Damon

Five years.

I stood at my office window, watching rain streak down the glass. Five years since I'd signed those papers. Five years since I'd watched the guards drag Evelyn away.

The mansion felt different without her. Quieter. The colors somehow duller, though nothing had actually changed. We still had the same furniture, the same artwork. I hadn't let the staff redecorate, though Susan had tried a few times.

Susan. Another complication I didn't want to think about right now.

A crash from down the hall pulled me from my thoughts. Then small, quick footsteps running toward my office.

"Daddy!"

The door burst open and Ava tumbled in, her dark hair escaping from what had probably been a neat braid that morning. One of her socks had slipped down around her ankle, and there was a smudge of what looked like chocolate on her cheek.

Five years old today. Hard to believe.

"Dad, it's my birthday!" She launched herself at me, latching onto my leg. "Everyone in the mansion gave me a present except you!"

I felt the familiar twinge of irritation at "Dad." I'd never encouraged her to call me that. Had actually told her not to, more times than I could count. But she persisted, as stubborn as her mother.

Her mother. I pushed the thought away.

"Ava." I kept my voice calm but firm as I gently detached her arms from my leg. "How many times have I told you not to call me that? I'm not your fa—"

I stopped. Her bottom lip was already trembling, her golden-brown eyes filling with tears. Eyes that looked too familiar.

"Daddy!" Her voice rose with that particular pitch that children discover when they know they're about to be denied something. "You're the only parent I know!"

She grabbed fistfuls of my shirt, holding on as if I might vanish if she let go. I set her down beside me, more firmly this time. She crumpled to the floor immediately, tears spilling over.

The staff hovering in the hallway exchanged looks. I could read their thoughts plain enough: Poor little girl, with a father who won't even acknowledge her.

"Goddamn it," I muttered, too low for her to hear.

Five years of this dance. Five years of seeing Evelyn's features in her face—the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the stubborn set of her jaw. And always that nagging doubt in the back of my mind, the one I refused to acknowledge. The one that whispered: What if she really is yours?

I knelt down beside her, sighing. "Happy birthday, Ava." I kept my voice steady. "Now that you're five, aren't you getting too old for these tears?"

She hiccupped, still crying but watching me through wet lashes.

I don't know what made me do it. Maybe her birthday. Maybe the way she looked at me with those damn eyes. I unclasped my watch—silver with a moonstone face, a Hilton family heirloom meant to be passed to the next Alpha—and fastened it around her tiny wrist.

It hung there, comically large, nearly slipping off when she moved her arm. But you would have thought I'd given her the moon itself from the way her face lit up.

She stopped crying instantly, running her fingers over the watch face in wonder.

I looked at her—really looked at her. At those eyes the exact shade of Evelyn's, at the stubborn little chin that jutted out when she was upset. At the hair that never stayed in place no matter how the nannies tried to tame it. Just like her mother's.

The house had grown cold since Evelyn left. Even on the hottest summer days, there was a chill that never quite disappeared. I'd gotten used to it, that emptiness.

But I missed her. God help me, I did. Especially since finding out that she wasn't the one who betrayed us to the rogues. A confession from the true culprit three years too late, long after Evelyn was gone.

I looked back at Ava, at the watch sliding around her wrist. I still didn't believe she was mine. The timing, the photos—they all said otherwise. But I couldn't hate her, either. Not really. Not when she had so much of Evelyn in her.

"Daddy, you said Mommy would be here for my fifth birthday." Her voice was small, hopeful.

The guilt hit me like an actual punch to the gut. I'd been telling her that story for years now—that her mother traveled a lot, that she came by when Ava was sleeping, that she left the presents I claimed were from her.

Easier than the truth. Easier than explaining why her mother wasn't here, why she'd never seen her, why Evelyn had left without saying goodbye. Left without her.

"I'm sorry, Ava." I watched her hope crumble. "Your mom... she can't make it today."

Her lower lip trembled again. "Mom doesn't want me because she doesn't love me, right?"

Before I could answer, she backed away, stumbling over her own feet. Her elbow caught the edge of a small table, knocking over the cake one of the staff had brought in. Frosting and cake smeared across the floor as she turned and ran from the room, the watch bouncing against her arm.

* * *

I stayed kneeling there, staring at the mess, feeling something uncomfortably like shame settle in my chest.

