Strongest Incubus Sy Chapter 230: Damon, and his new wife

Chapter 230: Damon, and his new wife...

Damon slowly brought his hand to his forehead, his fingers pressing against his temples as if that were enough to organize the chaos forming inside him.

"Of course..." he murmured, his voice hoarse, almost an incredulous laugh escaping at the end. "That was why."

Elizabeth stirred slightly against his chest, but didn’t wake. She just snuggled closer, as if that were the most obvious place in the world to be. Her weight didn’t bother him—on the contrary. It anchored him.

Damon closed his eyes for a mont.

"It was a ritual," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "It wasn’t just blood."

The pieces began to fall into place with cruel clarity.

Her hesitation.

The excessive control.

The way she had said no, I can’t, and no, I don’t want to.

She knew.

The system didn’t appear on a whim. It didn’t reward impulses. It had been recognized as sothing structural, ancient, greater than the two of them.

He opened his eyes again, staring at the emptiness above him while the ssage still seed to burn in his mind.

Vampire wedding ritual.

Damon let out a long sigh.

"Damn..."

His hand slid through his hair, ssing it up even more, while the mory pulled sothing from the depths of his human mind—fragnts of old readings, nights spent on forums, poorly translated PDFs, novels he devoured without imagining that one day that knowledge would be... relevant.

He rembered.

In many stories, vampires didn’t marry like humans. No ceremony, rings, or witnesses. The real bond ca after the complete transformation. When both no longer belonged to the mortal world.

The ritual varied from work to work, but the core was always the sa.

Exchange of blood.

Absolute consent.

Mutual acceptance of eternity.

It wasn’t enough for one to drink from the other. The order mattered. The timing mattered. And, above all, the intention.

Damon swallowed hard.

"You tried to avoid this from the beginning..." he murmured softly, almost tenderly now. "Not because it was dangerous for . But because it was definitive."

Elizabeth shifted again, her face pressing lightly against his chest. His heart—the one that didn’t need to beat—reacted nonetheless, as if recognizing the gesture.

He felt sothing tighten inside him.

In the novels, the vampire marriage wasn’t rely symbolic. It created a structural bond. A tie that transcended distance, ti, and, in so cases, even temporary death. Partners felt each other’s presence. They knew when the other was hurt. So shared dreams. Others, emotions too raw to be filtered.

And there was one detail that now made perfect sense.

The ritual only worked if both drank after one of them had completely transford.

He let out a low, incredulous laugh.

"You waited," he said quietly. "You waited for

to cross the line... and even then you tried to stop ."

Because Elizabeth Wykes wasn’t cruel.

She hadn’t transford him to trap him.

She hadn’t fed him to possess him.

She had tried to give him a choice—even knowing he didn’t have all the information.

Damon took a deep breath, feeling sothing pulsing beneath the surface of his consciousness.

Her.

He didn’t need to look to confirm. He knew exactly where she was, the rhythm of her breathing, the specific weight of her body on his. It wasn’t heightened perception. It was... connection.

"This is ridiculous," he murmured. "I’ve beco a character in a light novel."

But there was no real humor in the sentence.

The system’s ssage still lingered, impersonal and definitive, like a sealed sentence.

[Congratulations!] [You have completed the vampire marriage ritual with Elizabeth Wykes!]

[Eternal bond established.]

[So functions will be unlocked gradually.]

Damon frowned.

"So functions...?" he repeated ntally. "Great. Of course, this cos with chanics."

He felt a strange impulse—not hunger, not desire. A silent need to touch her, to confirm that this wasn’t just a system mocking him.

Carefully, he moved his free hand to Elizabeth’s hair. His fingers slid slowly, respecting her sleep. At the contact, sothing responded instantly within him, as if the bond adjusted, satisfied.

She sighed.

She didn’t wake up. But she smiled.

Damon froze.

The smile was small, unconscious, but it hit him hard. This wasn’t acting. It wasn’t manipulation. It was comfort.

"You knew this would happen if I drank from you afterward," he murmured. "And yet... when I ordered... you ca."

The mory of the mont before the ritual imposed itself, now with a different weight.

"That’s an order."

He clenched his teeth.

It hadn’t been pure domination. The ritual required real consent—not magical, not forced. If Elizabeth had truly objected, none of this would have worked.

She had chosen.

Perhaps the instant she realized he was no longer just an unstable variable.

Perhaps the mont she felt his blood sing.

Or perhaps... she had chosen long before.

Damon closed his eyes for a few seconds, letting the realization settle in.

He was married.

Not by paper.

Not by convention.

But for sothing ancient, predatory, and eternal.

When he opened his eyes again, the world seed... adjusted. As if the system had recalibrated the reality around them. The mansion wasn’t just a safe place now. It was shared territory.

"That explains a lot," he murmured.

It explained the feeling of completeness.

It explained the inner silence.

It explained why his blood had reacted so violently to hers—and vice versa.

He looked at Elizabeth once more.

