Page 49 of Bound to the Guard

“It’s important to remember, Damien, that while your protective instincts as an Alpha are strong, Seven also needs the autonomy to work through things in his own way, at his ownpace,” Dr. Foster says. “You can be his safe place without taking on the entire burden yourself.”

Damien lifts my hand to kiss my knuckles. “I understand.”

I nuzzle his chest, breathing in his pheromones. My mind’s all jumbled up with the past, the present, and the uncertain future. But I cling to Dr. Foster’s advice like a lifeline, determined to untangle the knots inside me, even if I have to do it one thread at a time.

Dr. Foster’s attention returns to me. “I want you to know it’s okay to let go of the identity others have thrust upon you. Dylan may be linked to your past, but he doesn’t define who you are at this moment. Neither does Seven. You have the right to grow, to change, and to become whoever you want to be.”

His words wash over me, both terrifying and liberating. The idea of shedding my past, of stepping into an unknown future, sends my heart racing. Who would I be if not Seven or Dylan?

“I also want to suggest something for the two of you.” Dr. Foster’s gaze shifts between Damien and me. “In times of high stress or uncertainty, it’s helpful to have little rituals or ‘anchors’ to keep you connected. A special phrase you say to each other, a gentle touch, or even just setting aside dedicated time each day to nurture your bond. These small acts can provide a sense of stability and reassurance when everything becomes overwhelming.”

Damien and I have already developed our own little rituals, the way he always kisses my forehead before we fall asleep, the way I hold his hand when I’m anxious. Dr. Foster’s encouragement to lean into those moments validates prioritizing our connection.

As our session winds down, and Dr. Foster takes his leave, I trace the lines on Damien’s palm.

“What are you thinking?” Damien asks.

“Being Dylan… That’s not me anymore.” I trace the blunt curve of his nail. “Am I disrespecting my parents, who gave me that name?”

“No, it’s not disrespectful. If they were still alive, they would want you to embrace who you are now.” Damien tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Do you prefer Seven?”

I shake my head. “I’m used to it, but I don’t like where it comes from.”

“Any idea of what you’d like instead?” When I shake my head and wiggle closer, he scoops me all the way onto his lap. “There’s no rush. Take your time to decide.”

I rest my head on his shoulder. “Sorry I disrupted your meeting earlier.”

“Never be sorry for needing me. And you didn’t disrupt anything.” Damien’s hand settles on my knee. “Raphael’s pissed we brought Avery in without discussing it with him first, and he and Aaiden are butting heads over it.”

Now I’m extra glad I didn’t go to the meeting. “Do they really not get along that much?”

“They’re like liquid hydrogen and fire.” His hand moves up to my knee. “Raphael can keep a level head under almost any condition, but as soon as Avery’s in the room, he combusts, and his anger only encourages Avery to keep pushing.”

I worry my bottom lip. “So they hate each other?”

“Oh, no. Quite the opposite. But Raph will have to deal.” Damien’s thumb on my chin pulls my lip out from between my teeth. “So, you’re nineteen, huh?”

I tense at the reminder. “Is that a deal breaker?”

“A year doesn’t change anything.” His thumb massages my thigh, and my pulse quickens. “You’re mine.”

“I didn’t lie on purpose.” My legs spread for him in invitation. “I don’t actually know what month it is.”

While I know exactly how many days Damien and I have been together, everything else remains fuzzy outside of the season.

He rumbles as his palm slides higher. “November.”

“So next month, I’ll be twenty.” Recalling what he said the last time I sat on his lap, I wiggle my ass over his growing bulge. “Do you have to go back downstairs tonight?”

He doesn’t even check his phone before he scoops me up to stride back to the bedroom.

16

Astifling heat engulfs me as I gasp awake, sweat clinging to my skin. Damien’s arms wrap around my trembling form, his body a furnace fueling the fever in my blood.

Careful not to rouse him, I slip out from under the blankets and stumble to the bathroom on trembling legs.

The cool tile leeches some of the heat from my bare feet as I fumble for the faucet in the dark. With shaking hands, I fill a glass and gulp down the ice-cold water, rivulets trickling down my chin. It does little to quench the rising inferno inside me. The glass clatters on the counter when I set it down to splash handfuls of water on my flushed face.

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