"You should tell her the truth, Damon."

I looked up to see Cole leaning against the doorframe. My Beta had a knack for showing up at my least proud moments.

"If you let her discover it herself, she's going to hate you," he continued. "I can assure you of that."

I stood, brushing imaginary dust from my knees. "I know," I admitted. "But how do you tell a five-year-old that her mother was banished? That I'm the one who sent her away?"

Cole shrugged. "You figure it out. Better from you than from someone else." He stepped into the room, lowering his voice. "The rogues hit the southern border again last night. Three injured, no deaths this time."

"Increase patrols along the ridge line," I said, grateful for the change of subject. "And send extra guards to the western entrance. If they're testing our southern defenses, it might be a distraction."

Cole nodded, then hesitated. "Some of the pack were talking about organizing a night out. Cards, drinks. You should come. You've been..." He searched for a diplomatic way to put it. "...intense lately."

"It's Ava's birthday." The excuse came automatically. "I should stay home with her."

Cole's eyebrows rose slightly at that, but he was smart enough not to comment. We both knew I hadn't spent a full evening with Ava in months.

I glanced at my wrist, momentarily confused by the absence of my watch. Then I remembered. "It's time for me to check on Susan anyway."

Cole's expression shifted, something like concern flashing across his face. "How is she?"

"The fever's not breaking." I moved toward the door. "I heard about a new pack doctor, actually. Supposed to be good with complicated cases."

"I'll make some calls," Cole offered. "See if we can get an appointment."

I nodded my thanks and headed down the hall toward the east wing, where Susan had been staying since her condition worsened two months ago.

Her door was ajar. I knocked lightly before pushing it open. The room was dim, curtains drawn against the afternoon light. Susan lay in bed, her skin pallid against the dark sheets, her hair limp with sweat.

She looked nothing like the vibrant woman who'd shown me those photographs five years ago, who'd convinced me of Evelyn's betrayal, who'd stepped into the role of Luna without hesitation after the banishment.

Something in my chest tightened at the sight of her suffering. Not love—I'd never felt that for Susan, despite her hopes. But a sense of obligation. Of responsibility. She'd been there when I needed someone, and I owed her for that, at least.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, touching her forehead. Still burning.

"The fever is taking over my entire being," she said, her voice weak. "I need a doctor soon, or I'll die."

Always dramatic, even now. But she wasn't entirely wrong. This illness had dragged on too long, resisting all the usual remedies.

I sat on the edge of her bed, and she immediately latched onto my arm, pressing her cheek against it. Looking for comfort, or maybe just showing possession. With Susan, it was often hard to tell the difference.

"We'll find you a doctor," I assured her. "Cole is making arrangements."

She sighed, relaxing slightly. Then she sat up, deliberately shifting in a way that made her silk nightgown slide down. The thin strap fell away, exposing her bare breast. I caught the flash of pale skin, the dark nipple, before turning my head.

"You shouldn't do that," I said quietly.

"Is she still in your heart?" Susan's voice took on the hard edge it always did when she thought of Evelyn. "It's been years, and she'll never come back! Why do you make me feel like I'm not enough?"

The old argument, one I was tired of having. I stood, putting distance between us.

"I don't permit you to speak of my mate in that manner," I said, my voice cooler than I intended.

"Your mate?" Susan laughed, a brittle sound. "You divorced her, remember? Banished her. She's nothing to you now."

I didn't answer. Couldn't. Because the truth was, I didn't know what Evelyn was to me anymore. Ex-mate, officially. But the bond had never fully broken, not really. I still felt her absence like a physical ache some days.

"I heard of a highly skilled pack doctor," I said instead, changing the subject. "I'll book you an appointment and you'll be fine in no time."

I left before she could respond, closing the door firmly behind me. In the hallway, I leaned against the wall for a moment, eyes closed, trying to get my thoughts in order.

Five years since I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Five years of living with the consequences. And now, on Ava's birthday, the past felt closer than ever.

I pushed off from the wall and headed back toward my office. I still had a pack to run.

But first, I needed to find Ava. To... not to apologize, exactly. But to check on her. Make sure she was okay.

It was her birthday, after all. And whatever else she might or might not be to me, she deserved that much.

* * *

Evelyn

Blood stuck to my gloves, making my fingers tacky. This patient's blood seemed different somehow—darker, thicker than usual.

