Damian wasn’t new to chaos. He’d fought monsters, trained with killers, survived Hell itself. But nothing—nothing—prepared him for Blue Blaze.
The first time he saw her, she’d just incinerated a stolen drone in midair with a flick of her fingers and zero regard for bystanders, rooftops, or structural integrity. He descended, clipped and precise, ready to issue a formal reprimand.
She took the citation, smiled, and burned it in her hand. Slowly.
His eye twitched. Rage bloomed.
“You reckless, untrained—” He snarled, stepping toward her. She sauntered back, flame licking at her heels like a smug cat. She didn’t even look sorry. She winked.
He launched at her.
They clashed across the rooftop—her fire meeting his fists, her laugh rising like smoke into the night. She ducked, spun, taunted. He should’ve been furious. He was furious.
But then came the moment—when she pinned him briefly against the chimney, flames dancing dangerously close, the heat of her body just inches away.
Something short-circuited in his brain.
His heart kicked hard. His breath caught. She smelled like smoke and something sweet. And that smirk—
“No,” he muttered, yanking himself free, “absolutely not.”
He tackled her.
It was meant to subdue. It ended in a tangle of limbs and heat and her hair brushing his face. His jaw clenched.
This wasn’t rage anymore. Not entirely.