The palace gardens were dead.
No flowers. No warmth. Just silver thorns and twisted trees that whispered secrets in the wind. Ariana stood among them like a ghost, the moonlight catching the red silk of her gown as if she bled from the inside out.
She needed air.
She needed to breathe somewhere that wasn't drenched in Damian's presence.
But even here… he found her.
"You walk alone at night," came that familiar, dangerous voice from the shadows. "Do you want to be hunted?"
Ariana didn't flinch. "Maybe I'm the one doing the hunting."
He stepped out from between the trees, looking like darkness made flesh — black coat, silver embroidery, and those eyes that stripped her bare with a glance.
He moved closer, slow and deliberate, as if she were prey that needed breaking. But Ariana didn't back down.
"You kissed me like you wanted to own me," she said, chin high. "Is that how you treat your weakness?"
Damian's jaw tightened.
"No," he said. "That's how I treat my obsession."
She faltered — for just a second. And he saw it.
"You think I haven't noticed?" he said, circling her slowly. "Your lips parting when I speak. Your breath catching when I touch you. You crave me, little flame. Admit it."
"And what if I do?" she whispered, eyes burning. "Will you ruin me gently… or set me on fire all at once?"
He stopped. The tension snapped like a blade between them.
Then his hands were on her waist — pulling her close, tight, up against him. His mouth crashed into hers, hot and reckless, full of a hunger that frightened her. She kissed him back, not because she wanted to surrender…
…but because she wanted to win.
His grip tightened.
Her hands slid under his coat.
"Say it," he growled against her lips.
"Say what?" she breathed.
"That you're mine."
She paused. Then leaned close to his ear.
"If I'm yours…" she whispered, voice sweet like poison, "then why do you look like the one who's falling?"
He stiffened.
And for the fir
st time… she saw fear in his eyes.
Not of her body.
But of her power.