CHAPTER 228: REVERSE HEAT

Damon’s POV

Gods help me—I was playing with fire. And for once, I wanted to get burned.

The second Elena agreed to stay after I offered to blindfold myself, I knew I’d already won. Not the spar, no—her. Her attention. Her pride. Her fire. I could feel it pulsing off her like heat waves, mixing with the scent of sweat and frustration she carried from the moment she stepped into the room wearing those skin-tight leggings and that crimson sports bra.

Fucking hell.

She’d come dressed like that on purpose—like a declaration of war. And I? I was the poor bastard who came unarmored.

I tied the shirt around my eyes, nice and tight. No peeking. Didn’t need to.

Her breathing gave her away. Every shift of her stance, every exhale, every moment she hesitated. I didn’t need eyes—I had her rhythm memorized.

"Always," I answered when she asked if I was ready. What I didn’t say was: I’ve always been ready for you.

She circled me. Once. Twice.

I kept my posture relaxed, deliberately loose. My wolf strained under the surface, watching her like prey. My vampire half was listening, cataloging every shift in the air, every thump of her heart. I didn’t even need to try anymore. I was built for this.

She launched the first strike—predictable.

I stepped to the side, avoiding it with ease, not even breaking a sweat.

"You’ll have to do better than that, little Luna," I murmured, still blindfolded.

She grunted, angry now. Good.

Angry Elena was reckless. Angry Elena was desperate to prove herself. And I—well, I was a sadistic bastard who happened to enjoy watching her try. And fail. And get pissed all over again.

The next kick came faster. Still no contact.

I caught the vibration in the floor just before she pivoted, aiming for my side. I ducked, grabbed her wrist mid-motion, and spun her around, caging her with my body—but never touching her.

Close. Close enough to feel the tension between us like static.

But not yet.

Her breath was ragged now, uneven. Frustrated. Tempting.

"Want me to take the blindfold off, sweetheart?" I asked, smiling into the dark. "You sound flustered."

She screamed in sheer rage, launched herself at me with renewed ferocity. One-two punches. A roundhouse that I almost let land. Almost.

Instead, I caught her ankle again. Gripped it. Caressed it lightly—just to make her even madder—then let go.

"You’re not fighting with your full strength," I said, still facing nothing but black. "You’re letting emotions get in the way."

"You’re one to talk!" she growled.

She was getting tired. But gods, she was breathtaking.

I heard her stumble slightly—her stamina faltering. And just as she went for another kick, she lost her balance.

I dropped the blindfold in an instant and moved with full vampiric speed, catching her inches before she could hit the ground.

She landed in my arms again.

Like she always did.

But this time... this time, our fall became real. Her body collided with mine, her weight against my chest, and somehow we tumbled to the floor together. I caught myself on my hands just in time, hovering inches above her—again.

And fuck me, this view?

She was panting beneath me. Chest rising, eyes wide, face flushed from exertion. Her legs tangled with mine. Her scent drowning every rational thought I had left.

I was hard. Painfully so. No use hiding it.

Don’t judge me—I spent two hours evading her kicks and punches and pretending not to stare at the way her tits bounced or how her ass looked in those cursed tights. I was a man, not a saint.

"You lose, little mate," I whispered into her ear, still hovering above her like some predator with zero remorse.

And gods... I didn’t want to move.

But I did.

I captured her lips.

One second, I was whispering you lose, and the next... her lips were under mine, soft and full and parted in a breath I devoured.

She gasped, just a flicker of surprise before she melted—no, fought—into it. Because even her kiss was a battlefield.

Our mouths clashed—urgent, wild, a mess of teeth and tongue and emotion. Anger, lust, defiance. Her fingers fisted the front of my shirt like she didn’t know whether to pull me closer or shove me away.

I kissed her like I was starving.

Because I was.

For days now, weeks, maybe lifetimes, I’d craved this. Her. This mouth. This defiant heat. This maddening chaos she brought into my life like a fucking hurricane.

