Chapter Twelve — Damage Control
POV: Seraphine & Damien
Third-Person Limited
Seraphine learned two things by noon the next day.
First: slapping a royal was apparently a social event.
Second: people loved retelling it badly.
By the time she crossed the east quad, the story had grown fangs. According to whispered retellings, she had screamed. According to others, she had tried to claw his eyes out. One girl swore Damien Florez had laughed.
That last one was almost true, which irritated her the most.
Sera kept her head down, hood drawn, shadows curling close like a warning. Umbra House students were used to being stared at, but this was different. This was curiosity sharpened into hunger.
The demon who struck a prince.
She hated titles.
Leona caught up to her near the stairwell, breathless. "You could've warned me."
"I warned you not to date men named Damien," Sera replied flatly.
Leona groaned. "That's not the point and you know it. Everyone's asking if you're trying to start a war."
"Am I?" Sera asked dryly. "Because I feel underqualified."
Leona hesitated. "You already like him, don't you?"
Sera stopped walking.
Her shadows stilled.
"…What?"
Leona leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You're starting to like him, right? Same as Alaric. 'Cause I know you've been down more than—well, you usually are—'cause you're avoiding the mate bond. But I think anyone would kill for that. At least your mates want you and not your very hot bestie who has two mates already."
That shouldn't have done anything.
It did.
A heat flared low in Sera's chest—unwanted, unfamiliar. She shoved it down with practiced ease.
"Look," she said. "I don't want mates. I hope I'll be able to tell you more than that soon, but I don't want to and can't."
Leona studied her face. "You okay?"
"Yes."
"You're lying."
"Also yes."
They reached the lecture hall before Leona could push further. The moment Sera stepped inside, she felt it.
Him.
Damien sat three rows down, boots crossed casually, elbow draped over the back of the bench like he owned the room. When he turned, their eyes met instantly.
Recognition snapped between them.
His mouth curved—not smug. Interested.
Sera took the farthest seat available.
The professor began speaking. Sera heard none of it.
Because Damien Florez kept glancing back, like this was a private joke she'd been dragged into without consent.
When the bell rang, she bolted.
She almost made it to the corridor.
"Running already?" Damien's voice followed, smooth as poured wine.
She didn't turn. "Not everything revolves around you."
"Most things don't," he agreed easily, falling into step beside her. "You, however, seem determined to."
She stopped abruptly.
He didn't.
They collided—barely—but the contact was enough.
Heat. Sharp. Immediate.
Damien stiffened, and his body did something it hadn't in a long time.
God help us, Dylan, his vampire whimpered, while he felt his fangs starting to ache again.
So did she.
For one breathless second, the world narrowed to the space between them.
Then she stepped back. "Stay away from me."
He blinked once, genuinely surprised. "That wasn't an order. That was a plea."
"I don't plead."
"No," he said softly. "You don't. That's part of the problem. You see, I want to hear you beg for me, scream for me. And I guarantee I will. In due time, baby."
She brushed past him and didn't look back.
Alaric watched from the upper balcony, jaw tight.
He felt it too.
The pull. The wrongness.
Sera's presence always anchored him—steady, familiar, terrifying in its inevitability. But now there was something else tangled in it. Something sharp and cold and red-eyed.
Vampire.
His wings itched beneath his skin.
He turned away before his grace responded to his anger.
Heaven had been silent since the slap.
That frightened him more than any command.
Damien did not enjoy confusion.
He dissected it. Studied it. Removed it.
Which was why, three hours later, he sat in the restricted wing of the archives, books stacked high, wards humming softly around him.
Umbra Bonds.
Oppositional essence. Rare. Dangerous.
Often fatal.
He read faster.
Soul-pairings that defied celestial order. Bonds that did not soothe but burn. Drawn together not by harmony—but by tension.
Creation and destruction.
Light and void.
Vampire… and demon… and angel.
Damien leaned back slowly, fingers steepled.
"That's inconvenient," he murmured.
It explained the heat. The resistance. The way his vampire didn't want to dominate—but circle. Protect.
Claim.
He closed the book sharply.
No.
He would not be ruled by a theoretical bond.
But as he stood, the pull flared again—urgent this time.
Combat wing.
He arrived just in time to see Sera disarm a senior hellborn twice her size, slam him to the mat, and step back without a word.
Applause broke out.
She didn't bow.
Damien smiled.
When she spotted him leaning against the far wall, her expression darkened.
He waited until the others cleared.
"You're stalking me," she said.
"I'm researching you," he corrected. "Stalking implies desperation."
"And this doesn't?"
He shrugged. "Not yet."
She folded her arms. "Say what you want and leave."
"I don't know what I want," he admitted. "That's the issue."
Her brow creased. "That's not my problem."
"It is," he said quietly. "Because whatever this is—it's not normal."
She laughed once, sharp. "Congratulations. Welcome to my life."
He studied her carefully now. Not prey. Not prize.
A contradiction.
"You felt it," he said.
"No."
"You did."
"I didn't."
"Sera."
She flinched.
He smiled faintly. "See?"
Silence stretched between them, tight with unsaid things.
Finally, she looked away. "Even if I did—it doesn't mean anything."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "It means everything."
Her shadows bristled, but she didn't move.
"Careful," she warned.
He leaned in just enough for her to feel the chill of him, the heat beneath it. "Careful is not something I've ever been accused of, little demon."
Her breath hitched—just once.
He straightened, retreating before she could react.
"Run if you want," Damien said lightly. "But don't lie to yourself."
She swallowed. "About what?"
He smiled, slow and knowing.
"Careful," he murmured. "You might just crave me next."
And this time—
She didn't deny it fast enough.