Damon
After masquerading through the vampire kingdom and annihilating their precious first royal family, the storm in my chest finally began to cool. The inferno left behind from that pathetic encounter with my mate—Elena—had found release in the blood of royals. My rage was quiet now, but no less present. Just... satisfied.
I vanished the sa way I ca—like a shadow in fog. No alarms, no screams, no survivors to speak of my existence. Not a whisper would betray .
Not a single soul left to rember.
Once I was well beyond the borders, I shifted.
My massive wolf form erupted from beneath my skin, black as obsidian and monstrous in size. I wasn’t just an alpha. I was a predator born from two primal forces. My wolf towered above what any shifter would dare to call "normal." I wasn’t a beast. I was the nightmare wolves feared in stories told to pups by trembling elders.
This wasn’t just a wolf. It was power. Fanged, clawed, and soaked in borrowed darkness.
The size and viciousness ca from the vampire half—unnatural muscle, predatory instincts, speed that blurred ti. And yet the wolf brought balance. It fed strength to my vampiric senses, sharpened my claws beyond natural bone, amplified my stamina and fury. The two halves didn’t just coexist—they complented, enhanced, perfected each other.
A flawless monster.
As I stord back into my pack’s territory, I didn’t hide myself. I wanted them to feel it. To tremble beneath my paws. To see what ruled them. I passed the training field, the warriors still awake—or stupid enough to loiter past curfew. They caught a glimpse of .
One look.
One.
And the fear in the alpha bond surged like a drug through my veins.
They knew. If any among them were harboring thoughts of rebellion, of replacing , challenging —they’d just seen what they would face. I didn’t need words. I didn’t need roars.
I was the warning.
And it was enough.
By the ti I reached the pack house, the blood on my fur had dried—caked on like war paint, hidden well beneath the midnight of my coat. I shifted back, body stretching and reforming into my human form, the cold air licking my bare skin.
I didn’t bother dressing.
Why would I?
I was going straight into the shower anyway. And besides, if Elena happened to see like this... let her. Let her see the blood on . Let her see the monster she mated.
The house was quiet. Dead quiet. I moved through it like smoke, every sense tuned. She’d be asleep by now—it was well past 1 AM. I hadn’t ant to be this late, but the slaughter had taken ti. Royals are resilient, after all. Not that it helped them.
I stepped into our bedroom, already expecting the scent of her to soothe the last sliver of heat left in my blood.
But she wasn’t asleep.
She was sitting up in bed—awake, alert. A book in her hands of all things. Who the hell reads at one in the morning?
Our eyes locked the second I opened the door.
Shock widened hers first—maybe surprise. But beneath that, sothing flickered. Was it... relief? Excitent? Gladness?
She didn’t move. Just stared. Like she didn’t know if she should gasp or smile. And maybe she didn’t. Between the blood coating my bare body and the fact that I was completely naked, I couldn’t tell which sight caught her more off guard.
I assud with how much she loath for cutting short her ti with my halves she must be secretly gladly that I might be injured, too bad for her. I smirked, slow and cold.
"Don’t be too glad, honey," I said, my voice low and rough as I crossed the room. "It’s not my blood."
Her eyes didn’t leave .
"It would take a hell of a lot more than this to injure ."
I didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t give her space to ask questions. I turned and headed straight for the bathroom, the dried blood leaving faint red streaks where my hands brushed the doorfra.
Let her wonder.
Let her imagine.
Let her know the creature she’s mated to isn’t so broken half of Kane, or a shadow of Dean. I’m not a mory. I’m not a trick.
I’m Damon.
And I just reminded a kingdom what it ans to bleed.
Elena
There were so many damn emotions swirling inside , I couldn’t even na them anymore. They just tangled up in my chest—rage, longing, confusion, guilt—and swirled into one chaotic ss. But fuck... Damon walked in.
Naked. As. Hell.
Like so god of vengeance had just descended from Olympus after smiting a nation—and he had the blood to prove it.
And it absolutely did not help that I was smack in the middle of reading the most scandalous Chapter of a very adult book. Like, not safe for underage eyes kind of adult. And there I was, heat blooming across my cheeks, book half-forgotten in my lap, eyes locked on the walking embodint of sin who just strolled in, dripping with blood and testosterone like it was a damn cologne.
Damon had been gone for three days. Three. Days. After the incident.
You know... that incident.
The one where I accidentally mourned Kane’s na in the middle of our very intense, very toe-curling make-out session. Yeah, not my proudest mont. But in my defense, he was the one who tricked into thinking he was Kane in the first place. So really, who’s at fault here?
Zena, my wolf, had been up my ass ever since. Berating . Judging . Poking holes in everything I said or felt. For three goddamn days. She was not pleased. Apparently, I was the one being dramatic.
"They’re not dead, technically," she had snarled with all the snark of a thousand lifetis. "They’re absorbed into the original. Damon. You know, the true mate?"
Yeah, well, I wasn’t ready to accept that just yet. So I buried myself in mories. Dug out the book Kane had once held, once read with in those quiet, soft monts. I finished it in a day. Cried. Raged. Slept with it under my pillow. And then I found out... it wasn’t the only one. There was a whole damn collection of these romance novels stashed away. So, naturally, I dove into another one.
And the Chapter Damon decided to walk in on?
The Chapter?
Let paint a picture.
The CEO was deep inside his secretary. Desk shaking. Shirt gone. Her blouse shredded, bra hanging off one shoulder, breasts completely exposed. One leg thrown over his shoulder, the other stretched wide, panties ripped clean in the middle. He was driving into her like a beast starved for days, mouth at her throat, fingers buried in her hips, growling her na like she was salvation and sin wrapped in one body.
And then—boom—my dark, blood-drenched mate strolls in.
Naked.
Slick, broad chest glistening. Defined abs sculpted like he was chiseled by the gods. That sinful V-cut leading straight to—
Yeah. You know where. And even though he wasn’t hard, that thing still hung there, heavy and unapologetic.
My brain short-circuited. I wasn’t even processing reality at that point. I was still ntally seated on that CEO’s desk with him pounding into .
And then he spoke.
"Don’t be too glad, honey," he said, voice like dark velvet dipped in warning. "It’s not my blood. It would take a hell of a lot more than this to injure ."
Just like that, the fantasy shattered. Office sex? Gone. CEO? Replaced by the very real, very naked, very lethal man standing in our bedroom, dripping blood onto the floor like it was nothing.
Wait. Did he seriously think I was glad because I thought he was hurt?
God, n are idiots.
No, Damon. That wasn’t gladness. That was trying to figure out if I was seconds away from combusting in lust or screaming in horror.
Probably both.
But what really hit —the part that stuck in my throat like glass—was the tallic scent. Thick. Clinging to his skin. Blood. Not his.
And knowing Damon... it wasn’t just one person’s.
He walked past like a storm on legs, heading straight to the bathroom, leaving a faint sar of blood on the doorfra as his fingers brushed it. I sat frozen, book forgotten, mouth dry, pulse hamring. My eyes trailed him, the firm line of his back, the tension in his shoulders.
He didn’t even look back.
And I... didn’t know if I wanted him to.
Because if I t those eyes—those damned eyes—I wasn’t sure if I’d find my mate...
Or a monster.
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