Damian's kiss was nothing like she had expected. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't kind. It was fire—hot, consuming, dangerous. His lips claimed hers with an authority that left no room for hesitation.
Elara gasped against his mouth, her fists clenching in the sheets as if to anchor herself. She should have pushed him away, screamed, fought—but instead, her body betrayed her, arching toward him as though pulled by invisible strings.
His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back to deepen the kiss. His other hand slid down her arm, tracing goosebumps across her skin. Every place he touched ignited sparks that made her tremble.
When he finally pulled back, his breath was heavy, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You taste of fear," he murmured, brushing his thumb over her swollen lip. "And it's intoxicating."
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her voice breaking. "Damian, I—"
"Shh." He silenced her with a finger against her lips, his gaze piercing. "Don't fight this. You already crossed the line tonight. You bled for me. Now let me show you what it means to belong to me."
He lowered himself, lips grazing her throat. The sensation made her gasp, her pulse hammering beneath his mouth. He lingered there, his teeth grazing lightly, teasing the boundary between pleasure and pain.
Elara shivered. "Why are you doing this to me?"
His lips curved against her skin, his voice dark and smooth. "Because you belong here. Because I see what you're too afraid to admit—you crave the very thing you fear most."
Her heart twisted violently. She wanted to scream that he was wrong, but the heat pooling in her body betrayed her. She was terrified, yet every brush of his mouth, every graze of his fingers left her aching for more.
His hand slid lower, resting at her waist, firm and unyielding. "Say it," he whispered. "Say you're mine."
Elara squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears. "I can't."
Damian chuckled softly, the sound deep and dangerous. "You already have—you just don't realize it."
He kissed her again, harder this time, pulling her into him until there was no space left, until her world narrowed to the heat of his mouth and the strength of his grip. Her body melted against him despite her mind screaming no.
When he finally pulled away, her lips were trembling, her breaths ragged. He rested his forehead against hers, his voice low, intimate, and final.
"Tonight, Elara, you stopped being free. Tonight, you became mine."
And the worst part was the flicker of truth burning in her chest—because even as her soul recoiled, her body whispered the same dark confession.
Damian's thumb brushed across her jaw as he studied her, the satisfaction in his gaze impossible to ignore. "You'll remember this night," he said softly. "Not as the moment you were broken… but the moment you were remade."
Elara wanted to deny him, to spit the words back at his face—but her lips betrayed her, quivering under the ghost of his touch. He leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear.
"Sleep, little dove. Tomorrow, the world will know you belong to me."
The weight of his words pressed into her chest, suffocating and inescapable. She turned her face into the pillow, but the warmth of his presence lingered, the scent of him sinking into her skin.
And when the door finally shut behind him, the silence was deafening.
She lay there, trembling, the echo of his kiss still burning on her mouth, her heart whispering a truth she could never admit aloud.
She was no longer sure if she feared him more… or herself.