h4Chapter 226: Tempress/h4

    strongElena’s POV /strong

    I wasn’t going to show up.

    I told myself that all morning. All afternoon too. I wasn’t going to show up and give Damon the satisfaction of being right. I was going to stay in the guest room, paint my nails, maybe break a few mugs with telekinesis just to work out the frustration.

    But then I remembered his smirk. That damn smirk that said iYou want choices? Sure, I’ll give you the illusion of control until I flip the whole board on you./i

    And that’s when I decided.

    Fine.

    I’d show up.

    But on my terms.

    So I picked out the most idistracting/i training outfit I owned—ck skin-tight leggings that fit like a second, sinfully painted skin and a crimson-red sports bra that showed just enough cleavage to ensure Damon would either lose focus... orbust.

    Two could y this game. And I’d iwin./i

    I tied my hair into a high ponytail, swiped on a touch of lip balm (because hydration matters, okay), and strutted toward the training grounds like the whole damn world belonged to me. Because right now? It did.

    When I arrived, he was already there.

    Of course he was.

    Damon stood at the center of the clearing, shirtless—because he ihad/i to be dramatic—with his hands on his hips and the look of a man who just got done murdering someone and now needed to burn off the afterglow.

    His eyesnded on me instantly. And froze.

    I didn’t miss the slight re of his nostrils. Or the way his jaw tightened. Or the twitch in his fingers like they wanted to grab something—ime/i, specifically.

    Good.

    I slowed my steps on purpose, hips swaying with every step like I wasn’t just here to train—I was here to dominate.

    "You’rete," he said, voice rough.

    I cocked my head. "Thought you said I could choose the time."

    His gaze darkened, raking over every inch of me like he was trying to burn the outfit off with sheer willpower.

    "You’re ying a dangerous game," he muttered.

    I grinned, sweet and deadly. "Good. I like games."

    He took a step closer. "You nning to fight dressed like that?"

    I blinked innocently. "Why? Am I idistracting/i you?"

    He didn’t answer.

    But the way his throat bobbed? That was answer enough.

    Damon exhaled through his nose like a bull about to charge. "Stretch first. You’re going to need your flexibility."

    "Oh?" I asked, biting my lip. "nning to pin me again?"

    His eyes shed dangerously. "Don’t tempt me."

    We started with warm-ups. Or iI/i did. Damon mostly just stood there and watched like I was a one-woman show at a strip club disguised as a dojo.

    By the time I bent over for hamstring stretches, I could feel the weight of his stare like an actual hand dragging down my spine.

    I looked over my shoulder, still bent. "You sure you’re focused enough to train me?"

    He looked like he was seconds away from sin.

    "Just try not to break," he growled.

    We began sparring, and I gave it my all—not just because I wanted tond a hit, but because I wanted to make him isweat/i for once. For the first few minutes, he stayedposed, blocking every kick, dodging every punch.

    But the longer I moved, the tighter his control became.

    Every time I twisted, every time I lunged, his eyes followed like a starving man staring at a buffet he wasn’t allowed to touch. His muscles tensed every time our bodies made contact, and once—just once—his hand lingered on my waist just a ilittle/i too long before pushing me back.

    I didn’tnd a punch.

    But I saw victory in the way his eyes burned.

    In the way his breath hitched when my chest brushed his arm.

    In the way his ws ialmost/i extended when I spun and nearly collided into him again.

    When we paused for water, I handed him his bottle and said with a smirk, "Don’t overheat on me, Alpha. We’ve barely started."

    He took the bottle, staring down at me like he was mentally ripping the clothes from my body and recing them with bite marks.

    "You’re evil," he muttered.

    I winked. "Told you. I like games."

    And from the storm brewing in his eyes, I’d say round one went to ime./i

    strongDamon’s POV/strong

    Today had been ihell/i. Not the kind thates with fire and brimstone—but the kind that wears your mate’s scent like a weapon and doesn’t let you sleep.

    Last night, I told myself I was doing the noble thing. Letting her cool off, giving her space. That damn guest room door was locked, and I could’ve broken it without even blinking—but I didn’t. Thought I’d earn points for self-restraint.

    Turns out, restraint doesn’t mean shit when your bed is cold, your wolf is pacing like a lunatic, and your vampire side is equally restless from not getting what it wants—her.

    So yeah, I didn’t sleep. At all.

    By five, I was already at the training grounds, waiting for her like a damn puppy. She didn’t show up. Not even a sniff of her scent in the air. Just cold wind, the echo of my own footsteps, and the ghost of my pride dragging behind me.

    I ran someps, hoping the mindless burn in my muscles would distract me from the absence gnawing at my chest. It didn’t help.

    At six, I left to oversee the warriors’ morning drill. I needed to channel the frustration into something useful. They were sloppy. Weak. Their movements didn’t hold up against what we were about to face. Vampires were cunning and brutal—and if I was going to merge our two worlds and take the vampire kingdom for myself, my wolves had to be battle-forged. No mistakes. No weakness.

    I redesigned their entire routine. Added more endurance, more speed, real sparring with blood on the mat if needed. They needed to learn pain—iand/i how to fight past it.

    By the time I was done, it was already half past seven.

    I headed back to shower, jaw tight, every muscle wound like a coiled spring. That’s when I caught her scent in the hallway.

    She’d finally woken up. Just in time for breakfast.

    I’d hoped for a truce. A nod. Maybe even a sly smirk. But no. She barely looked at me, tension clinging to her like a second skin. Still pissed, clearly. Despite me inot/i storming into her roomst night. Despite letting her sleep. Despite holding back when everything in me had screamed to im her.

    And yeah—I saw how she red when I bit into my toast. As if ithat/i had offended her too.

    Apparently, she was still mad that I’d punched that pathetic excuse of a wolf, Luca.

    Gods. iWomen./i

    I told her to pick a time for training. That I’d clear my schedule. Later, one of the omegas came to inform me she’d settled on 6PM.

    I had meetings scheduled at that time. ns. A discussion with the witches’ council. Some rebel reports to go over.

    I pushed them all aside.

    And at 5:50, I was already at the training room. Waiting.

    The door opened at exactly 6:00. And when she walked in...

    Fuck me sideways.

    She iknew/i what she was doing.

    ck leggings that clung to every damn curve like they were ipainted/i on. That crimson sports bra might as well have been made of temptation itself. It hugged her breasts just enough to distract, exposed just enough to make a man forget why he had self-control in the first ce. Her hair was tied back, her lips pink and soft, and that fire in her eyes? That was the worst part. The best part.

    I could barely remember what oxygen felt like when she strode across the mat like she owned the ce.

    And the worst part?

    She idid/i.

    She walked in like she wasn’tte. Like she hadn’t spent thest twenty-four hours ignoring me. Like she wasn’t dressed to ikill/i my patience.

    "You’rete," I said, trying to keep my tone even.

    She cocked her head, all faux-innocent. "Thought I got to choose the time."

    My jaw clenched.

    That damn smirk. She knew iexactly/i what effect she had on me.

    And I—despite every ounce of logic, every shred of alpha dominance, every ruling bone in my cursed, warring body—was already falling for it.

    Again.

    Gods help me, she was going to be the end of me.