Morning light filtered through the cracks in the window, painting the room in muted golden hues. The fire in the hearth had died out during the early hours, leaving only faint embers that cast a gentle warmth. The air was heavy, the smell mingled with ash and something else—something Ester recognized immediately, and it made her hold her breath.

Gradually, consciousness returned, and with it… memories.

First, a flash. A touch. A whisper. Then, the sound of her own voice—hoarse, broken—asking… demanding.

Ester opened her eyes abruptly, her heart racing. She was lying on Damon's chest, naked, her skin pressed against his. The blond was fast asleep, a contented half-smile resting on his lips, his arm still wrapped around her waist, as if her body were part of him.

For a second, everything was silent. Then, like a flood, the fragments of the previous night began to fall upon her, one by one—the way he had looked at her, the suffocating heat between them, the way he had completely lost control. And, worst of all, the sound of her own voice echoing in her mind, pleading for something she had never imagined asking for.

A shiver ran through her.

"No... it can't be..." she murmured, almost soundlessly, bringing a hand to her face. Her heart was pounding so loudly it seemed to echo in the room.

How had this happened? How had she—Ester Deathstriker, the cold, disciplined general, sworn enemy of anything resembling an incubus—been... given in?

She looked at the man beneath her. Damon looked peaceful, his tousled hair falling over his face, the relaxed features of a sleeping warrior. There was something provocative even about his rest. That faint smile… the insolent confidence that never left him, not even in his dreams.

Ester felt a knot in her stomach—anger, shame, confusion, all mixed together.

"I… I've lost my mind…" she whispered to herself, pulling away slowly. But the movement made his arm reflexively tighten around her waist, keeping her close. For a moment, she froze, feeling the heat of his touch—too familiar, too intimate—and it only increased her guilt.

Carefully, she freed herself from his embrace and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the sheet over her body. Her heart was still racing, her breath shallow. Images of the night came to her in fragments: his gaze, the sound of his own laughter, his touches, the words spoken in the dark.

She closed her eyes, clutching the sheet between her fingers.

"What kind of madness was this…?" she whispered bitterly.

The most uncomfortable memory returned—the moment when, between kisses and heat, he had called her "my hunter," and she, instead of reacting, had laughed… as if it tasted sweet.

Ester felt her face heat up.

She hated incubi. Always had. Beings who manipulated desires, who transformed weakness into pleasure, who stole strength from human emotions. And now, here she was… vulnerable, without apology, without explanation—having spent the entire night in the arms of one of them.

She placed a hand on her chest, feeling her heart still racing.

"It was just… a weakness. A mistake."

But the words sounded hollow even to her.

She turned her face toward Damon again. The sun drew golden lines across her body, highlighting old scars and the almost irritating serenity of someone who seemed to carry no guilt. He slept as if the world were in perfect order—as if what they had done was something natural.

Ester watched him for a moment too long, and that irritated her even more.

"How can he sleep like that... after..." She didn't finish the thought.

She got up, still wrapped in the blanket, and went to the window. The cool morning air escaped through the cracks, bringing a slight relief. She tried to take a deep breath, letting the icy air extinguish the heat that still pulsed through her body.

But it was no use. Every part of her felt marked by the memory of him.

The way he had said her name, the warm touch of his hands, the feeling of being... desired—not as a warrior, not as an ally, but as a woman.

And that infuriated her.

"I'm not like that. I'm not one of those foolish women who fall for a smile."

But her heart wouldn't obey reason.

Behind her, Damon stirred, letting out a sleepy murmur, something unintelligible, but the sound was enough to make her whirl around, her cold gaze returning.

She forced herself to speak, even if only to the void.

"That never happened," she said quietly, firmly, like a promise. "Never."

"That never happened," Ester repeated softly, staring out the window. The glass was fogged, the cold outside contrasting with the heat that still refused to leave her. "Never..."

"What a shame," murmured a voice too close to her ear.

Ester froze.

Before she could react, two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a warm, unmistakable body.

"KYAA!!" the scream escaped her in a mixture of fright and indignation.

She turned abruptly, the sheet slipping slightly as her elbow nearly connected with Damon's chin.

"Damon!" She took a step back, her face flushing with anger and embarrassment. "You... you were awake!?"

He yawned lazily, as if nothing unusual had happened. "Awake? I'd say... half-awake." And he smiled, that same insolent smile that made her blood boil for unclear reasons. "But I heard enough."

"Heard... what?" she asked, her voice wavering.

"That 'it never happened.'" He leaned in, his voice low, teasing. "Strange... I remember every detail."

Ester clenched her fists, not daring to look at him directly. "Stop it."

"With what?" He took a step closer. "To hug you? Or to pretend nothing happened?"

She turned and pushed at his chest with one hand. "I said stop!"

