Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack novel Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Damon pov

I was moving quickly through the small apartment, gathering papers for the morning meeting Callum had scheduled with pack finance officials, my mind already half-occupied with logistics, when Evelyn walked in from the nursery, Willow settled against her shoulder, both of them still soft with sleep.

“Morning,” she said, voice still rough with it, a small, tired smile crossing her face.

Something about the ordinary domesticity of the moment-her hair still mussed, Willow’s small fist curled against her shoulder, the quiet, unguarded warmth in her expression-pulled me toward her without any conscious decision to move.

I kissed her.

Soft, brief, nothing demanding or presumptuous in it, just an instinctive, natural gesture that arrived before I’d fully thought it through, the kind of easy affection that used to pass between us constantly before everything fell apart, the kind I hadn’t let myself reach for since she’d returned.

She didn’t pull away. For one suspended moment, she actually leaned slightly into it, something soft and genuine in her response before I stepped back, gathering the rest of my papers, murmuring something about needing to head out for the finance meeting, the whole exchange lasting only a few seconds before I was moving toward the

door.

“Have a good meeting,” she called after me, her voice carrying none of the wariness I’d grown accustomed to, just simple, easy warmth.

I made it outside, the morning air cool against my face, halfway down the path toward the pack house before the full weight of what had just happened actually settled into me.

I stopped walking entirely.

*I kissed her. And she kissed me back.*

Not a hug initiated cautiously the night before, not a careful, measured peck on the cheek before bed. An actual kiss, soft and easy, exchanged in the unguarded intimacy of a shared morning, and she’d leaned into it rather than pulling back or holding herself carefully apart the way she had every single time I’d touched her since she came back.

Something in my chest ached with the sheer, unexpected weight of it—not just relief, though relief was certainly part of it, but something deeper, more hopeful than I’d allowed myself to feel in longer than I wanted to admit. Eight months of desperate searching, weeks of careful, patient rebuilding, and this morning, in the middle of an entirely ordinary moment neither of us had planned or calculated, something had genuinely shifted.

I stood there on the path for a long moment, processing it, some old instinct wanting to turn around immediately, go back inside, ask her directly what it meant, needing the reassurance of hearing her articulate it in words rather than simply trusting the unspoken warmth of the moment itself.

I made myself keep walking instead, understanding, even through the flood of hopeful emotion, that pushing for immediate clarity might actually undo the fragile, organic progress that moment represented. Some things needed space to simply exist without being immediately interrogated for meaning.

Callum was already waiting when I arrived at the pack house, papers spread across the conference table, his expression carrying the same measured focus he usually brought to financial discussions.

1/2

1

+15 Bonus

“You’re smiling,” he observed, glancing up as I settled into my chair. “Good morning, apparently?”

“Good morning,” I agreed, unable to fully suppress the smile despite trying to focus on the meeting ahead.” Evelyn kissed me. Well, I kissed her, but she-” I stopped, hearing how it sounded, and laughed slightly at my own inability to articulate it clearly. “It was good. That’s all I’m saying.”

Callum’s expression softened into something genuinely pleased. “That’s real progress, Damon. I’m glad.”

“Me too,” I said, settling into the meeting with renewed focus, some of the morning’s tension around pack finances feeling suddenly more manageable against the backdrop of that small, hopeful moment still warming my chest.

We worked through the agenda methodically-supply chain concerns, the ongoing costs of increased security since the rogue attack, budget considerations for Marissa’s potential transfer to the closer facility. About halfway through, Callum’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at it briefly before setting it aside, something in his expression shifting slightly.

“Everything alright?” I asked, noticing the change.

“Your father wants a meeting,” Callum said carefully. “Says it’s important, wants to speak with you directly,

alone.”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify