The mansion was silent now, the chaos of battle replaced by the soft crackle of the fire Damien had relit in the private wing. The scent of smoke and scorched earth lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the warmth of their shared exhaustion. Aria leaned against the edge of the hearth, still catching her breath, hair damp with sweat and dust, silver light faintly shimmering along her skin from the battle.
Her wolf stirred beneath her, coiling, rolling, impatient and hungry. She had tasted power tonight, felt it surge through her veins with every spell, every strike, every glance from Damien. And now… the tension between them, the fire that had been simmering since her rejection and his secret protection, was impossible to ignore.
"You fought brilliantly," Damien said, voice low and husky as he entered the room, eyes fixed on her. He didn't just see her; he felt her—the pull, the heat, the wolf uncoiling beneath her skin. "Stronger than I expected. Stronger than I've ever seen."
