crown of flames

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Damian's POV

The door slammed behind me, hard enough to shake the frame. I didn't care. Let them stew in their self-righteous fury. Let Dexter choke on his own damn authority.

I could still taste blood in my mouth—his blood? Mine? Didn't matter. My jaw ached from where he choked me. My knuckles burned like live coals. I flexed them once, watched the faint glow under my skin flicker. Rage barely leashed.

Draven thinks he can call the shots. Thinks he can tell me what Scarlet needs. Like hell.

My boots hit the marble hard, echoing down the corridor. Each step punched fire into the floor. I wanted to turn around, rip the door off its hinges, and finish what we started. Break his calm, watch him bleed ice instead of words.

But I didn't.

Because if I stayed, I'd kill him.

And that wasn't the release I needed.

The heat in my veins didn't want blood anymore. It wanted something else. Something just as dangerous.

I took the west wing stairs two at a time, slammed through the double doors of my private dorm. The heat sensors in the walls lit up red as they registered me, the temperature spiking ten degrees in seconds.

She was waiting.

Exactly where I told her to be.

Celeste—or Lyra, or whatever the hell her name was—sat perched on the edge of my bed. Tight skirt, lips glossed, eyes wide like a lamb walking into a wolf's den.

She smiled when she saw me. It pissed me off more.

"Damian—"

I didn't let her finish.

In three strides, I had her against the wall, her gasp sharp against my mouth as my hand wrapped around her throat—not choking, just holding. Just owning.

"You wanted me?" My voice was a growl in her ear, hot enough to make her shiver. "Here I am. Don't talk. Just stay still."

Her breath hitched. She nodded, fast.

Good.

I pinned her wrists above her head, heat rolling off me like a second skin. Her pulse jumped against my palm. My mouth hovered an inch from her neck, close enough for her to feel the scorch of every word.

"You think you can handle this?" I dragged the question out, let my canines graze her jaw. She whimpered—soft, needy. It barely touched the edge of my fury.

Flames licked along my arm, harmless but bright enough to paint the walls in red. Her eyes widened like she didn't know whether to scream or beg. I liked that look.

For a second, I let go. Just enough to taste the rush. The control. The heat crawling down my spine like wildfire.

And then—

Scarlet.

Not her name on her lips. Not her body under mine.

Her.

Bloodied. On the training floor. Still standing. Eyes blind but burning with something that made my chest twist. The way she refused to break even when I wanted her to.

I froze.

The flames sputtered out.

Her name slammed into my skull like a curse I couldn't spit out.

Scarlet.

The girl I called weak. A burden. A threat. She should've shattered. She didn't.

And now? She was in my head, pulling my rage in a direction I didn't want it to go.

The girl in my grip shifted, trying to bring me back, pressing closer.

Wrong move.

I ripped my hands away from her, turned on her so fast she flinched.

"Get out."

She blinked. "Damian, I—"

"OUT!" The roar tore from my chest, half human, half wolf. The air vibrated. Flames exploded across the wall behind her, blackening the paint.

She ran.

Good.

I stood there, chest heaving, fists shaking like I was still holding her. Like I was holding someone else.

Heat burned under my skin, but it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough.

I slammed my fists into the wall. Once. Twice. Until the stone cracked and my knuckles split, blood dripping hot and fast.

Didn't matter.

Because the only thing I felt was her name ripping through my head like fire on bone.

"Scarlet."

The word came out like sin. Like surrender.

And I hated myself for it.

My breath came fast, ragged. The walls looked like they were melting. Or maybe that was me. Heat pulsed off my skin in waves, warping the air.

I needed to stop.

Before I burned the whole damn wing down.

My hands shook as I yanked open the drawer by my bed. Metal clinked against metal until my fingers found the glass cylinder. The injector.

Silver liquid glowed faintly inside. Suppressor serum. For wolves who lost control. For wolves like me.

I didn't hesitate. Didn't think.

I jammed the needle into my arm and pushed the plunger down hard.

Cold fire rushed through my veins, biting back the heat, numbing the rage inch by inch. My vision blurred, then tilted, then blackened at the edges.

The last thing I felt was the floor rushing up to meet me.

And the last thing I heard was her name, echoing like a brand in my skull.

Scarlet.

Then nothing.