I Died Loving Him. Now I'm Back

The Beta Who Watched Too Closely

Mara's POV

Selene asked me to watch him. She didn't say why exactly, just that something about Damon didn't sit right with her, and that she trusted my instincts more than she trusted her own right now.

"Just watch him," she'd said, sitting on the edge of my bed with her arms wrapped around her knees, looking more rattled than I'd seen her look in weeks. "Don't talk to him. Don't ask him anything directly. Just watch."

"You know I'm terrible at just watching."

"I know. Try anyway."

I didn't ask what that meant, the rattled look or the request itself. I've learned not to, lately, with her. She's been different for weeks now, careful in a way she never used to be, like she's carrying something heavy enough that asking about it feels almost cruel.

So I started showing up wherever he showed up. Training yard. Border meetings. The narrow hallway outside Kellan's study where betas apparently like to stand around looking important. It wasn't subtle. I'm not exactly built for subtle.

He noticed me the third day.

"You've been following me," he said, not even turning around, like he'd known the whole time and just hadn't bothered mentioning it.

"I have not."

"You were behind the same tree twice yesterday. Same tree, Mara. Trees don't usually move."

"Maybe I like that tree."

"Sure. Great tree." He finally turned around, and I hated how unbothered he looked about the whole thing. "You want to just ask me whatever it is you're trying to figure out, or are we doing this the slow way?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a terrible liar. It's actually kind of impressive how bad you are at it."

"I'm an excellent liar."

"You're really not."

I didn't have a good comeback for that, mostly because he wasn't wrong, and I hated that even more than the following-me comment.

"Fine," I said. "Selene doesn't trust you. I'm trying to figure out if she should."

Something shifted in his face, quick, there and gone before I could name it. "Smart woman."

"That's not exactly a denial."

"I didn't say it was."

We stood there a second, and I got the distinct feeling I'd just lost whatever advantage I thought I had by being direct with him. He had a way of making silence feel like a weapon he was choosing not to use yet.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you," I said.

"Not today."

"Then why are we still talking?"

"Because you're still standing here." He said it plainly, no teasing in it at all, which threw me more than if he'd made it a joke. "You could've walked off three questions ago. You didn't."

I hated that he was right about that too.

I made myself walk off then, mostly to prove I could, and I felt his eyes on my back the entire way across the yard. It wasn't a comfortable feeling. It also wasn't entirely unwelcome, which annoyed me more than anything else that happened that day.

I reported back to Selene that evening with exactly nothing useful to tell her.

"He didn't say anything?" she asked.

"He said a lot of things. None of them were answers."

"That's very on brand for him, apparently."

"You'd know better than me."

"I thought I did." She was quiet a second, turning something over in her head the way she does when she's deciding how much to actually say out loud. "Just be careful with him, Mara. I mean it."

"I'm always careful."

"You followed a man behind the same tree two days in a row. That's not careful, that's a hobby."

I didn't have a response to that either, which was becoming an uncomfortable pattern for the week.

I went back the next day anyway. Told myself it was for Selene. Told myself that enough times that I almost believed it by the time I found him again, out past the training yard this time, alone, sharpening a blade that already looked sharp enough.

"Back again," he said, without looking up.

"I have questions."

"You had questions yesterday too."

"I have different questions today."

That got him to look up, at least. "Go on, then."

"Why does Kellan trust you so much? You barely say anything to anyone. That's usually not how trust works."

"Some people talk a lot and say nothing. I figured I'd skip straight to the nothing part and save everyone the time."

"That's not an actual answer."

"It's a better one than you're giving me credit for."

He set the blade down slowly, like he was actually considering the question instead of brushing it off the way he had everything else.

"Sometimes silence is easier to trust than talking," he said. "People lie a lot less when they're not saying anything."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting today."

"You keep saying today like there's going to be a tomorrow where you actually tell me things."

"Maybe there is." He almost smiled at that, the first real crack in the calm I'd been trying to pick apart for two days straight. "You're more patient than I expected. Most people give up asking after the second brush-off."

"I'm not most people."

"No," he said, and something about the way he said it made my stomach do something I did not appreciate at all. "I'm starting to notice that."

I left before he could see whatever my face was doing, because I genuinely wasn't sure, and I did not trust myself to find out in front of him.

I told myself, walking back, that this was still just about Selene. About figuring out whether he was dangerous. About doing my job.

I almost believed that too, right up until I caught myself already planning what I'd ask him tomorrow. Not because Selene needed the answer. Because I did.

Two nights later, Selene came to find me, pale and shaking, saying she'd overheard something in the woods she couldn't explain. Damon's name. A stranger in a dark coat. Four words that meant something was very wrong.

I didn't tell her that the last time I'd seen Damon, he'd looked at me like I was the only interesting thing that had happened to him in years.

I didn't tell her because I wasn't sure yet what that meant.

But standing there listening to her describe a man I'd apparently badly misjudged, I felt something cold settle low in my stomach, and it took me a long moment to realize it wasn't fear.

It was the sick, sinking feeling of hoping I was wrong about someone I probably shouldn't be hoping anything about at all.