This ti, not as his creator.

Nor as an entity too ancient to be understood.

But as sothing dangerously closer.

"When you wake up," he said softly, almost a warning, "we’re going to have a talk."

Elizabeth stirred slightly, as if she had heard, and murmured sothing incomprehensible before settling back down.

Damon let his hand rest on her back.

The system could call it a ritual.

The novels might call it marriage.

But deep down, he knew.

It hadn’t been a mistake.

Damon awoke slowly, as if erging from a lake too deep.

The first sensation was strange—a slight discomfort in his neck, not exactly pain, more like the mory of sothing that had already happened and that his body hadn’t yet decided whether to complain about or not. A warm, rhythmic pressure.

He frowned.

Then he opened his eyes.

It took a few seconds for his vision to adjust to reality.

Elizabeth was leaning over him, carefully supported, one hand resting on his chest as if she had been balancing there for hours. Her light hair fell forward, partially hiding her face, and her lips... her lips were exactly where the discomfort made sense.

She drank his blood with an almost offensive tranquility.

No rush.

No violence.

It was calm. Natural. Like soone drinking coffee on a lazy morning.

Damon’s eyes widened.

"...Elizabeth?"

She pulled away instantly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, without the slightest sign of guilt. On the contrary—she smiled. A wide, bright, almost childlike smile.

"Finally," she said with a satisfied sigh. "I thought you’d never wake up again."

Damon blinked a few tis, still processing.

"You... were..." He brought his hand to his neck, feeling the sensitive spot, the warm skin. "...drinking my blood."

"I was," she confird, sitting up on her legs in bed, perfectly at ease. "I tried to wake you up earlier, you know? I called you, shook you, even splashed water on your face."

She made a brief pout, as if feeling wronged.

"Nothing. You were sleeping like a rock."

Damon let out a short, incredulous laugh.

"Of course I was asleep. My system decided to give

a reward coma."

Elizabeth tilted her head, observing him intently.

"After a full-blown vampire wedding?" she comnted casually. "It was expected. Your body was readjusting. I figured you’d only wake up when you were... ready."

She made a vague gesture with her hand, as if "ready" were a simple concept.

Damon propped himself up on his elbows, sitting up a little more comfortably. The world seed clearer than ever. Every detail of the room, every distant sound from the mansion, everything seed perfectly aligned.

But nothing caught his attention more than her.

Elizabeth was different.

Not physically—she was still the sa elegant, ethereal figure, with that beauty that seed to have traversed centuries without asking permission. But sothing about her... had shifted.

The mystery had vanished.

Or rather: not gone, but relaxed. Like a heavy cloak she had finally let fall to the floor.

She was free.

Alive.

"You seem... happy," he said carefully.

Elizabeth blinked, surprised, as if she’d only just now realized.

"I am," she replied without hesitation. "It’s strange, isn’t it? I spent so much ti... holding everything in. Thinking about consequences, rules, risks. Always calculating."

She looked at her own hands.

"Now I don’t need to hide anymore. Or pretend to be in control all the ti."

Damon felt a tightening in his chest.

"So that was the weight," he murmured.

She nodded.

"The bond took that away from . I can’t lie to you anymore. Or to myself."

Elizabeth looked up and smiled again—not the distant smile from before, nor the enigmatic one. It was simple. Almost silly.

"Oh, and since you weren’t waking up... I decided to start breakfast."

Damon’s eyes widened again.

"...That was breakfast?!"

"Only part of it," she replied, shrugging. "Don’t worry, I controlled myself. You’re still in one piece."

He ran a hand over his face, chuckling softly.

"I wake up married, being used as juice... and you say that as if you were comnting on the weather."

Elizabeth leaned in again, closer than necessary.

"Don’t you like it?"

Damon felt the imdiate reflex of the bond respond. Not raw excitent—sothing deeper. Belonging. Acceptance.

He raised his hand and placed it in her hair, his fingers sliding slowly, in an instinctive gesture. Elizabeth froze for a second... then relaxed completely under the touch, her eyes almost closing.

"It’s okay," he said, softly, sincerely. "You can drink as much as you want."

She opened her eyes slowly.

"Really?"

"Really," she confird. "If it makes you feel this way... then I don’t see a problem."

Elizabeth stared at him for a few seconds that were far too long, as if searching for an invisible trap. He didn’t find it.

The smile that followed was unlike any other.

"You’re dangerous, Damon."

"Says the vampire who just used

as coffee," he retorted.

She laughed. A real, clear laugh that echoed through the room in a way the old Elizabeth would never allow.

"I warned you this would be troubleso."

She leaned in again, not to bite, but to rest her forehead against his.

"Now I don’t need to ask permission anymore."

Damon closed his eyes for a mont, feeling the bond vibrate softly between them.

"No," he agreed. "You don’t need to."

The day had barely begun.

And, for the first ti since everything had changed, Damon was certain of one thing:

This wasn’t the end of his humanity.