Damon raised his hands in surrender, but the smile didn't fade. "Okay, okay. I just thought..." he scratched his chin, pretending to think, "...it was funny that you were trying to convince yourself, and not me."

"Damon..." Her tone was a warning.

He sighed, calmer, and truly looked at her this time. "Hey... relax. I'm not going to joke about this." His voice became soft, sincere. "But you don't have to pretend you regret it so much."

Her gaze rose, meeting his. For a second, there was only silence—heavy, tense, filled with something neither of them wanted to name.

Ester finally looked away, pulling the blanket higher and turning her face away. "Get dressed. Let's get out of here before I change my mind and throw you out the window."

Damon gave a short laugh. "Good morning to you too, My Ester."

The sun had already risen, dissolving the morning chill into a mild breeze. The city was slowly waking, the sound of carts, merchants opening their stalls, and the smell of fresh bread filling the cobblestone streets. Ester walked ahead, the hood of her cloak raised, trying to ignore both the curious gazes of the villagers and the satisfied smile Damon had still been wearing since they'd left the inn.

He followed close behind, unconcerned, whistling—which only increased her irritation.

"Can you stop that noise?" she grumbled without turning her head.

"What? I'm just in a good mood," he replied, opening his arms. "A beautiful day, a new beginning... and a beautiful companion."

Ester snorted. "If you keep talking like that, it'll be a new beginning without teeth."

"So cold..." he chuckled softly. "Last night you were much warmer."

She stopped in her tracks.

Damon stopped too, but the smile didn't fade. "Just kidding. Just kidding."

Ester didn't answer, just quickened her pace, her fingers clenching on the hilt of her sword. He knew exactly how to provoke her.

After a few minutes, they arrived at the town stable. The place smelled of hay and leather, and the sound of horses neighing echoed beneath the wooden roof. A tall, sturdy man with a gray beard and a hard expression looked up as they approached.

"Looking for a mount?" he asked, quickly sizing them up. "It doesn't look like you're here for a ride."

"We need a sturdy horse," Ester replied. "One that can handle a long trip north."

The man nodded and led them to a small paddock where some animals were grazing. There were three horses for sale: a sturdy black, a medium-sized brown, and a white with a shiny coat.

Ester immediately approached the white one. His clear eyes and calm temperament immediately attracted her.

"This one," she said. "How much?"

The seller crossed his arms. "Seventy silver coins."

Ester arched an eyebrow. "Seventy? You're asking for two."

"He's the best horse in the stable." The man patted the animal's back. "Strong, docile, and fast. If you don't want him, you have the other two."

Ester sighed and pulled at the small leather pouch at her waist. She quickly counted the coins. She had a little over eighty. Enough for a horse... and almost nothing else for the trip.

"Can't you do it for sixty?" she tried, without much hope.

The man shook his head. "I'm already being generous."

Damon watched from a post, his arms crossed, an amused smile on his lips.

"Looks like you're going to have to choose, Ester," he said as she put away the coins. "A horse and no food, or food and walking."

She gave him a sharp look. "It would help if you contributed something."

He gave her a lazy smile. "Contribute? I'm the charm of the group, that's worth its weight in gold."

"Damon…"

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands in surrender. "Listen, just buy a horse. We'll figure it out later. There are several villages along the way. We can make quick money—hunt smaller monsters, help with jobs."

Ester hesitated. The idea made sense, though trusting Damon with anything involving "quick money" was a risk. Still, there was no other option.

"Okay," she said finally. "A horse, then."

She handed the coins to the vendor, who smiled with satisfaction.

Shortly afterward, the white horse was saddled and ready. Damon watched him with admiration. "Beautiful. Does it have a name?"

"Not yet," she replied, adjusting the saddle.

"How about 'Loser'?" he suggested, climbing onto the wooden step.

Ester turned her head slowly, her gaze cold. "The name suits you."

He laughed. "So predictable."

She mounted first, adjusting her cloak and holding the reins firmly. The horse whinnied softly, accustoming itself to the weight. Damon, on the other hand, didn't seem concerned with displaying the same composure. He climbed right behind her, without ceremony, and settled in naturally.

Ester immediately tensed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Going with you, huh?" He wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. "We only have one horse, remember?"

"You can ride without... that," she countered, trying to pull away.

"I'd better be in front," he murmured, his tone light and teasing. "Now I can ride with your arms around me, feeling your warmth."

Ester's jaw tightened. "Damon..."

"Yes?"

"If you don't take your hands off me in three seconds, you'll be walking the rest of the trip with broken hands."

"Two seconds is enough to make it worth it," he said, chuckling softly.

She snorted and nudged the horse with her heels. The animal set off at a steady trot, kicking up dust on the road.

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