She had been floating in a dark void for what felt like forever. Memories haunted her like ghosts that refused to die. Loneliness wrapped around her chest until it hurt to breathe.
"Hazel…"
That voice. Always calling her. Fragments of the same man looming over her, his touch warm against her skin, pulling her back from the edge.
Everything snapped into focus.
Hazel jolted upright, heart slamming against her ribs.
Simon! The others?
She sighed, the sound shaky and bitter. If she had been stronger… Demons. Humans. They were all disgusting. She clenched her fist until her nails dug into her palm. The king would pay for this. She would make sure of it.
Footsteps broke through the silence.
She scanned the room — dark, bare stone walls, no windows except one heavy curtain. Captured? Her body tensed, ready to fight, but then the familiar scent of damp cedar and smoke hit her like a slap.
Him.
Her pulse spiked. She remembered pleading. She remembered cursing. But she was alive. Maybe she should just be grateful for that.
The door creaked open.
Damon stepped inside, carrying a simple bowl of water. His violet eyes found her instantly, taking in the way her body locked up in defense. His lips curled into that slow, dangerous smile.
Hazel watched him set the bowl down. He moved to the window without a word and yanked the curtains open. Moonlight poured in, bathing him in silver.
Her eyes widened.
He was… beautiful. Painfully so. Pale skin glowing under the light. Those violet eyes calm now, but she knew the storm hiding behind them. Sharp jawline, full red lips, a perfect pointed nose that made his face look carved from midnight itself.
She shook her head hard. Stop.
He noticed. Of course he did. His smile deepened, satisfied.
"Enjoying the view?
She snapped back to reality, cheeks burning. "Where are my men?"
"Dead."
The single word clawed straight into her heart. Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them. She had expected it, but hearing it out loud still shattered something inside her.
Damon shifted, uncomfortable with the sight of her crying. "The vampire might still be alive. I saved him… but I left him behind."
"Simon."
Hazel looked up, searching his face for any lie. Nothing. Just that calm, unreadable mask. Relief flooded her anyway.
"Thank… wait." Her voice hardened. "Why did you leave him but take me?"
"Who knows."
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate. The air grew heavier with every step. His presence pressed against her skin like invisible chains, sending chills racing down her spine. He reached out, fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face up so she had no choice but to meet those violet eyes.
"No man should be near you," he murmured, voice low and velvet-rough. "Besides me."
Madman.
She hissed the word in her head, but her body betrayed her — heat blooming low in her belly despite everything. She was glad Simon was alive. Knowing him, he would survive anywhere. But this… this closeness was dangerous.
Damon stepped back, the warmth of his touch vanishing like it had never been there. He moved to the stool, picked up the bowl, and dipped a clean towel into the water. His other hand reached for hers.
She blinked, confused. "What are you doing?"
"You need to wash up. You've been asleep for three days."
"Oh. Thanks." She swallowed. "I can do it myself though."
"Alright." He passed her the bowl without argument and turned around, giving her his back.
But he didn't leave.
Hazel hesitated, then shrugged off the top of her robe, letting it fall to her waist. The cool air kissed her bare skin. She dragged the wet towel slowly down her neck, over her shoulders, across the curve of her back. The mirror on the far wall caught everything — her toned muscles, the faint scars from old battles, the way the moonlight traced every line.
Damon's jaw tightened. He could see it all in the reflection. Blood rushed south, hot and insistent. His fingers flexed at his sides. The urge to turn around, to pin her against the wall and remind her exactly who she belonged to, was almost violent. He forced himself to stay still, but his breathing grew heavier.
She finished, draped the robe back over her shoulders, and set the bowl down with a soft clink.
"What do you want?" Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "There's nothing left to give."
Damon turned slowly. The moonlight carved shadows across his face, making him look every inch the devil's heir. His violet eyes darkened, threaded with that familiar black hunger.
"Be mine."
The words hung in the air like a command wrapped in silk. Not a request. A claim. His voice carried that mad, possessive edge — the same tone that had haunted her dreams for three months. He stepped closer again, crowding her space until the scent of him wrapped around her completely.
"You think you have nothing left?" He tilted his head, lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke. "You're wrong, little flame. You still have your fire. Your power. Your future. And I want all of it."
His fingers ghosted down her arm, not quite touching, but close enough that she felt the heat. "Run from the humans. Run from the demons. But you can't run from me. Not anymore."
He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with her, that dangerous smile returning.
"So tell me, Hazel… are you going to keep fighting the inevitable? Or are you finally going to let me give you everything you've been begging for in your dreams?"