Ariana stood at the edge of the ruined courtyard, wind pulling at her hair. The moon hung low, swollen and red, casting the world in shadows.
She'd been awake for three nights straight.
Every time she closed her eyes, she heard him—Xander's whisper curling like smoke in her mind.
But worse than that were the powers.
She'd touched a servant and accidentally ripped his memory out through his blood.
She'd turned a bowl of water into crimson wine with a thought—and then drank it like it meant something.
She hadn't told Damien.
Not yet.
She was scared of what it meant—and terrified of what it might do to him.
---
That evening.
Damien returned, scent of ash and blood on him. Another minor rebellion crushed. Another message sent to the clans that he was still in control.
But Ariana saw it.
The strain. The rage. The fear in his eyes every time he looked at her a little too long.
So she didn't say anything.
Not until later, when they were alone.
He touched her back, fingers trailing across her bare skin, lips at her shoulder.
"You're quiet," he said. "Too quiet."
She turned. Slowly.
And let her eyes glow for just a second—deep, obsidian black, with veins of violet.
He froze.
"What the hell was that?"
Ariana stepped back.
"This is what your brother left behind," she said, voice trembling. "And it's not going away."
---
The argument exploded.
"You should have told me," he growled, fists clenched. "I could've helped you—"
"Helped me how?" she snapped. "Locked me up? Treated me like some cursed relic? No thanks."
"You don't understand what Xander's power does to people—"
"No, Damien. You don't understand what it's like to have something inside you that could tear the world apart if you lose control."
His face twisted.
"I know exactly what that's like."
Silence.
Then Ariana's voice dropped.
"Then train me. Don't protect me. Make me a weapon. Let me be more than your weakness."
---
Damien stared at her.
And something in him broke—and rebuilt.
He walked to her, slowly. Deliberately.
"You want training?" he said. "You'll bleed for it."
"Then make me bleed."
His mouth crashed into hers—brutal, angry, hot. Not the kiss of a lover. The kiss of an equal, ready for war.