Greykin Valley

| 71 | The Redblood Line

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| Damon |

Damon couldn't sleep. He lay awake as the hours passed by; all he could think about was how much he wanted to rip Wilson apart. He seethed and scowled, trying to resist the urge to get up because Jackson asked him not to act on his anger and possessive, protective instincts...but how could he just fucking lay there and do nothing after that filthy, pathetic little muto kissed his mate?

He gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw. No matter how much he tried to focus on the fact that Jackson and his feelings mattered more to him than his own, he couldn't stop thinking about all the ways he wanted to make Wilson suffer. He wanted to rip his tongue out so he couldn't say another word to Jackson; he wanted to break every bone in his hands so that he couldn't touch Jackson, and he wanted to gouge his eyes out and shove them down his throat so that he couldn't so much as lay eyes on his mate, and only when he was on the very urge of bleeding out would he end his miserable life.

With a conflicted scowl, he looked down at Jackson, who was sleeping silently beside him with his head on his chest. He didn't want to do something that would hurt and upset the man he loved...but he couldn't just lay there knowing that someone else had touched and kissed his mate. He couldn't ignore the growing desire to do what he had every right to do.

He tried and tried and tried to ignore it...but when the clock struck eight, he gave in. He couldn't fight it—he didn't want to. Wilson deserved what Damon was about to give him, and not only because he kissed his mate; not long ago, Wilson also hurt Jackson—he lashed out—and Damon wouldn't let anything like that happen again. He'd not leave someone in his midst who wanted Jackson, someone who evidently didn't give a shit that Jackson was mated.

Damon got out of bed. He looked back at Jackson before he left the room, but any hesitation he had withered away. He was doing this for Jackson. The sooner Wilson was gone, the sooner things would be better for everyone. And it wasn't like they needed him; Lucian had already extracted the lab's location from Wilson's mind, and even if he didn't have exact coordinates, Damon was capable of finding the place once they reached the general area.

He navigated the halls of the still, silent mansion. It seemed like everyone was asleep, so getting to Wilson would hopefully be easier.

When he reached the main hall, he made his way to the elevator and pressed the button. He waited for it to arrive, watching as the dial above the doors slowly shifted from number to number. But he quickly grew impatient. His anger and frustration grew with each passing second, and his hands ached to get around Wilson's neck. He was going to make him wish he'd never so much as thought he'd have Jackson.

The elevator arrived, and the doors slid open—

"There you are," came Raphael's voice.

Damon sharply turned his head and set his eyes on the orange-haired man. "What?" he snapped confusedly.

"Cyrus said you and your little Redblood friend had questions, and since I'm waiting for Strămoş Luca to finish doing whatever he's doing, I thought I'd get it out of the way." He stopped beside Damon and glanced at the elevator. "Going somewhere?"

The Alpha glared into the elevator; he tensed up as his anger and desperation to protect Jackson urged him forward. He wanted to do it—he had to do it—

"Hello?" Raphael drawled, waving his hand in Damon's face.

Damon snarled irritably. His anger shifted towards Raphael, but it was just as well. Despite his instincts, his right, and his emotions, he knew that if he did this...Jackson might not forgive him. As much as he wanted to make Wilson pay...he shouldn't. So he sighed and stepped away from the elevator. "Has Cyrus found out where Kane is yet?"