Chapter 42: The First Test

Damon woke before the sun.

He didn’t need much sleep anymore. His body was changing. The demonic essence burned through exhaustion faster than it used to. He lay in bed for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, then got up.

Lily was still asleep in her room down the hall. Thomas was already in the kitchen. The house was quiet otherwise.

Damon pulled on training clothes and went outside.

The manor had a private courtyard behind the east wing. It was old, probably used for something else once. He’d had it cleaned up. Mats covered the ground, and a rack stood against the wall. Nobody used it but him.

He stretched while he waited.

Vivian showed up at six. She walked out of the east wing door already dressed. Dark pants. Fitted top. Hair tied back. No makeup. She looked different from yesterday. Sharper. More focused.

She stopped a few feet away and looked at the setup.

"This is it?"

"What did you expect?"

"Honestly? A gym. Maybe a trainer standing in the corner."

"I don’t hire people to do things I can do myself."

She nodded and walked onto the mats. Rolled her shoulders. Started stretching without being told.

Damon watched her warm up.

Vivian moved with the confidence of someone who had spent years training her body. Her footwork was clean, her punches sharp, and her kicks carried enough force to make the air snap.

She wasn’t pretending to know martial arts. She had put in the work.

But he noticed the gaps almost immediately.

Her guard dropped when she kicked. She took too long to recover her stance after a missed strike. Her combinations were practiced, but he could already see where she expected her opponent to be.

After twenty minutes, Vivian finally lowered her hands.

"How was that?"

"Your warm-up?"

She gave him a look. "You know what I mean."

"Do you want an honest answer or a nice one?"

"An honest one."

"Then try to hit me."

Vivian blinked. "Now?"

"Unless you’d rather talk about it."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Fine."

She stepped forward with a quick jab-cross combination.

He shifted his head just enough to let the punches pass. Vivian followed with a hook, but he was already outside its range.

She turned with the movement instead of stopping. Her leg swept toward his side.

He stepped back. The kick missed by inches.

Vivian landed, reset her stance, and looked at him more carefully.

He hadn’t blocked a single attack. He hadn’t needed to.

She went again, this time feinting with her lead hand before driving a straight punch toward his chest.

Damon moved aside.

"You’re watching my hands," he said.

"You’re talking too much."

She came in again before he could answer.

This time she changed levels, trying to catch him off balance. Her timing was better, and for a moment, Damon had to adjust his footing to keep her from getting close enough to grab him.

Then he broke the angle and left her reaching for empty air.

Vivian pulled back, breathing harder now.

She stared at him, visibly annoyed.

"You’re not even trying."

"Would you prefer that I did?"

She didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened, and she raised her guard again.

Good. At least she understood that complaining wouldn’t help.

She started moving laterally, testing his distance. Instead of throwing another combination immediately, she watched his shoulders and feet, searching for some indication of when he would move.

Damon let her look.

Then he took one small step forward.

Vivian reacted with a quick right hand.

He slipped it, but she had already anticipated his movement. Her elbow came around behind the punch, cutting across the space where his head had been.

It grazed his ear.

For the first time, Vivian’s eyes widened.

She had almost hit him. Damon straightened and touched his ear. There was nothing to see, but the contact had been real.

"Better," he said.

The brief approval seemed to irritate her more than the earlier dodges.

"Don’t praise me for almost hitting you."

"Then hit me."

She inhaled, forced herself to settle, and started circling again.

This time, she didn’t rush.

She feinted high, stepped in, and drove a straight right toward his face.

Damon read the punch. He could have avoided it without effort.

Instead, he waited a fraction longer.

Vivian’s fist came close enough that he had to move his feet to clear its path.

She stopped immediately, her fist still extended. For a second, neither spoke. Then she lowered her hand.

"Did I land it?"

"No."

"But you moved."

"I did."

Her gaze flicked down to his feet, then back to his face. She had forced him to adjust, but he had allowed the exchange to reach that point because he wanted to see what she would do.

"How much of that was you letting me?"

"Most of it."

Her expression hardened.

Damon expected her to argue. Instead, she looked away for a moment, took a breath, and rolled her shoulders.

"Then I’ll have to make you stop letting me."

That earned her a more attentive look.

"Now you’re thinking."

Vivian faced him again, still breathing heavily. Sweat had begun to cling to her hairline, and her arms were starting to feel the strain. She looked frustrated, but not defeated.

"Well?" she asked. "Give me your verdict."

"You have a good foundation. Your technique is clean, and your footwork is solid. Ten years wasn’t wasted."

She waited.

"But you’ve trained with people who know the rules. You haven’t fought many people who don’t care about them."

Her eyes narrowed. "Explain."

"Your timing is predictable. You drop your guard when you kick, and you take too long to recover after a miss. Your combinations look good when everything goes the way you expect. The moment I move somewhere you didn’t plan for, you have to think before you act."

Vivian glanced at her hands.

She knew he was right. That was the irritating part.

She’d spent years refining her technique. In less than half an hour, he’d exposed weaknesses she hadn’t even realized were there.

"How do I fix it?"

"Fight more. Against people who won’t make things easy for you."

"And you’ll train me?"

Damon looked at her for a moment.

She was exhausted, embarrassed, and clearly unhappy with the result. Yet she hadn’t made excuses, blamed him for holding back, or tried to pretend she’d done better than she had.

She wanted to know how to improve.

"Tomorrow. Same time."

She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding. "Fine."

"Go harder tomorrow."

She gave him a tired, challenging look. "Don’t complain when I do."

"I won’t."

She turned and walked toward the house, already thinking through the exchanges. Her ten years of training suddenly felt less like an achievement and more like a starting point.

Damon watched her leave.

He’d wanted a second Bonded Partner with genuine potential, someone whose growth could give him a meaningful return. Plenty of women had caught his attention, but none had given him a reason to stop looking.

Vivian had.

Her technique needed work, but her ability to adjust under pressure mattered more. She’d been outmatched, recognized it, and kept trying to find a way through.

That was what he wanted.

He’d train her. He’d give her opportunities to grow stronger. And when the time came, he’d make her his second Bonded Partner.

Vivian had no idea what he had in mind.

For now, she only knew she’d been beaten and that tomorrow, she intended to do better.