m sitting, you’d rather marry me in front of 300 strangers than spend 10 minutes telling me the truth.” “Say something.
Anything.
I don’t care if it’s the wrong thing, I just need you to actually—” “I am trying to protect you.” “From what?
From people knowing?
Damjan, they already know.
The whole pack already knows.
The only person who doesn’t seem to know is you, apparently, ’cause you’re sitting here acting like agreeing to marry me in front of an audience is some kind of tactical retreat instead of just…
saying it.
That you want this.
Or that you don’t.” Damjan’s hands went still on the wheel, stiller than they’d been a second ago.
“You— you want the truth?” His voice dropped low enough that I almost missed it under the engine still ticking as it cooled, and honestly, I almost missed it.
“Yeah.
I do.” “The truth is I’ve— I’ve spent 14 years making sure I never lose control around anyone, not once, because the last time I did, I was 11 years old, and these are what happened after.” He didn’t gesture at his ribs, not that he needed to.
I’d seen those scars already, that morning in the safe room, 4 parallel lines gone white with age.
I hadn’t asked.
I knew not to.
Looking at his hands now, steady on the wheel even after everything he’d just told me, I understood why.
“What happened?” I said, quiet.
“After.
To you, I mean, not just where they came from.” “That is a different conversation.
One I am not having in a car park.” “Okay.
Fair enough.” “You want me to— to stand in front of 300 wolves and let them watch me claim you in public, where everyone can see exactly how much control it takes for me not to become him.
I don’t know if I have that much control left, Nico.
I don’t.” “That’s not—” I started, except I didn’t actually know how to finish that sentence, not with anything that wouldn’t make his fear sound smaller than it was, when it mattered more than I think he understood.
“You’re not him.
You’ve never once made me afraid you’d hurt me.” “You don’t know that yet.
Neither do I.” “That’s not fair,” I said.
“You don’t get to just—” I stopped, because what was I even asking for, a promise neither of us could actually make.
“Just talk to me.
Please.” He didn’t answer, and the engine caught on the 2nd turn of the key as he pulled out of the lot without another word, eyes locked on the road same as they’d been before he said any of it.
We drove in silence for almost a full minute, the training ground gates passing on the left, and I spent every second of it trying to work out whether the conversation was actually over, or whether he just needed time to get there.
I reached for his hand on the gearstick.
He moved it to change gear before I could touch it.