<h4>Chapter 225: Missing Training</h4>


    <strong>Elena’s POV </strong>


    "Shit!"


    My eyes snapped open to the ring sunlight pouring through the curtains, and I shot up like I’d been electrocuted. The clock on the wall confirmed the hellish truth—7:26 a.m.


    "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"


    I was supposed to be up an hour ago. No, <i>two</i> hours ago. . And now? I’d just handed Damon a golden opportunity on a silver damn tter.


    He was probably already scheming. Plotting. Drawing some smug little tally in his evil sex god ledger under "Ways I’ve Dominated Elena Today."


    Great.


    I kicked the covers off, scrambling out of bed and nearly tripping over my own legs. My body still ached from yesterday’s spar—okay, <i>fine</i>, beatdown—but that wasn’t the point. The point was: he didn’te in.


    Not once.


    Not even to gloat.


    I’d locked the door on purpose. Made a statement. Drew the line in the sand with a big middle finger and expected at least <i>some</i> retaliation. Some petty dominance move. Some midnight whisper of "you can’t hide from me, little mate" followed by him climbing into the bed like the infuriating wolf-vamp hybrid he is.


    But no.


    Nothing.


    I marched into the bathroom, brushing my teeth like the damn bristles had insulted my ancestors. I red at myself in the mirror.


    Why was I... disappointed?


    Nope. Not going there.


    I spit the toothpaste out like it had betrayed me. "I am not disappointed," I said aloud. "I’m <i>relieved</i>. That’s what this is."


    My reflection looked unconvinced.


    I yanked my hair into a messy ponytail and stormed out of the guest room, half expecting to run into him in the hallway—maybe smirking, maybe leaning against the wall like he owned the entire universe—but again...


    Nothing.


    Where the hell was he?


    Plotting global domination? Seducing the witches into a power y? Lifting weights shirtless just to torment me from a distance?


    Probably all of the above.


    I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I stomped toward the main hall. <i>He’s not ignoring me. He’s baiting me.</i> That had to be it. That <i>had</i> to be it. Because if it wasn’t, if he actually <i>respected</i> my spacest night, if he had just left me alone because I’d locked the door and said I didn’t want him around...


    Then maybe I wasn’t the one in control after all.


    And that was the most terrifying thought of all.


    Still, I straightened my spine as I passed through the corridors of his—<i>our</i>—bedroom. If he wanted to y cool and collected, fine. I could do cold too. Ice queen mode: activated. Emotions? Buried. Heart? Reinforced. Libido? Muzzled.


    ...Mostly.


    I hadn’t forgotten how he felt on top of me yesterday. Or how his voice sounded when he whispered, "You lose, little mate." Or how his breath hitched when he realized I could feel how hard he was—


    Nope. Not thinking about that. Not now.


    *****


    0jn oe scent of coffee hit me the moment I entered the dining room—strong, dark, expensive. The kind that screamed <i>Alpha King</i> and <i>I don’t have time for nonsense.</i> The scent of Damon, basically.


    He was already seated at the long table, dressed in his usual ck button-down shirt that hugged his chest a little too perfectly. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, veins on full arrogant disy like he knew exactly what those did to me. His hair was wet, still glistening from a recent shower, droplets trailing down his neck like an open invitation.


    Goddamn it.


    He looked up the second I stepped in and locked eyes with me like he’d <i>felt</i> meing. Not even a second of dy.


    "You didn’te for training like we agreed," he said, coolly, but with that edge. The one that sat right between <i>disappointed</i> and <i>pissed as hell but too smug to show it.</i>


    I shrugged and slid into the seat across from him with all the grace of a cat that just knocked over a vase on purpose.


    "I don’t remember agreeing to anything," I said, reaching for a piece of toast like this morning wasn’t an utter disaster on my part.


    His jaw flexed.


    "Five a.m.," he said. "Every day. You didn’t forget."


    "I didn’t," I replied sweetly, thering on butter like I wasn’t lying through my teeth. "I just decided I didn’t feel like it."


    He leaned back in his chair, watching me with that predator stillness I hated—and maybe secretly liked a little too much.


    "Didn’t feel like it?" he repeated, tone deceptively calm.


    I bit into my toast. "Exactly."


    His lips twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. No. That was a war signal. That was a <i>game on, little mate</i> expression if I ever saw one.


    "Let me guess," he drawled. "You realized I was right. That you wouldn’tnd a hit on me, so you bailed before your ego took another bruising."


    I didn’t even pause chewing.


    "I realized I don’t need you to train me," I replied. "There are plenty of warriors here who can help me stay sharp."


    "Like Luca?" he asked, the name cutting through the room like a de dipped in venom.


    I met his eyes. "Maybe."


    His fingers curled around his mug, knuckles going pale. "He canceled your sessions."


    "He only did that because you threatened him," I snapped.


    "I did more than threaten him," he replied, too calm.


    "I <i>know</i>," I hissed, mming my toast down. "I saw his ck eye."


    He smirked like he was proud of that damn bruise. "Good. Now he knows not to get too close to what’s mine."


    I stood abruptly, chair scraping back. "I’m not <i>yours</i>, Damon."


    His eyes narrowed. "You’re my mate."


    I leaned across the table, inches from his face. "Then maybe you should start acting like it. And not like some overbearing caveman who punches people instead of dealing with his own damn insecurities."


    For a second, the air crackled between us—thick with tension, challenge, and something darker I refused to name.


    Then he stood too, slowly, towering over me. His voice dropped low and dangerous. "You want me to act like your mate?"


    "No," I snapped. "I want you to act like someone who respects my choices."


    He tilted his head. "You want choices, little Luna? Fine. You can choose what time we train today. I’ll be waiting. And next time, if you don’t show..."


    "What?" I spat.


    His gaze dipped to my lips, then lower. "Let’s just say, I’lle find you. Personally. And there won’t be any sparring involved."


    With that, he turned on his heel and walked out—wet hair, smug attitude, and all—leaving me standing there with burning cheeks, a pounding heart, and a very unwanted pulse between my thighs.


    Asshole.


    But gods help me...


    I might just show up.


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