Chapter 4 Truth In Her Blood

Damien's POV

I didn't sleep that night.

Not even after the attack was over, not after the bodies were dealt with, or after Isabella curled up on the far edge of the bed with her back to me. She didn't say a word. She didn't need to. I saw everything I needed with my own eyes.

The way she moved.

The way she killed.

She wasn't just trained-she was made for violence.

Made for something darker.

I sat in my chair near the fireplace, elbows on my knees, staring at the dancing flames like they might whisper the truth if I waited long enough. But the fire only crackled, warm and quiet. No answers. No peace.

I'd studied her carefully these past few days. Every word. Every blink. Every time she looked at me and then looked away like she was afraid of what I might see.

Now I understand why.

She didn't fear me because she knew what I was.

She feared me because I might discover what she was.

And I was getting close.

I stood up just before sunrise and left the room, careful not to wake her. My footsteps echoed down the stone hallway. The servants were still asleep, and the silence in the mansion felt heavier than usual. Almost like the house itself knew something was off.

I made my way to my private study and closed the door behind me.

I kept files. On everyone. Allies. Enemies. Business contacts. And especially on her.

Isabella Moretti.

Daughter of Carlo Moretti, the mafia boss who died under mysterious circumstances two years ago. The world believed it was a rival hit.

I had never believed that.

I opened the file and spread the papers across the desk. Photos. News articles. A birth certificate. Her school records. Clean. Too clean. No flaws. No suspensions. No missing years.

And that was the problem.

No one in the mafia world gets through life without a few stains on the paper. But Isabella's past was too quiet. Too perfect.

It was like someone had erased the mess.

I tapped my fingers against the photo of her at sixteen. Even then, she looked guarded. Her eyes gave her away. She had that same fire I'd seen last night. That same sharp awareness, like she knew someone was always watching.

She reminded me of myself.

But there was something else I couldn't explain.

When she touched me last night-right before the bullet shattered the window-I felt a pulse in my chest. Like a jolt. It didn't feel like magic. And it didn't feel human either.

I had to find out what she was hiding.

*****

By midmorning, she was awake.

I returned to the bedroom. She stood by the window again, her hair tied up, wearing a black sweater and jeans. She looked calm. Too calm. Like nothing had happened.

"You didn't scream," I said as I stepped inside. "Not once."

She didn't turn around. "I've learned that screaming doesn't help."

"Who taught you that?"

She was quiet for a second. "Life."

I walked closer. She finally looked at me, her eyes tired but steady. "Are you going to ask me?"

"I already know the answer," I said. "But I want to hear it from you."

She didn't flinch.

"I've killed before," she said softly. "Long before last night."

"Why?"

"To survive."

That wasn't enough. I could feel it.

"And how does a mafia princess become... that?" I asked, nodding toward the rooftop she had climbed the night before. "You weren't just protecting yourself. You fought like someone who's been trained for years. Like someone who was born for it."

She walked past me, heading toward the bathroom. "You're a werewolf, Damien. You know what it means to be born for something."

"Yes," I said, grabbing her wrist before she could close the door. "But I've known what I am my whole life. You're hiding it."

Her eyes flashed-not with anger, but with something else. Something deep. Old. Wild.

"I'm not like you," she said.

"Then what are you?"

She didn't answer.

But she didn't need to.

Her skin was warm under my fingers. Too warm. Her pulse was steady, but I could feel it-something inside her humming. Like static in the air before lightning.

"You're not fully human," I whispered.

She jerked her hand free and stepped back. "You don't want to know."

I stepped closer. "Yes, I do."

She turned and leaned against the sink, her reflection in the mirror pale and worn. For the first time since we met, she looked small. Vulnerable.

"I was born after a storm," she said slowly. "The night the sky split open and lightning struck the sea near our villa. My mother went into labor early.

They said I wasn't breathing when I came out. My father... he did something. Something strange. He called someone. A woman who came that night and touched me. I started crying."

She looked at me through the mirror.

"I don't know who she was. But I've never been the same."

I said nothing. Just listened. My heart pounded in my chest.

"When I turned ten, things started to happen," she continued. "My reflexes were faster. I healed quickly. And sometimes... I would feel people's emotions before they spoke. I could hear their heartbeat. Smell their lies."

That sounded too familiar.

"That's not human," I said.

"No," she said. "And it's not a wolf either."

She turned to face me fully.

"I'm something in between. Something old. My mother's family wasn't from here. They were from a line of seers....women who could see the soul of a person. But the woman who touched me that night... she gave me more than that. She changed me."

"Changed how?"

She walked to me again, slowly, like she was carrying the truth in her bones.

"I don't age like normal people," she whispered. "And I don't die easily. I've been stabbed. Shot. Thrown from a building once. I always come back."

A chill ran through me.

"Then why marry me?" I asked, my voice low. "Why pretend to be someone you're not?"

She gave me a sad smile. "Because I didn't want to be alone anymore. And I thought if anyone could understand... it would be the monster they said you were."

Her words cut deeper than I expected.

"You think I'm a monster?"

"I think you've been treated like one. Just like me."

We stood there, not touching, but closer than ever before. I stared at her, this woman I thought I understood. And now she was something else entirely. Something rare. Something of mine.

A strange calm filled my chest.

"I should be afraid of you," I said.

She moved her head. "Are you?"

I shook my head. "No. I think I'm more afraid of what you'll make me feel."

Her lips parted slightly. Her cheeks flushed.

"I don't want to hurt you," she said.

"Then don't lie to me again."

She nodded.

Silence stretched between us, but it wasn't empty. It was full of things we didn't say. Full of truths we weren't ready for.

Finally, I reached for her hand. She didn't pull away.

"Whatever you are," I whispered, "you're mine now. And I protect what's mine."