Bleed Me Softly
The silence after Kaia's message was a different kind of storm.
Damon sat in his penthouse, the city bleeding light beneath his feet, the screen still frozen on her face—the final frame of that damning video. The pain in her voice haunted him like a curse. He had seen her fearless before. Defiant. Dangerous.
But never broken.
Never like that.
The video wasn't just a confession.
It was a eulogy.
To the girl she used to be.
And a warning to the man he had become.
He ran a hand down his jaw, blood still crusted on his knuckles from the earlier fight. Every instinct in him screamed for control, but it was slipping through his hands like sand.
Kaia knew everything.
The labs. The contract. The silence he'd bought with bodies and fire.
She had walked through hell—and now she was coming back for him.
And still…
Still he wanted her.
Even knowing she might be the end of him.
He reached for his glass, but his hand trembled. He set it down untouched.
"Bleed me if you must," he muttered to the night, "just don't stop touching me while you do."
---
Meanwhile…
Kaia stood outside The Hollow, the exclusive underground gala reserved for the rich, criminal, and royally fucked. Her black dress shimmered like obsidian, the slit daring, the neckline a threat.
She wasn't here to blend in.
She was here to start a war.
Her heels echoed down the marble hallway like gunshots. Heads turned. Men stared. Women whispered.
Let them.
Tonight, the hunted became the hunter.
And Damon Alaric Valen?
He'd feel every inch of her vengeance. From the way her voice wrapped around his name like a noose… to the way her hands would tear through every secret he'd buried.
She didn't come to kill him.
She came to make him beg.
"Kaia Seraphine," a voice purred near the velvet entrance. "Didn't think you had the nerve to show up here."
She turned. A rival from the old world. Daxen Leone—one of Damon's loyal associates. Tall, cold, and just stupid enough to underestimate her.
Kaia smiled, slow and dangerous. "I'm not here for you, Daxen."
"Then who—"
The room fell into a hush as Damon entered.
Dark suit. No tie. Black eyes. And fury smoldering in his shadow.
The tension between them was instant. Molten. Atomic.
Kaia's spine straightened.
Damon's jaw clenched.
The space between them crackled like a live wire.
"You shouldn't have come," he said, voice low.
"And yet, here I am."
"Wearing that dress like you want to be touched."
"Maybe I want you to suffer first."
Damon stepped closer, his body a wall of barely leashed rage. "You think you've won? Just because you sent me a little ghost story?"
Kaia laughed, throat dry. "No. That was just the prelude."
"Then show me the rest," he growled.
---
The night spiraled into madness.
Kaia didn't remember how they ended up in the private suite. Just the feel of the cold glass against her back, and Damon's mouth crashing into hers like he was starving for her soul.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't gentle.
It was savage.
His hands were bruising. Her nails left trails down his back. He gripped her throat—not to hurt, but to claim.
And she let him.
Because no one else made her feel like this.
Like ruin could be holy.
Like destruction could be divine.
"Say it," he whispered against her lips, voice hoarse.
"What?"
"That you still want me."
"I want you broken," she gasped. "On your knees."
"Then put me there," he growled.
Their bodies collided like fire and gasoline. Buttons scattered. Her dress hit the floor. He pinned her against the glass with a growl, their reflection caught in the skyline—like shadow devouring light.
Kaia moaned, breathless, as he slid into her. It was war and worship.
He kissed her like he hated her.
She kissed him like he was already dead.
And for one reckless, blissful moment…
Nothing else mattered.
---
But war waits for no one.
Outside the suite, a figure moved through the shadows with a silenced pistol and a mission.
Because tonight?
Someone had come to make sure neither of them walked out alive.
---