Page 11 of Howl For A Kiss
Despite everything, Elena felt an answering tug at the corners of her mouth. The man had handled himselfimpressively during the firefight at her base. His movements had been precise, lethal, and completely controlled even under pressure.
"My rebels won't trust an outsider," she said, though her wolf was practically purring at the idea of keeping Damon close.
"They'll trust you," he countered. "And if you vouch for me, that'll be enough to start."
Elena wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees again, torn between practical necessity and emotional wariness. Tyler's death had left a gaping hole in her command structure that she couldn't fill alone. And this strange pull she felt toward Damon—this magnetic connection her wolf insisted was important—made the decision feel simultaneously logical and terrifying.
"Temporarily," she said finally, the word coming out rougher than intended. "Until I can properly assess your capabilities and my people can adjust to you."
"Temporarily," Damon agreed, though something in his eyes suggested he had much longer plans in mind.
"And if any of my rebels have problems with this arrangement, you defer to their concerns," Elena continued, her leadership instincts kicking in despite her emotional turmoil.
"Within reason."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Damon's expression grew serious. "It means I won't let anyone compromise your safety."
The protective edge in his voice made Elena's newly awakened wolf practically vibrate with approval. Her logical mind, however, recognized the dangerous implications of his statement.
"I don't need a bodyguard," she said firmly. "I need a tactical partner."
"You'll have both," Damon replied without hesitation.
Elena stared at him for a long moment, cataloging the determined set of his shoulders and the unwavering intensity in his green eyes. Everything rational told her this was a mistake. But her wolf—this new part of herself she barely understood—practically sang with contentment at his proximity.
"Fine," she said, pushing herself to her feet and extending her hand toward him. "Welcome to my rebel group, Damon Gray."
He stood up and took her hand in his, shaking it as a soft smile transformed his angular features completely. The expression caught her off guard—genuine warmth replacing his usual stoic mask. His fingers lingered against hers longer than strictly necessary, and Elena felt her breath hitch at the unexpected intimacy of the gesture.
What the hell is wrong with me?she thought, acutely aware of how her pulse quickened under his gaze. This was completely unlike her—acting this illogical and impulsively toward a complete stranger, even if he was the most attractive and devastatingly sexy stranger she'd ever encountered.
"We really need to get back to my rebel base right now," she said, reluctantly pulling her hand free and immediately missing the warmth of his touch. "I need to check on my rebel fighters and assess the damage to the warehouse."
Damon's smile faded into his usual serious expression. "Lead the way."
They made their way through the snow-covered forest, Elena's combat boots crunching through the pristine powder as November's pale afternoon light filtered through the bare branches overhead. Her tactical vest shifted against her fitted black top with each step, the familiar weight of her weapons providing comfort despite the chaos churning in her mind.
After three grueling miles of navigating fallen logs and rocky terrain, they finally emerged from the treeline to see her basespread before them. Elena's heart clenched painfully at the sight that greeted her.
The converted warehouse looked like a war zone. Bullet holes and shattered glass in most of the reinforced windows, the metal siding scorched black in several places, and debris littered across the snow-covered ground. A handful of dead human operatives lay crumpled where they'd fallen, their tactical gear stark against the white landscape. But worse—far worse—were the rebel fighters she could see among them.
Six of her people. Gone.
Elena's jaw clenched as her wolf clawed frantically at her insides, demanding she shift and hunt down every last operative who had dared attack her home and kill her friends. The primal urge to tear through the forest until she found the bastards responsible nearly overwhelmed her.
"Elena!" Maggie's voice cut through her internal battle as the rebel healer rushed across the damaged space. Relief flooded the younger woman's features as she reached them. "Thank god you're alive. I was so worried when you didn't come back."
Elena forced herself to breathe steadily, grateful when the violent urges subsided slightly. "I'm fine, Maggie. Battered but breathing."
"And who are you again?" Maggie's sharp gaze fixed on Damon with obvious wariness.
"Maggie, this is Damon Gray," Elena said, watching as more of her surviving rebel fighters approached from various points around the base. "He's the highly skilled rebel fighter from the Silvercrest pack who just saved my life. And he's my new second-in-command."
The cluster of fighters—thirteen remaining from her original twenty—gathered around them with expressions ranging from relief to suspicion. Daniel, one of her senior fighters, stepped forward with his arms crossed over his broad chest.
"He's your what exactly?" Daniel asked sharply.
