Damon's fingers ghosted over the sleeping princess like he was memorizing every inch of forbidden territory.
She lay on the moonlit grass exactly where he'd laid her, chest rising and falling in slow, trusting breaths. Golden hair spilled across the green like spilled sunlight. That jasmine scent of hers wrapped around him, thick and sweet, stoking the dark ache low in his gut until it burned.
His gaze dropped to the bruises blooming across her ribs, the shallow cuts on her cheek and arm. Anger flashed hot and vicious behind his violet eyes — not at her, but at the demons who'd dared to mark what was already his.
"Bael, huh?" He smirked, slow and dangerous. "You really don't know how to stay out of trouble, do you, little flame?"
He brushed a lock of hair from her face, thumb lingering on the curve of her cheek.
"What a fiery beauty you are," he murmured, remembering the way those hazel eyes had blazed with golden fire. They called to something ancient and feral inside him — something he thought he'd buried centuries ago. His tongue dragged across his lower lip. The hunger sharpened.
She moaned softly, still half-unconscious, pain etching her brow.
Damon bit into his own finger without hesitation. A bead of dark, shimmering blood welled up. He pressed it to her parted lips.
She latched on instantly — desperate, instinctive — tongue curling around his finger, sucking hard. A low groan tore from his throat. The wet heat of her mouth, the way she drank him down like she was starving for him… it was obscene. Perfect.
"Slow down, pretty," he rasped, voice rough with restraint, threading his free hand through her hair to hold her steady. "You'll make me lose control."
The moment his blood hit her system, her wounds began knitting shut at unnatural speed. Her eyes fluttered open.
Reality crashed back in.
Hazel jerked away, cold fury replacing the haze in her gaze.
"What the hell is going on?"
Damon only tilted his head toward her arm. The cut was already fading to a faint pink line.
She glanced down, cheeks flushing crimson. "Guess… we're even now. I did save your life back there."
He rose to his full height, towering over her. Moonlight carved sharp shadows beneath his hood, leaving only those glowing violet eyes visible — predatory, amused, and far too knowing.
"A half-blood," he said softly. "I thought your kind were supposed to be extinct. Humans do love their little purges."
Kind?
The words slammed into her. No horns. No stench of brimstone. Just that maddening scent of damp cedar and smoke that made her want to lean in instead of run.
"I was born this way," she snapped.
"Okay."
Okay? Just… okay?
He took one step closer. The distance between them shrank to nothing. His scent thickened, wrapping around her like invisible chains.
"Your eyes," he murmured, voice dropping into something velvet and lethal. "They're beautiful when they burn."
Danger.
Every instinct screamed it. She was a war general, for hell's sake — she'd faced down demons twice her size without flinching. Yet her heart hammered like a trapped bird. Heat flooded her face. Her eyes strained to see beneath that hood, desperate for a glimpse of the face that went with that voice.
He lifted a hand toward her cheek.
She flinched back hard, breath catching.
Damon chuckled — low, dark, delighted.
The sound slithered down her spine and settled hot between her thighs.
"What a scaredy kitty," he whispered, stepping back with deliberate slowness.
"Goodbye, princess. I hope I see you very soon."
The words were light. The promise behind them was anything but.
How does he know who I am?
Her mind spun. She watched, frozen, as he melted backward into the shadow of an ancient oak. Those violet eyes lingered on her one last heartbeat — glowing with dark intent — then vanished completely.
Hooves thundered in the distance.
Hazel exhaled shakily as Aria burst through the trees, Simon close behind, crimson eyes blazing with worry.
"I'm fine," she said before he could speak, swinging up into the saddle. "Head back to camp. I'm continuing alone."
She spurred Aria forward without waiting for an answer.
Simon stared after her, then dropped into a crouch where the grass was still warm from her body. His gaze traced the claw marks, the fading scent of demons… and something far older. Far more dangerous.
He clenched his jaw, voice a low growl.
"He's here."