I dropped the scalpel onto the metal tray the nurse held out. My back hurt. Six hours hunched over an operating table will do that to you.

"Sutures," I said, and Rachel handed them over without me having to explain which kind. After two years working together, she knew what I needed before I asked.

The patient's chest moved up and down steadily. He'd make it—though it had been touch and go for a while. The tumor had wrapped around his pulmonary artery like it was hanging on for dear life. But I was more stubborn than any growth.

I tied off the last stitch and stood up straight, rolling my shoulders. Something popped in my neck.

"Close him up and get him to recovery," I told the team. "I want updates every hour on his vitals."

Rachel nodded. The other nurses and surgical assistants looked relieved. Another win for Dr. Graham. Another life saved.

If only they knew how many I'd lost.

The thought came out of nowhere, followed by a sound I only heard in my memory now—a baby crying. Small but loud, like she knew what she wanted.

I shut my eyes, trying to push it away. Five years later, and it still hit me at random moments. During surgery. In the middle of grocery shopping. Right as I was falling asleep.

"Dr. Graham?" Rachel's voice pulled me back. "You okay?"

I opened my eyes and forced a smile. "Just tired. Let's finish up."

Later, I stood at the sink in the break room, scrubbing under my fingernails. No matter how many pairs of gloves I wore, blood always found its way there somehow.

I grabbed a can of water from the mini-fridge and gulped half of it down, suddenly realizing how thirsty I was. Surgery did that—made me forget about everything except the body in front of me.

A hand landed on my shoulder and I jumped, spilling water on my scrubs.

"Whoa, sorry about that." Mr. Robins stood behind me, his face creasing with a smile. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."

I wiped at the water stain spreading across my shirt. "It's fine. I'm always jumpy after a long surgery."

"I bet. Heard it was a tough one." He leaned against the counter. For a guy in his sixties, Robins stayed fit. Only his silver hair gave away his age. "But you pulled it off, as usual."

I shrugged. I never knew what to do with compliments. "We'll see how he does in recovery before I start celebrating."

"Always so careful." His smile got bigger. "That's why you're so good at this. Never settling, always pushing."

I looked away from his approving face. Robins had been on my side since I'd stumbled into Wood Pack territory five years ago with nothing but the clothes I had on and a medical degree I'd never gotten to use. He took a chance on me when nobody else would, and I'd worked my ass off to prove him right.

"That tumor you removed last month is all over the medical blogs," he said, showing me his tablet. The screen showed an article about a tricky surgery I'd done. "It's given us a chance to show everyone how good you are, Evelyn."

"I was just doing my job," I said, though part of me liked the recognition.

"You've made yourself important here." His expression softened. "I remember when you first applied for the position—no references, just raw talent and determination."

Something in his voice made me look up. Robins never mentioned how desperate I must have seemed when I first arrived at Wood Pack—hungry for work, for purpose, for anything to fill the emptiness.

"Thanks," I said, meaning it. "For everything. I wouldn't be here if not for you."

He waved it off. "I know talent when I see it. But I didn't come here just to tell you how great you are." He straightened up, his face turning more serious. "I've got news."

"Yeah?"

"Because of your reputation, we got a request from another pack. Their Alpha needs someone to treat a person close to him—a complicated case their doctors can't figure out."

A weird feeling crawled up my back. "Which pack?"

"Moon Pack."

Two words, and suddenly the floor wasn't solid anymore. Moon Pack. Damon's territory. The place I used to call home. The place that had the one thing I never stopped aching for.

Ava.

"I—I can't," I managed. "Send someone else."

Robins frowned. "Is there a problem? This could be a good connection for us. Moon Pack is one of the strongest around."

I hesitated, searching for an excuse. "I'm in the middle of several critical cases right now. Dr. Mercer could—"

"This request came specifically for you," Robins interrupted. "They've heard about your work." He studied my face, noticing my discomfort. "Is there something else?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, it's just... timing."

He looked unconvinced. "Would it help to know you'd be under my protection? As Wood Pack's Alpha, I'd make sure you were safe during the visit. Moon Pack can be... territorial."

My brain went into overdrive. Going back to Moon Pack was the last thing I wanted. Seeing Damon again, facing all those memories, all that shame. But... Ava. My daughter would be five now. Five years without seeing her face, hearing her voice. Did she even know who I was? Did she ask about me? Or had Damon erased me completely?

