Chapter Seventeen – Nova POV
The bass rattled through my bones, shaking the glass in my hand. Heat pressed into me from every side, bodies grinding, perfume and sweat choking the air.
And then—him.
Damien Blackwood. Across the room. A girl plastered to him, her hands shameless on his chest, her mouth grazing his throat.
The sight punched something ugly into my stomach. My skin flushed, hot and cold all at once.
I couldn't stand it. Couldn't breathe.
Why?
Before I knew what I was doing, I was pushing through the crowd, nails biting into my palms, heels clicking too fast against the floor. I didn't care if Tessa followed. I needed out.
The hallway outside was darker, blessedly quieter. My breath came sharp, too loud in the silence as I stormed away, trying—failing—to shake the image of his hands on someone else.
The door clicked shut behind me.
"Running away?"
His voice.
Low. Dangerous. Poison sliding under my skin.
I froze. Slowly turned.
Damien leaned against the wall like sin itself—shirt undone just enough to tease sculpted muscle, hands in his pockets, grey eyes sharp and hungry. A predator at ease.
"What do you want, Damien?" My voice was sharper than I felt.
"The truth." His smirk was a blade.
"Go back to your toy."
One corner of his mouth lifted, dangerous, deliberate. "Jealous?"
"I'd rather set myself on fire."
His laugh wasn't mocking. It was worse—low, dark, amused. He pushed off the wall, each slow step toward me pulling the air tighter.
"Funny," he murmured, stopping just a breath away, "because the way you stared at me across the room… it looked like you were dripping for me."
My breath caught, my cheeks burned. "You—"
My back hit the wall. A sound escaped me—too close to a moan. Shame scorched me as his smirk deepened.
"Sinclair," he drawled my name like venom. "Do you really think you belong here?"
My jaw locked. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"No." His eyes swept down me, cruel and slow. "You're here because of your name. Because fate threw your dying bloodline one last scrap of mercy. Girls like you don't last at Blackwood."
"I'll last. I'll fight. I'll prove it."
For a heartbeat, silence. He studied me like I was a puzzle he meant to break apart.
"Fight?" His voice dropped, silken and cruel. "Tell me, Sinclair—what's your real plan? Claw your way up through sheer will? Or…" His head tilted, lips curling. "Spread your legs for the right man until you've bought yourself a place?"
The slap cracked the silence before I realized I'd moved. My palm burned.
His head turned with the force, but he only smiled. Slow. Wicked. Like I'd just fed him.
"Good," he whispered, tongue brushing his lip. "There's fire in you after all."
"You're disgusting," I spat, my hands trembling. "I'm not like the women you fuck and discard. I'll carve my place here—and one day you'll choke on it."
His gaze darkened, heat flickering sharp as a blade.
"You talk like you hate me," he murmured, stepping closer, "but your body disagrees. Your pulse is racing. Your chest is heaving." His mouth twisted into a vicious smile. "Tell me, Sinclair—did you tremble like this when Kieran had his hands on you? Or was it sweeter because you knew I was watching?"
My knees weakened. Pride kept me upright.
"I hate you," I whispered, breath breaking.
"Then hate me harder." His breath ghosted my ear, fire without touch. "Hate me until it kills you. But don't lie to yourself."
"I'm not lying." My voice betrayed me—ragged, trembling.
He laughed softly, filth and velvet. "Liar."
Rage and want tangled in my gut. I shoved at his chest. He didn't move. Iron.
"I don't even know what they see in you," I bit out, fighting to steady my voice. "Those girls—you treat them like disposable toys."
For a moment, silence. Then his laugh—low, obscene, dripping into my bones.
"Is that what you think? That they come to me for nothing?" His eyes burned into mine. He leaned close, words hot filth against my ear.
"They come because I know how to ruin them. How to make them scream until they forget their own names. I take them apart piece by piece… and when I'm done, they beg me for more."
Heat knifed through me so violently I pressed my thighs together, desperate, ashamed.
"You're vile," I hissed. My voice cracked.
"And yet," he said softly, eyes dragging down my body like a hand, "your breath hitched when I said it. You want to know, don't you? How it feels to be undone by me."
My heart hammered. "I don't—"
He leaned in, close enough that his lips brushed my jaw without touching. My body shivered traitorously.
"Liar," he whispered again, and the word set me on fire.
****
Damien's POV
The first time I saw her fall—back in the forest—it had felt like something sharp slid beneath my ribs.
I hadn't expected it. Didn't want it.
Nova Sinclair was supposed to be nothing more than a nuisance.
A mistake that stumbled her way into Noctis Dominium.
A Sinclair, yes—but not the kind that belonged here.
And yet…
When the ground swallowed her, when her eyes rolled back and her body went limp, I felt something I hadn't in years.
Panic.
It had been Kieran who caught her, not me. Kieran who pressed his glowing hand to her chest, whispering to her like she was already his. And it was her eyes that opened to him first. Her lips that parted with breath because of him.
Even now, I can still hear his words echoing in my head:
"You fall for me every time."
Bastard.
That image—her in his arms, her lashes fluttering for him—has carved itself into my skull. A brand I can't burn away, no matter how many times I close my eyes.
And then tonight—
She stood across the room, watching me with those silver eyes. Trying not to. Failing. I could feel her pulse from across the lounge, could feel her chest tightening as that little fool of a girl clung to me.
And gods help me—I let it happen.
I let her watch me entertain another, because I wanted to see it.
That storm in her.
That ugly, hot twist of jealousy in her throat.
I wanted her to hurt for me.
To burn the way I've been burning since the forest.
So I followed her. Out into the hall, away from the music and the crowd, where the truth could corner her without distraction.
Her body trembled for me the second I was near. She spat venom, but her pulse betrayed her. Her eyes betrayed her. Her very breath screamed of want, even when her lips curled with hate.
She thinks she can fight me. That she can fight this.
Liar.
The slap—ah, that was beautiful. The sting still lingers against my jaw, and I want more of it. The fire in her veins makes her worth crushing. Makes her worth ruining.
Because she doesn't belong here.
She doesn't belong in this school, in this kingdom, in this world I rule in shadows. She's a Sinclair, yes, but she's weak. Reckless. Stupid. The kind of girl who bleeds for flags and almost dies for it. The kind of girl who will be eaten alive.
That's why I corner her. Why I say the things I do.
Because I need to remind myself—remind her—that she's not special.
That she's just another foolish girl, who had stumbled into the lion den.
And yet….
She makes me restless.
She makes me reckless.
And I hate her for it.
I hate the way she looks at me like she can see through the armor.
I hate the way she shakes beneath me but still dares to meet my eyes, like she would rather die than submit.
I hate the way she said she'll prove herself here—prove to me, to everyone—that she belongs.
Because part of me wants to see it.
Wants to watch her crawl, fight, bleed, and rise.
Wants to be the one to push her down just to see how hard she claws her way back up.
No one has ever brought out that part of me. No one but her.
Nova Sinclair is unraveling me piece by piece.
And gods, I want to tear her apart for it.