Damon's face was close to hers, eyes dark and feral.
"Now," he snarled, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't slice your fucking throat open."
Rev's heart pounded, a mix of anger and fear tightening in her chest—not fear of him exactly, but of the dagger pressed far too close to her neck. One wrong move and she knew Fang wouldn't hesitate. She wasn't about to die by her own dagger in his hands. If anyone was going to die, it'd be him by hers.
And she couldn't blow her cover. She wasn't supposed to know how to fight. She was supposed to be a poor orphan girl—taken in by Eliana, whom she'd met in the fish market and begged for work. That was her story. If she so much as lifted a knee to kick his smug ass, it would all fall apart.
So she took a slow breath, her eyes flicking from the sharp glint of her dagger to the man holding it. She knew she should cry. Beg. Plead. Say she wasn't spying on Knight and Genesis.
But when she opened her mouth, something else slipped out.
"You have no right to put that dagger to my throat, Damon. I didn't do anything wrong."
As the words left her mouth, she swore internally.
Damon didn't respond right away. He just moved closer, pressing his body against hers. She could feel every hard ridge through the thin fabric of his black tank top. But that wasn't the only thing—strapped along his waist and thighs were weapons. Knives. Knuckle dusters. Probably three or more guns. She couldn't see everything in the dim light, but she didn't need to. This was Black Fang, after all.
Rev didn't flinch. Not outwardly. But her mind was racing.
His breath brushed her cheek, hot and sharp. Each word laced with venom… and something else she couldn't quite name.
"You did nothing wrong?" Damon echoed, like he was tasting her words. "So you just accidentally ended up watching them fuck like animals in a pool? What were you doing, admiring the landscaping?"
"I couldn't sleep," she said, voice careful. "I went downstairs to get water. I heard something by the pool and checked. That's not a crime."
Damon's eyes narrowed. "And you just stood there? Got a good show?"
Rev bit the inside of her cheek. "Why the hell does it matter to you?" she snapped, then leaned closer—her blade pressed deeper, nicking her skin. Blood trickled down her throat, but she didn't even wince.
"And the real creep here is you," she hissed. "I was about to leave. You're the one who followed me, so don't get self-righteous with me."
Damn it. She was supposed to be sweet and scared. But she had never wanted to throttle someone so badly.
He stared at her, a strange glint in his eyes—anger? Amusement? She couldn't tell.
Then his hand came up, resting beside her head. Now she was fully caged. His ridiculously large body in front of her. His arm above. His heat surrounding her.
"I don't think you were about to leave, voyeur..." he said softly.
Her eyes widened. What did he just call her?
Her hands clenched into fists. Her chest was rising fast—and pressed so tightly against him, he could feel every angry breath.
"I watched you for a while," he continued, his voice low. "The way your eyes followed her body. The longing in your gaze. You're attracted to her. You don't just resemble her—you want her. It's like you're chasing death with open arms, kitten."
He leaned in and she bit her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," she snarled.
Damon watched her, intrigued. She had claws. He was amused. This little thing wasn't who she claimed to be. Even the way she held the dagger before he took it... no scared street girl learned to wield a weapon like that. There was more to her.
And now, this strange resemblance to Genesis… plus the fact that she clearly liked her.
She was a walking contradiction. One with a death wish.
But her next words cut through his thoughts like a blade.
"And I don't think you need to press this close just to intimidate me," she said coldly. "But clearly, you like being near me. That's cute. Still, if I do like the missus, then maybe don't flatter yourself—I don't swing your way."
Damon stiffened.
It was a lie. Rev did swing both ways. But she needed him off her scent—figuratively and literally. She was barely holding her temper in check.
Damon's lips curled into a smirk.
"You think I like you?" he scoffed, like it was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. The disbelief in his voice only fueled the fire burning in Revelation's chest.
His hand moved swiftly, gripping her jaw and yanking her face into the light. His eyes scanned her features like he was searching for something—some flaw, some crack in the mask. The pad of his thumb brushed against her plump bottom lip, lingering just a second too long.
He wouldn't deny it—she was ridiculously pretty. But blondes never did it for him.
"You're pretty. I'll give you that," he said coolly, "but I'd rather fuck Katherine than you."
Then he shoved her face away like she was something filthy clinging to his skin.
Sure, Katherine was blonde too—but not nearly as beautiful as Rev, and they both knew it. That was the point. He wanted a reaction. He wanted her to snap and show her real self.
But instead, she did the opposite.
She closed her eyes, long lashes brushing softly against her cheeks. Then she opened them, calm and unreadable.
And what she did next knocked the air right out of him.
She grabbed the back of his neck with a strength he hadn't expected from her dainty-looking hand—and then she crushed their lips together.