Damon Volkova
The call with Lilith lingers in my mind long after I set my phone down. The edge in her voice wasn't fear—no, Lilith Luna Dusk does not fear. She is to be feared.
And yet, she called me.
Not to cower, not to seek protection, but to make a statement. To remind me that my so-called mate had overstepped. That she, Lilith, was a force to be reckoned with.
I exhale sharply, pushing away from my desk, my fingers curling into a fist. My office is a calculated display of power—dark marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, walls lined with shelves of old leather-bound tomes, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Ironclad Pack's territory.
Beyond the glass, my empire sprawls like a fortress carved from steel and stone. The Ironclad Pack doesn't merely exist; we command.
The Ironclad Headquarters is a towering structure of blackened steel and obsidian glass, a monolith of dominance in the heart of our land. Its design is cold and imposing—razor-sharp architecture, high-security checkpoints, and guards stationed at every critical entrance. Inside, the corridors are lined with golden sconces, the sigil of our pack—a wolf's head wreathed in iron chains—etched into every grand archway.
This is the legacy my father built. The throne I inherited.
And yet, Sienna is part of that inheritance.
A burden I never wanted.
I rub my jaw, suppressing the irritation bubbling beneath my skin. I've spent years searching for a way to sever the bond without jeopardizing my title, but my father made it clear—if I refuse Sienna, I lose everything.
The very thought sends a sharp pulse of anger through me.
I am the Ironclad Alpha. Stripping me of my title would be an act of war. But my father, for all his strength, has always been bound by loyalty to his Beta—Sienna's father.
The door to my office creaks open, and my Beta, Gideon Cain, steps in.
"You look like you're about to murder someone," he observes dryly.
"Give me a reason not to," I mutter, loosening my tie.
He chuckles but doesn't push. Gideon has been at my side for years, sharp-eyed and ruthless in his own right. He knows better than to prod when I'm like this.
After a beat, he asks, "Are you going to deal with Sienna?"
I grab my jacket from the chair. "I'm going home now."
Gideon raises a brow but doesn't argue. He knows what Sienna is to me. What she will never be.
The Ironclad Alpha's Mansion
I drive back to my mansion, the roads quiet beneath the glow of streetlights. The Ironclad Estate looms ahead—a sprawling masterpiece of Gothic architecture, black iron gates curling like talons around its perimeter.
Massive columns support the structure, their marble surfaces veined with silver, reflecting the cold moonlight. The entrance is a pair of towering onyx doors, carved with wolves locked in battle—a symbol of the pack's never-ending war for dominance.
The moment I step inside, the atmosphere shifts. Servants bow their heads, stepping back into the shadows, their eyes darting away from me. Fear lingers in the air. Not from cruelty—but because they know the weight of my temper.
I don't pause to acknowledge them. I move with purpose, my footsteps echoing against the marble floors as I head towards the far right wing of the mansion—Sienna's quarters.
A few servants exchange nervous glances, hesitating near the entrance of her wing. It's rare that I visit, and my presence here signals one thing only—retribution.
One of them, an older woman with trembling hands, bows. "Alpha, should I announce—"
"No." My voice is sharp.
She bows again and scurries away.
I push open the doors to her suite without knocking.
Sienna!
Sienna is seated near the grand window of her chambers, draped in soft silk, her golden-brown hair cascading over her shoulders in carefully arranged waves.
She looks up, startled, blinking those wide, innocent eyes she always weaponizes.
"Damon?" she breathes, as if she didn't expect me.
I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
Her fingers clutch the fabric of her robe. "I—I don't know what you mean." She feigns ignorance.
I step closer, the air between us turning sharp. "Don't play dumb, Sienna. You called Lilith."
She pales, then quickly recovers, her lower lip trembling. "I—I was just—"
"Don't lie to me." My voice is dangerously low.
Her breath hitches, and then—tears. A slow, deliberate slide down her cheeks, perfectly timed. I hate it whenever she cries. Not because I feel pity for her, but because she disgusts me.
"Damon," she whispers, "you are mine. I'm your mate. And yet—yet you let everyone see you with her."
I stiffen.
Sienna's voice rises, edged with desperation. "How do you think that makes me look? That you—my Alpha, my mate—choose to be around a reject like her instead of me?"
Something inside me snaps.
I move in an instant, gripping her chin, forcing her to look up at me. "Don't. Ever. Say that about Lilith again."
Her breath shudders. "But she—"
The slap comes before I think to stop it. A sharp crack against her cheek.
Silence.
Sienna's hand flies to her face, eyes wide with shock. Her breathing is ragged, her tears falling faster now.
I lean in, voice like ice. "You could never compare to her."
Her lips part, but no words come. She knows.
I step back, adjusting my cufflinks. "This is your only warning, Sienna. Don't ever try this again."
Then I turn and walk away, leaving her trembling in the wreckage of her own making.
The Ironclad Alpha's Quarters
Back in my wing of the mansion, I shrug off my jacket, rolling my shoulders to rid myself of the lingering disgust from that conversation.
A servant hesitates near the door.
"Draw me a bath," I order.
"Yes, Alpha."
Minutes later, I sink into the hot water, my muscles finally unwinding. The dim glow of candlelight flickers across the walls, the steam curling in the air like whispers of old ghosts.
And then, I reach for the small, worn photograph on the nearby table. My wolf winces pitifully.
The picture I took the night I saved Lilith.
She had been bloody, broken—but still burning with a fire that could never be extinguished. Even then, even half-dead, she was more powerful than Sienna could ever dream to be.
I run a thumb over the image, jaw clenching.
Lilith Luna Dusk will be my Luna.
No matter what it takes.
Back in her chambers, Sienna sits motionless, staring at the far wall.
Then, slowly, she smiles through her tears.
If Damon refuses to see her as his Luna—she'll force him to.
A child.
She must bear Damon a child.
And Lilith?
Lilith must die.
Sienna wipes her tears, resolve hardening. Tomorrow, she would go to Damon's father.
Tomorrow, she would begin her plan.
And by the end of it, Damon Volkova would have no choice but to make her his Luna.