A Very Levet Christmas (Guardians of Eternity)

“So you remember me,” he said.

“Of course.” Salvatore matched his step, making sure Damon couldn’t attack his flank. “When you disappeared I feared your father had killed you.”

Damon made a sound of disgust. As far as he knew not one Were from their pack had made an effort to help his mother after they’d been banished. It hadn’t occurred to him that the pack might have assumed his father had simply killed them.

“Feared or hoped?”

Salvatore looked surprised. “Why would I wish you to be dead?”

“You must have known I would one day challenge you?”

“Why would I?”

Damon felt a flare of fury at the dismissive tone. “I am a potential heir.”

“Along with a dozen other Weres.”

It was true. There were always a number of potential heirs waiting for an opportunity to snatch the throne.

Of course few of them would dare to confront this particular king. Salvatore had defeated a demon lord. What chance did a mere Were have against him?

Damon, however, didn’t have a choice.

“They’ll have to get in line,” he muttered.

Salvatore frowned, as if troubled by Damon’s lack of burning ambition. “You’re not a fool, Damon. You must sense you’re no match for my power.”

Damon locked out the truth of his words.

Destiny didn’t have to make sense.

It just . . . was.

He took more steps to the side, watching as Salvatore mirrored his movements. He didn’t expect to find a weakness, but it seemed important to go through the motions.

“It’s my duty.”

Salvatore arched a brow. “Duty?”

“To my mother.”

“Cristo”. Salvatore was once again caught off guard. “Rosina is alive?”

Damon flinched. “No longer. She went mad from grief.”

Genuine regret touched Salvatore’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Damon growled.

“You blame me?”

Damon snarled beneath his breath. Hell, he wished he did blame the king. His life wouldn’t be ruled by guilt if he could somehow convince himself that his mother’s death had been someone else’s fault.

“I only want to end this,” he rasped. “One way or another.”

Salvatore muttered a curse. “There is only one potential end.”

Despite his inner reluctance to be standing in the frigid snow, waiting to fight the most powerful Were in the world, Damon couldn’t deny a stab of annoyance at the man’s supreme confidence.

“Then why are you hesitating?” he taunted.

The dark eyes flashed a dangerous gold in the moonlight as Salvatore’s wolf strained to be released.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Damon snorted. The king might pretend regret at the thought of hurting a fellow Were, but his wolf was anxious to taste blood.

“Then give me the throne.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Damon shrugged. “Then we fight.”

Salvatore spread his arms. “Bring it on.”

Out of time and options, Damon allowed himself one last thought of his beloved Gia before he cleared his mind and reached toward his wolf.

This was the moment he’d been training for since his father had banished them from the pack.

It was his destiny.

Ignoring icy premonition of doom that trickled down his spine, Damon became lost in the exquisite agony of shifting into his wolf form.

He tilted back his head, feeling his body fall in on itself, his muscles thickening to rip apart his jeans and T-shirt. At the same time his face began to elongate and stretch as a thick fur rippled over his skin.

A primitive howl was ripped from his throat as his bones popped and snapped, shifting him from human to animal.

He had less than a second to savor the glory of his transformation before he heard a warning growl and Salvatore was racing across the clearing, already in his wolf form.

The king slammed into him with enough force to send him rolling to the side, the crack of his ribs sending a white-hot pain shooting through his side. Still, he was on his feet in a heartbeat, his massive teeth snapping toward Salvatore’s throat.

The male dodged the strike with a liquid grace that was amazing even for a pure-blood Were. Damn. Damon scrambled to regain his balance, feeling Salvatore’s teeth take a chunk out of his ear.

Damon snarled, his claws digging into the snow as he feinted to one side before launching to sink his teeth into Salvatore’s hindquarter. He had the satisfaction of tasting blood before Salvatore gave a savage kick to dislodge him.

Once again he tumbled across the snow, but before he could regain his feet, there was the sensation of tearing flesh as Salvatore managed to slice his claws along Damon’s spine. Warm blood flowed down Damon’s fur. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it was deep enough to weaken him.