Rejected and Pregnant I Fled The Pack (Evelyn and Damon) novel Chapter 133

Chapter 133

Damon pov

I sat at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, watching my father across the room where he’d settled into the armchair, Willow perched carefully on his lap, engaged in some quiet, nonsensical conversation that had her giggling with obvious delight.

“And then,” he was saying, his voice carrying the same gentle, animated quality I remembered from childhood bedtime stories, “the very brave wolf decided he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from finding his way home.”

Willow babbled something in response, clearly not understanding the actual words but clearly enjoying the attention and warmth in his voice, and he laughed softly, adjusting her gently against his chest.

I smiled, watching them together, struck again by how genuinely different this man seemed from the father I’d grown up under-commanding, controlled, always maintaining careful distance even during rare moments of affection. This version, patient and tender, willing to spend an entire morning simply talking nonsense to an infant who couldn’t understand a word of it, felt like someone I was only just beginning to properly know.

I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the quiet, ordinary peace of the moment despite everything still complicated and dangerous surrounding our family.

My phone buzzed against the table.

I glanced down, expecting perhaps an update from Callum about the ongoing search, and felt everything in me go cold and sharp simultaneously.

*Your dad lived. Too bad he won’t be around much longer.*

I stared at the message, disbelief and pure, immediate fury crashing through me in equal, overwhelming measure. My wolf surged forward instantly, a low, savage growl actually tearing from my throat before I could fully suppress it, sharp enough that my father looked up immediately, concern crossing his face at

the sound.

“Damon?” His voice carried genuine alarm. “What’s wrong?”

I forced myself to breathe, forced the growl back down despite my wolf’s continued, violent pressure, understanding I couldn’t allow Willow to witness whatever raw fury I was currently barely containing.

“Another message,” I said, my voice tight and controlled despite the fury still churning beneath my careful composure. “From the same number Genevieve’s been using.”

My father’s expression hardened immediately, protective instinct clear despite his own continued physical vulnerability. “What does it say?”

I hesitated, glancing toward Willow, still settled peacefully in his lap, before deciding he deserved to know regardless of how difficult the message might be to actually hear.

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“She’s saying you won’t be around much longer,” I said quietly. “That surviving the attack was just

temporary.”

Something flickered across his face-fear, quickly suppressed beneath careful composure, though I could see the genuine impact the threat had landed with despite his attempt to maintain calm for Willow’s sake.

“I need to call Callum,” I said, already standing, adrenaline and fury both driving urgent, immediate action. “And Sarah, get additional security posted immediately.”

“Damon.” My father’s voice carried careful, deliberate calm despite everything. “Take a breath first. Panicked, reactive fury isn’t going to help us actually resolve this.”

I forced myself to pause, understanding the wisdom in his words even as my wolf continued pressing hard against my restraint, every protective instinct screaming for immediate, decisive violence against whoever thought they could continue threatening my family with impunity.

“How are you so calm about this,” I asked, genuine frustration audible in my voice.

“I’m not,” he said honestly. “I’m terrified, Damon. But I’ve learned, slowly and imperfectly, that reacting purely from fear rarely produces the outcomes we actually need. Let’s think this through properly before acting.”

I nodded, taking another deliberate breath, forcing my wolf’s violent urgency into something more manageable, more strategic.

“Show me the message,” he said, and I passed him my phone, watching him read it carefully, his expression tightening further as he absorbed the specific, deliberate cruelty of the wording.

“She’s escalating,” he said grimly. “Moving from vague threats to direct, specific taunting. This suggests either genuine desperation, feeling cornered by the ongoing search, or increasing confidence that she can actually follow through on these threats regardless of our security measures.”

“Either way, it’s dangerous,” I said, taking the phone back, already dialing Callum’s number.

Callum answered quickly, and I relayed everything-the message, my father’s careful analysis, the urgent need for immediate response.

“I’ll trace the number again,” Callum said, his voice tight with matching urgency. “Though given how she’s managed to circumvent tracing before, I’m not confident we’ll get useful results. I’ll also alert the council immediately, request emergency authorization for whatever additional measures might actually help locate her.”

“What about increased security here,” I asked. “Given this direct, specific threat against my father.”

“I’ll arrange it immediately,” Callum confirmed. “Doubling whatever presence we currently have, plus additional patrol coverage throughout the surrounding area.”

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