The Fire Beneath the Ashes
Kaia didn't know whether she wanted to slap him or kiss him.
Damon stood in the doorway of the penthouse suite like a shadow made flesh—hair tousled, jaw clenched, eyes ablaze. The dim lighting behind him carved muscle from marble, and the tension rolling off him was violent. Feral.
"You sent me that video," he said darkly, stepping inside. "You wanted to break me."
Kaia didn't move. "You deserved to be broken."
He let the door slam behind him. "And yet here you are—waiting for the monster you claim to hate."
She exhaled sharply. "Don't flatter yourself. I was leaving."
His eyes dipped to the duffel bag by the door, then back to her face. "Running. Again."
"No. Surviving.Something you know nothing about."
He crossed the room in two long strides, grabbing her wrist before she could flinch away. "Don't mistake survival for cowardice, Kaia. And don't mistake guilt for righteousness."
Her pulse thundered under his touch, but she didn't pull away. "Then what should I mistake you for? A savior? A man who watched them ruin me and did nothing?"
His jaw ticked.
Kaia leaned in, eyes burning. "Tell me, Damon—what's worse? Dying… or living with the man who let you die?"
That landed like a blade.
He stared at her, chest heaving, his expression unreadable. But his grip tightened.
And then—he kissed her.
Furious. Hungry. Desperate.
Kaia shoved at him, but her body betrayed her before her mind could protest. Heat flooded her. Memories surged. The taste of him—the smell, the feel—wasn't just familiar. It was home.
She hated that.
She hated that she melted into it.
When she finally pushed back hard enough to breathe, she slapped him across the face.
The sound cracked the air between them.
His cheek flared red. He didn't flinch.
"I needed you," she whispered. "And you let them take everything from me."
His voice was low, wrecked. "You think I don't know that? You think I haven't lived every day since with your ghost in my lungs?"
Kaia shook her head, eyes glassy. "You lived. That's the difference."
He took her face in both hands, eyes wild. "I didn't live, Kaia. I survived too. In every backroom deal. Every body buried to protect what was left. I destroyed everyone who touched you—but I couldn't destroy myself."
"You should've," she breathed.
His mouth hovered inches from hers. "Then finish it. End me."
Her fingers curled into his shirt. "Don't tempt me."
"I want you to," he rasped. "Because if you don't end this now, I swear I will never let you go again."
And when she kissed him this time, it wasn't gentle.
It was war.
They collided like fire and gunpowder—clothes ripped, buttons snapped, breath stolen. Damon pushed her against the wall, lifting her like she weighed nothing, lips bruising hers, hands carving down her spine.
Kaia clung to him like he was the last lie she'd ever tell.
They were reckless. Hungry. Starved.
His mouth dragged down her neck, his teeth grazing the scar just above her collarbone. She gasped—half pain, half memory—and he paused, lips hovering there.
"Who gave you this?" he asked, voice dangerous.
She didn't answer.
His jaw clenched. But he didn't press.
Instead, he carried her to the bed like she was glass and flame, all at once.
There was nothing soft about the way they moved. It was primal. Desperate. A fury of tangled limbs, of half-choked names and silenced sobs.
And yet, somewhere in the chaos… there was reverence too.
He whispered her name like a prayer.
She cursed his with the venom of devotion.
Afterward, Kaia lay in the crook of his arm, silent. Their bodies slick with sweat, their souls still screaming.
Damon was the first to speak.
"I never stopped loving you."
She turned her head slowly, eyes unreadable.
"That's the problem."
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