Her leg curled around my waist—instinct, not intention—but it undid me.

I growled into her mouth, low and possessive, deep enough for my wolf to echo it in my chest.

I wanted to mark her.

I wanted to take her right there on the goddamn training floor, beneath the scent of sweat and adrenaline and everything we’d been denying.

But—

She bit my lip.

Hard.

The sting snapped me back just enough to register the sharp glint in her eyes when I pulled back, breath ragged, lips wet and swollen.

Her chest heaved under mine.

"You kissed me," she said, accusing.

"You kissed me back," I shot.

She glared. "You’re such a bastard."

"And you’re mine," I growled, forehead resting against hers. "Every fucking inch of you, Elena."

Silence pulsed between us again, only this time, it wasn’t uncertain. It was charged. Loaded.

I didn’t move off her.

Didn’t want to.

Couldn’t.

"You started this war, little Luna," I murmured. "Now finish it. Hit me."

She blinked, confused.

"If you want to win," I whispered, brushing her cheek with the back of my hand, "then land the punch. End it. Then we can start again without you being emotional"

But gods, if she did...

I’d just kiss her all over again.

But just then, something surged from within me.

And no—it wasn’t my wolf.

And it sure as hell wasn’t the vampire.

It was darker. Hungrier. Older.

Something primal that twisted in my gut and roared beneath my skin like fire through dry bone. It wasn’t fully awakened, but it was there—Hades. The dormant god snarling for control, clawing at the walls of my chest, howling one thing into every fiber of my being:

Take her. Claim her. Make her yours.

I gritted my teeth, every muscle tensing as that feral energy slammed into me, unrelenting. My breath caught in my throat. My heart thundered like war drums. Fuck.

I wasn’t in control anymore.

It was like I’d been shoved into a heat of my own—a male’s version of the she-wolf’s frenzy. Only worse. Mine came laced with centuries of buried power, of torment, of godhood. And all of it wanted her.

Elena.

My mate.

My little Luna laid beneath me, lips swollen, breath shallow, her body flush against mine. Fuck.

She noticed.

Of course she did.

Her eyes widened as she stared at me, wolf rising beneath the surface. Responding. Because whatever the hell had gripped me... it had amplified my scent. Thickened it. Warped it into something darker, more commanding. Like her heat—only reversed.

And gods, she could smell it.

"Damon?" she whispered, her voice half a growl. "What’s wrong with you?"

Her pupils had dilated. Her wolf was just as close as mine—ears perked, claws ready. I could see it in the slight twitch of her fingers. Her body was reacting, aching, wanting...

And that only made it worse.

I clenched my jaw, rolled off her so hard and fast it was a miracle I didn’t break something.

"Get out," I growled.

She sat up, startled. "What—?"

"Get out!" My voice cracked like a whip. A dark growl laced the edges—one that didn’t sound fully mine. That didn’t sound mortal.

She froze.

I couldn’t even look at her. If I did... I’d lose what little control I still had.

I felt the burn of her stare, the hurt confusion twisting inside her, but I couldn’t risk it. I was seconds away from snapping—from taking her right here on this floor and ripping whatever control I had to pieces.

I didn’t want our first time like that.

Not like some mindless beast in heat. Not like a cursed god trying to claw his way into the world through the only woman I’d ever wanted.

So I forced myself to breathe. To fight the pull. To plant my hands into the mat and curl my fists so tight they shook.

Behind me, her footsteps echoed as she slowly stood. For a moment, I thought she might ignore me. Push me.

But she didn’t.

She turned.

Walked away.

Left.

The door clicked shut.

And still—I could smell her. That maddening, arousing, beautiful scent she carried when her wolf stirred for me. When her body was still singing from the fight and the kiss.

I slammed my fist into the mat.

Fuck.

I was losing the war with myself—and the battlefield was her.