"Who's the patient?" I asked, stalling.

"The Alpha didn't say exactly. Just someone important to him who's been sick for months. Not responding to regular treatments."

Someone important to him. My heart lurched. Ava? Could my daughter be sick? The thought made my stomach drop.

No, I doubted it was her. Damon had made it clear she wasn't his—had banished me and kept her just to hurt me. He wouldn't seek out the best doctor for a child he'd claimed wasn't his.

Then again, I knew Damon. For all his pride and stubbornness, he wasn't cruel, especially not to children. If Ava was sick, he would get her help, regardless of what he believed about her parentage.

But it could just as easily be Susan. The idea sent a wave of bitterness through me. Was I really thinking about helping the woman who stole my mate, my position, my life?

But if I said no, I'd be giving up the chance to see my daughter. Maybe even the chance to...

No. I couldn't let myself hope. Damon made his choice five years ago. Nothing would change that.

"When would we go?" I heard myself ask.

"Next week. I'll handle everything." Robins squeezed my shoulder. "This is good, Evelyn. For both of us."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. As soon as he left, I sagged against the counter, my legs suddenly weak.

Moon Pack. I was going back to Moon Pack.

"Get it together," I whispered to myself. "It's just a medical thing."

But nothing about Moon Pack could ever be "just" anything to me. Not when it had my past. My child. My heart.

I pulled out my phone, my hands not quite steady as I searched for news about Damon. There wasn't much—he'd always been private—but I found a few official photos from pack events. He looked the same. Good-looking. Powerful. Cold.

And there, next to him in several pictures, was Susan. Every inch the Luna in fancy dresses, her hand on his arm like she owned him. My stomach twisted at the sight.

No pictures of Ava. Of course not. Pack kids were kept out of the public eye for safety.

Was she happy? Did she like school? Did she have friends? All the questions I should know the answers to flooded my mind, bringing back grief I thought I'd buried years ago.

Yesterday had been her birthday. Five years old now. I'd marked it the same way I did every year—a small cupcake with a single candle, lit in my apartment with no one to see the tears that followed. I kept the only photo I had of her—a hospital snapshot of her tiny red face, tubes helping her breathe—tucked in my wallet, worn from the countless times I'd traced her features with my fingertip.

Five birthdays I'd missed. Five candles I'd blown out alone, whispering wishes that never came true.

I put my phone down, suddenly unable to look at Damon's face anymore. The break room felt too small. I needed air.

In the hallway, I almost ran into another doctor. "Sorry," I mumbled, trying to step around him.

"Dr. Graham!" His voice stopped me. "I was just looking for you. The woman in 307 is asking for you."

I blinked, dragging my mind back to reality. "Mrs. Wilson? I thought Dr. Peters was handling her."

"She insisted on seeing you." He shrugged. "Said you're the only one who actually listens."

That pulled a small smile from me despite everything. "Tell her I'll be there in ten minutes. I just need some fresh air first."

Outside, the evening air felt cool on my face. I took deep breaths, trying to calm down. One week. In one week, I'd be back in the place that broke me, face to face with the people who did the breaking.

But no one here knew that part of my story. To Robins and the others at Wood Pack, I was just Dr. Graham, the surgeon who'd shown up five years ago looking for work. I'd never told them where I came from or why. Never mentioned Moon Pack, or Damon, or the daughter I'd been forced to leave behind.

I'd be stupid to pass up this chance. Five years of dreaming about my daughter, wondering if she was okay, if she even remembered me.

A piece of paper fluttered against my leg, caught by the wind. I bent to pick it up, recognizing Robins' handwriting: "Dinner at my place, by 7 ~ Robins"

I checked my watch. 6:30. Just enough time to see Mrs. Wilson and then head over. Robins lived in the Alpha house in the center of Wood Pack territory, a big place where he often had staff over for dinner.

I squared my shoulders and went back inside. I had a patient to check on, then dinner to get to. The rest—Moon Pack, Damon, Ava, Susan—would have to wait.

But as I walked, a thought took shape in the back of my mind. This wasn't just a medical job. This was my chance—maybe my only chance—to see my daughter again.

And maybe, whispered a darker part of me, a chance to even the score.

* * *