Chapter 51: Always provoking

Caelan was silent for a few seconds, as if Garrick’s words weighed heavily on his mind. Finally, he murmured,

“If this is her holding back… I don’t even want to imagine when she decides to let go.”

The veteran gave him a sidelong glance, cold as the road.

“Then don’t imagine. Just pray the demon doesn’t push her there.”

Caelan swallowed, straightening in his seat, trying to appear firmer than he actually was. But the chill gnawing at his bones didn’t come from the dawn—it came from the certainty that inside that carriage there was no room for two predators.

Inside, the silence was an invisible battlefield.

Ester kept her gaze fixed on the darkness of the window, but she could no longer see the trees or the dead fields. The fragile reflection in the glass showed only her own image—rigid, controlled—and just behind, like an inevitable shadow, Damon’s face.

He still smiled. He always smiled. The corner of his mouth curled in a promise of torment.

The incubus leaned forward slightly, his spear resting casually on his shoulder, his eyes half-closed as if savoring the silence.

“I like this,” he said in a low, almost intimate tone. “This cold you spread… this anger you try to hide. It’s more delicious than any easy pleasure.”

Ester gritted her teeth.

“One more word, Damon…” Her voice came out like an icy breath, almost a whispered warning.

But he interrupted her, his smile sharpening.

“…and you’re going to kill me?” A low laugh escaped her throat. “No, you’re not. Do you know why?”

She stared at him, her eyes flashing, her hands ready to rise.

Damon placed two fingers on his chest, leaning forward as if revealing a secret.

“Because you hate me so much. And that hate… you don’t want to erase it.” You need him.

For a moment, the air inside the carriage seemed to crackle. Cold spread in waves, making the upholstery creak beneath the frozen dampness.

Ester took a deep, slow breath, forcing her control back. Slowly, she leaned back in the seat, turning her face to the window.

“You talk too much.”

Damon leaned back too, closing his eyes again, but the smile didn’t fade.

“And you think too much. Maybe that’s why… you can never sleep.”

Those words echoed like knives inside her. Never can sleep.

For a moment, Ester closed her eyes, trying not to react. But the image of those cursed nights in the mansion came back: Elizabeth’s laughter, Damon’s constant whisper in the back of her mind, Aria’s incessant moans passing through walls and doors. The rest denied. The sleep stolen.

Her fist clenched tightly, the wood of the chair creaking slightly under the pressure.

Time began to drag inside the carriage like a chained prisoner.

The monotonous rocking, the creaking of the wheels, and the steady trot of the horses marked each minute like the ticking of an invisible clock.

Ester remained motionless, her gaze lost in the darkness beyond the window, but her mind found no peace. The echo of Damon’s words still pulsed within her, as if his voice had seeped into her very blood.

“You can never sleep.”

She hated to admit it, but he was right. The last few nights had been a void punctuated by memories and whispers, a torment that not even silence could cure.

On the other side, Damon watched her for some time longer, with that lazy half-smile that seemed to mock her even in silence. His eyes, however, grew heavier. He leaned back in the seat, cradling his spear almost protectively against his body, as if it were part of him.

“Hm…” A low sound escaped her throat, a mix of laughter and sigh. “I guess I’ll have to do what you never can.”

Ester looked away from him, just for a moment, long enough to see the incubus close his eyes. The smile didn’t fade from his lips—it seemed etched into his flesh.

She waited. Long minutes, listening only to the creak of the leather, his slow breathing, the rhythmic rumble of the road.

Nothing had changed. The demon had truly fallen asleep.

Ester couldn’t tell if that irritated her more… or soothed her.

For a moment, the silence seemed less suffocating. But still, his presence surrounded her, even in his sleep. It was as if Damon didn’t need words to provoke her—he simply existed.

She closed her eyes briefly, seeking a shred of calm. But when he did, his breathing—slow, even—seemed to fill the entire space of the carriage, like a reminder that even in dreams he was always there.

Time passed, slow and dense, and the road stretched on before them, endless.

Outside, the wind whipped at Garrick and Caelan’s hoods. The younger man risked a glance back, as if he could feel the vibration coming from the carriage.

“Silence…” he murmured. “Is that a good sign?”

Garrick kept his face hard, not turning around. “Silence is never good when it comes to the two of them.”

Caelan frowned, but didn’t ask any more. He simply adjusted the horse’s reins, trying to ward off the consuming chill.

Inside the carriage, Damon slept. And somehow, even in his sleep, he seemed to be teasing her.

Time seemed to have dissolved into even, monotonous hours. The carriage’s rocking continued steadily, almost hypnotically, and Esther, though motionless, kept every sense heightened, as if watching a sleeping beast before her.

Then, suddenly, the carriage’s front wheel struck a hidden stone in the gravel.

The impact caused the vehicle to shake violently.

Esther’s body remained steady, held together by the control of someone accustomed to war and discomfort. But Damon…

His eyes flew open, red, blazing, like blades ripped from a nightmare. His fingers clenched around his spear, his body rising in a sudden, predatory movement. For an instant, he seemed ready to pierce the chest of an invisible enemy.

“…Tsk!” he growled, his breathing quickening, as if he’d been torn from a turbulent dream.

Esther simply watched him, impassive. A barely perceptible corner of her lips lifted, not in a smile, but in contempt.

“Scared?” she asked, her voice low, cold as steel on a naked blade.

Damon blinked once, slowly, realizing the situation. The vehicle continued forward, the horses steady, the road stable again. He relaxed his grip, but not completely. His muscles were still tense, his breathing forcibly controlled.

The smile returned—crooked, insolent.

“Hah… no. I just dreamed someone finally had the courage to kill me.” He twirled the spear with an almost lazy movement, resting it against his shoulder again. “And for a moment, it seemed like it would be you.”

Ester looked back out the window, as if the dead trees outside were more interesting than him.

“Dreams… they always reveal weaknesses.”

Damon leaned forward, his red eyes still burning like live coals.

“Or desires,” he murmured, each word dripping with venom. “And I like yours better than mine.”

Silence filled the carriage again, but now something was different. He was no longer asleep, vulnerable—he was awake, sharp, like a blade drawn from its sheath.

Outside, Caelan, who had also felt the thud of the stone, sat upright, tense.

“We almost capsized…” he murmured, more to himself than to Garrick. “The wheel must have cracked.”

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