THE TASTE OF DAMNATION

(Damian’s POV)

Her body went slack in my arms.

The glow from the mark still pulsed violently against my palm, branding me through her skin. She was burning from the inside out, trembling as if she’d been dropped into the center of a storm she couldn’t see.

Pathetic mortal. Fragile. Breakable.

And yet, the way she felt pressed against me made my control fracture in ways it never should have.

I should have let her fall. I should have let her collapse onto the floor and writhe until the flare passed. But no—my arms had moved on their own, holding her tight against me, cradling her as if she were something I cared for.

Her scent filled me—warm, faintly sweet, threaded with the tang of fear and desire. It drove me mad. I bent my head, inhaled once, and hated myself for it.

This girl would be the end of me.

She stirred, her lashes fluttering. When her eyes cracked open, she realized where she was—against my chest, fists curled into my shirt like I was her lifeline. She tried to shove me away, weakly. Her lips parted, and her thoughts screamed loud enough for me to hear them: too close, too warm, too much.

“You’re weak,” I said flatly, though my voice came rougher than intended. “Can’t even handle a touch.”

Her eyes flashed. Even half-conscious, she had fire. “Oh, I’m sorry—next time I’ll try not to faint when my wrist turns into a freaking light show.”

I should have stepped back. I should have released her. Instead, I pinned her gently to the bed, my hands catching her wrists and pressing them down into the mattress. Her pulse throbbed wild beneath my grip. Her mind spat curses at me, but beneath it was another thought—dark, needy, desperate.

God, don’t let him stop.

My jaw clenched. I shouldn’t have heard that. I shouldn’t care. But her body betrayed her more than her thoughts ever could. Her chest rose in quick, shallow gasps, her lips trembled, her legs shifted under the sheets as if she couldn’t get comfortable with the heat.

I leaned closer, watching the panic and defiance war in her eyes. “You want this,” I said, low, merciless.

She shook her head, but her thoughts told me the truth. The shame, the ache, the craving she tried to bury—I could taste it.

My thumb brushed her jawline, then slid lower, grazing the frantic beat of her throat. Her breath hitched. She whispered, “You’re insane.”

“No,” I murmured, bending lower until my mouth hovered over her ear. “You’re lying. You want my mouth on yours. You’ve been imagining it since the alley.”

Her sharp inhale gave her away.

I cursed under my breath and gave in. My lips found her neck, tasting the fevered skin where her pulse hammered. She gasped, arching into me, her thoughts dissolving into pure heat that seared through me as if it were my own.

The mark blazed hotter, flooding us both with silver light. It should have been a warning. It should have stopped me.

Instead, I pressed harder.

Her wrists struggled weakly in my hold, but she wasn’t trying to escape. She was trembling, needy, her body betraying every denial. My mouth traveled lower, down the line of her throat, until she moaned—soft, helpless, devastating.

That sound broke me.

I released one wrist to slide my hand down, over her waist, across the trembling curve of her hip. Her body arched into the touch, desperate, begging. Her thoughts screamed at me, don’t stop, please don’t stop, and the words nearly undid me.

I caught her mouth before I lost myself completely.

The kiss was brutal, hungry, a clash of need and fury. Her lips parted instantly, answering me with equal desperation. My tongue tasted her, claimed her, punished her. She kissed me back with fire, with defiance, with something I shouldn’t have craved.

Her legs tangled against mine, pulling me closer. My hand slid beneath her shirt, fingers exploring fever-hot skin. She trembled under every touch, gasping into my mouth.

I hated myself for this. I hated how much I wanted more.

But I couldn’t stop.

Her shirt came off in one motion, tossed aside. My lips trailed lower, across her collarbone, her chest, devouring the soft sounds that spilled from her. She writhed beneath me, helpless and undone, and every second I told myself to pull away, I sank deeper.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer, urging me on. The mark pulsed violently in time with her moans, burning against my hand as if punishing me for every stolen second.

And still I didn’t stop.

Clothing slipped away between us, replaced with skin, heat, friction. My body pressed against hers, claiming, overwhelming. Her mind was a storm of need, and it drowned me until I couldn’t tell where she ended and I began.

When I finally entered her, it was fire and ruin. She gasped my name—damning me, saving me, destroying me all at once. I drove into her with everything I had denied, every ounce of hunger I had buried. Her cries filled the room, my own breath breaking into hers, our bodies moving as if they had always belonged together.

The mark flared with every thrust, searing both of us, the glow painting the walls in blinding silver. She clung to me, her thoughts screaming pleasure and doom in equal measure, and I knew we were crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.

Her release came sharp and shattering, pulling me with her into a heat so consuming it burned away everything else—my control, my reason, even my divinity. For that moment, there was only her.

When it was over, I stayed inside her, trembling with the effort of restraint I no longer possessed. She looked up at me, lips swollen, eyes dazed, skin glowing faintly in the aftermath.

And I hated myself more than ever.

I pulled out, tore myself from her warmth, and stood, breath ragged, fury boiling beneath my skin.

“You’ll die faster now,” I said coldly, though the words tore me apart.

She flinched, clutching the sheets to her chest, confusion and pain flashing in her eyes.

I turned away before I could break further. But in the silence of my own mind, the truth screamed loud enough to kill me.

And so will I.