The silence between them wasn't peaceful. It was heavy. Saturated with all the things they hadn't said — and all the things they'd done.
Ariana sat on the edge of Damien's vast bed, her wrists no longer bound, her skin covered in silk rather than bruises. But the taste of control still clung to the air like smoke.
He stood across the room, bare-chested, arms crossed. Watching her. Always watching her. The predator who once dragged her into the dark… now too captivated to look away.
"Say what you're thinking," she whispered, voice calm but trembling underneath.
Damien's eyes glinted obsidian in the candlelight. "You looked at me differently tonight."
"You mean I didn't look afraid."
"No," he said, stepping forward slowly. "You looked like you wanted to be here. That terrifies me more."
Ariana didn't flinch. She held his gaze, heat blooming low in her stomach. He was right. Something had shifted. She didn't know when it had happened — maybe it was when he held her after the last nightmare, or when his lips trembled against her throat and he didn't bite.
Or maybe it was when she realized the chains on her wrists were gone, but the bond between them was still there.
She stood slowly, letting the silk robe fall slightly off one shoulder.
"I'm not afraid of you anymore," she said. "Shouldn't that excite you?"
Damien's expression darkened — not with anger, but hunger. "It does. But it also makes me reckless."
He was in front of her in an instant, hands cupping her face, lips hovering inches from hers. She could feel the restraint shaking in him like a dam about to burst.
"You're mine," he growled low. "But every time you look at me like that — like you're choosing this — I stop knowing where I end and you begin."
She reached up, her fingers grazing his chest, feeling the pulse of power beneath his skin. "Then maybe it's time we both stopped pretending I'm the weak one."
Damien laughed — a low, dangerous sound that sent heat rushing through her. But it wasn't mocking. It was... proud.
"You were never weak," he murmured, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. "I just didn't want to believe you were strong enough to ruin me."
"Too late," she whispered.
Their mouths met in a slow, devastating kiss. Not violent. Not punishing. But full of the pressure they'd both bottled up. His lips claimed hers like a vow, and hers answered like a challenge. Their bond pulsed between them — alive, raw, ancient.
But something flared behind Damien's eyes as he pulled back, barely able to breathe.
"Ariana," he said, voice low. "There's something I haven't told you."
She stiffened.
"You're not just my mate," he continued. "You're the key to a prophecy. One the clan kept buried for centuries. If Xander gets to you first…"
A shiver danced down her spine. "What prophecy?"
Before he could answer, the ancient bell at the heart of the manor rang out — loud, jagged, urgent.
A breach.
Damien's body tensed instantly, his lips a razor's edge. "He's here."
Ariana's blood turned cold.
And then Damien did something he'd never done before — something that terrified her more than his strength, his rage, or his obsession.
He took her hand.
And whispered, "Run."