LOGINLiz's POV“I don’t think he did it.”The words slipped out before I could stop them. I clasped my hands together in my lap, nails digging into my skin as if pain might keep me steady. My words felt like a dull excuse even to my own ears.Ashton scoffed. He looked at me like he thought I was something that could break easily. I saw pity in his eyes, and somehow that just made me even more defensive. “My mom,” I added, swallowing hard. “I think she’s still alive.”For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then his gaze softened—not with relief or hope, but with something sadder.“Do you even believe that anymore?” he asked quietly.The question struck deeper than any shout could have. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I didn't even know how to respond to that. “ “Damien said—”“Damien says whatever suits him,” Ashton interrupted. His tone wasn’t angry. That made it worse. “But he isn’t a man who loves, Liz. He’s a man who destroys. He hates. And he leaves ruin behind him wherever he
Liz's POV Painting was something I had picked up. Mostly due to boredom. My brush dragged across the canvas in shaky strokes.I frowned at the mess on the canvas. It was awful. Why did I think this was a good idea in the first place?“What is it supposed to be?” the woman beside me asked.Elena stood a few steps away, hands folded neatly in front of her, eyes following every movement I made. She’d been assigned to “escort” me around the palace. Phoenix had decided I wasn’t allowed to roam freely anymore. Which, according to him, was for my own safety. It made sense. The last time I was out ended up with me being pounded into the earth. I dipped the brush into white and ruined whatever illusion of structure the painting might have had. It was worse now. “It was supposed to mean something,” I said. “Unfortunately, I can’t paint.”Elena tilted her head, studying the canvas. “Meaning doesn’t always need skill.”I almost laughed. How very poetic. Phoenix wouldn’t let me out alone. Not
Ashton didn’t leave his room.Time had passed slowly, measured only by the light that shifted from the gap in his curtains and the soft knocks that came, again and again, at his door.“At least eat something,” his mother begged through the wooden door every morning. “Just a little. Please.”He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched. He thought of his Base and how easily it had fallen apart, he thought of the lives they had lost. Thr hunters that were humanity's last chance fell one by one. They were the hunted now. Their Bases were dug out and killed off like some ants, the women were bought off cheap. This was his life now. It was strange to think just a few months ago everything had been relatively normal. And for sons reason, his adoptive parents expected him to be alright with this. To accept everything and live in luxury while the rest of his kind suffered. Another knock brought him out of his thoughts. It was Softer this time. More desperate.“Ashton… I know y
The mansion rose before him, all iron gates and cold stone, perched on a hill that overlooked a city too clean to be real. Ashton stood at the edge of the driveway, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, staring at the place he had once called home. How the fuck did it come to this?He hadn’t planned on being here. Hadn’t even meant to walk this far. One wrong turn bled into another, and somehow his feet had carried him straight into the past. Into memory he should have kept buried. From the moments his adoptive family had chose to side with his enemies, he should have cut them off completely. Yet here he was. He should have been in the human Base—what was left of them, anyway. With his own kind. With the people who spent each day with fear of being hunted down and ate rationed food while looking over their shoulders every second of the day. He should have been there, not standing in front of a luxurious Villa that screamed of luxury and reminded him of his family's betrayalYet
In the Shower, Steam curled around Damien, water sliding down the hard lines of his shoulders. He barely felt the heat; his mind was far away—stuck on the memory he’d been trying and failing to drown.The scene from earlier played in his mind, he couldn't think of anything else.Damien shut his eyes, jaw tight. He hadn’t expected it to affect him. He’d thought it would be nothing more than practicality—she needed strength, he had provided it. Simple. But nothing about the girl had ever been simple.The dazed look on her face, the stain of blood on her face. He was hard before he knew it, aching to the point of it being painful. He licked his lips, being unable to control his desire. He felt like some youngling.His fingers wrapped around his aching length, stroking once and thinking of blood stained lips wrapping around his cock. He thought of fucking into his step daughter's mouth, having his own blood trail from the corner of her lips. He would make her choke on it. Have he
Liz sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clenched in her lap, the morning light pouring through the curtains and turning everything golden. But inside her chest? Everything felt heavy, aching, slow. Her limbs were weak, her vision occasionally blurred, and her head throbbed with a dull, stubborn pain that refused to go away.The injuries were healing—but not fast enough. She hated it. Liz hated feeling fragile. She hated feeling like she was holding everyone back.She tried to stand, and her knees nearly buckled. A hand caught her waist before she fell.Damien.He steadied her effortlessly, looking her over with a mix of irritation and worry—both emotions that, on him, appeared deceptively calm. She had grown very good at being able to read him now, mostly with his eyes as his face was always passive. “You’re still dizzy,” he said. It was clear that he was irritated with how long her healing was taking. Did he forget she was human. She didn't have fast healing like he did.“I’m fin







