Chapter 159: Chapter Hundred And Fifty Eight

"Camilla!!!"

Damon reacted with terrifying speed.

Before she could even hit the ground, Damon dropped his sword directly into the sand. He rushed forward, launching his large body across the space between them.

He reached out his strong arms. He caught her securely by the waist just before her back hit the sand.

But his forward momentum was too great to stop. He knew they were both going to fall.

In a split second, Damon twisted his body, using his own broad, muscular back to shield her from the impact.

They crashed into the sand together.

Thud.

Damon hit the ground first. Camilla fell directly on top of him.

The momentum of their fall caused them to roll over once in the soft sand.

When they finally stopped moving, their positions were reversed.

She was lying flat on her back on the sand.

Damon was on top.

He was hovering directly over her. He had planted his knees in the sand on either side of her hips. He placed his large, gloved hands flat against the ground near her head, supporting his massive upper body weight so he did not crush her.

They were completely still.

The quiet underground arena was filled only by the sound of their ragged breathing. They were both panting heavily.

Camilla stared straight up.

Damon’s face was merely inches away from hers. She could feel the heat radiating off his large body. She could feel his hot, rapid breath brushing against her cheeks.

The physical tension was incredibly thick. It felt exactly like the electric air right before a massive thunderstorm.

Damon stared down into her eyes. His chest heaved up and down rapidly, brushing lightly against her dark clothing.

He looked at her flushed, sweaty face. He looked at her soft, pink lips, slightly parted as she gasped for air. He felt a deep undeniable emotion rise up from the very bottom of his soul. He wanted to close the tiny distance between them. He wanted to lean his head down and kiss her right there in the sand.

A dark red curl of her hair had fallen across her face. It was sticking uncomfortably to her wet, sweaty cheek.

Very slowly, Damon lifted his right hand from the sand.

He gently pushed the stray curl away from her face, tucking the soft, wet hair neatly behind her delicate ear. His rough leather glove brushed softly against her warm skin.

Damon swallowed hard. His throat felt completely dry. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him.

He stammered softly. "A... are you alright?" he asked. His deep voice was a rough, quiet whisper.

Camilla lay pinned beneath him. She felt the gentle brush of his hand. She felt the tension hanging in the air.

She stared into his dark brown eyes. She saw the intense, burning heat hiding in his gaze. She saw the way he was looking at her lips.

Camilla could not find her own voice. She just nodded her head slowly against the sand.

Damon let out a shaky breath of relief. She was not hurt.

He looked at her, entirely captivated by her presence.

"You seem to have learnt a lot," Damon spoke softly, trying to return to his role as a military instructor, but his voice was too gentle. "That’s quite impressive. You fight very well."

Camilla didn’t say anything.

Her mind, usually so sharp and full of sarcastic thoughts, was completely blank.

She was just watching him. She watched how his broad, muscular chest was heaving up and down rapidly. She watched the thick drops of sweat rolling down his strong neck. She watched how the sweat clung to his thick, powerful arms, making his muscles shine in the orange torchlight.

She looked at the long, clean cut she had made in his grey tunic. She could see his skin showing through the torn fabric.

A sudden, intense rush of heat flooded Camilla’s stomach. It was not anger. It was physical attraction.

She realized exactly what was happening.

Despite her constant complaints, despite his grumpy attitude, and despite her grand plans to leave... she was deeply, undeniably attracted to the Tyrant General.

The realization scared her. As a professional assassin, love was a dangerous weakness. Attachment meant getting hurt. She had to escape this intense, intimate moment before she did something stupid.

Camilla quickly broke eye contact. She looked away, staring at his torn shirt.

She stammered nervously, completely losing her cool composure.

"I... I need to go to the dressmaker," Camilla said quickly, her voice high and breathless. She pushed her hands gently against his chest. "I need to have a dress made for the ball. Grandfather’s ball is next week."

Damon felt her small hands pushing against him. He saw the sudden panic in her eyes. He knew she was running away from the tension.

He felt a sharp sting of disappointment, but he respected her boundaries. He did not want to force her.

Damon took a slow, deep breath to steady his racing heart.

"Yes," Damon replied softly. "You should."

He slowly pushed himself backward. He moved away from her, lifting his body off the ground. He stood up in the sand, stepping back to give her plenty of space to breathe.

Camilla quickly scrambled up from the floor. She dusted the dry sand off her dark trousers and her tunic. Her hands were shaking slightly.

She walked over to the wooden rack and dropped the twin steel daggers where they were kept. The metal clattered loudly against the wood.

She did not look at him immediately. She needed to leave the underground arena right now.

She turned to walk toward the dark, narrow stone staircase that led back up to the study.

But as she placed her foot on the first stone step, she paused.

She turned her head and looked back over her shoulder. Damon was standing alone in the center of the large, torch-lit arena, watching her leave. He looked incredibly handsome and slightly sad.

Camilla gave him a quick, very genuine, sweet smile.

"Thank you for the training, My Lord," Camilla said softly. Her voice was no longer sarcastic. "It was worth it."

Before Damon could reply, she turned back around and quickly climbed the stone stairs, disappearing completely into the dark shadows.

Damon stayed alone on the arena floor.

He listened to her light footsteps fading away. He heard the metallic clicking gears of the hidden bookshelf opening in the distance, and then snapping firmly shut.

The arena was completely silent again.

Damon slowly raised his right hand. He took off his thick leather combat glove and dropped it in the sand. He put his bare hand flat against the center of his broad chest.

He could feel his heart beating incredibly faster than normal. It was hammering wildly against his ribs, like a drum beating a rapid, panicked rhythm. It was not the adrenaline of the sword fight. It was the feeling of her soft smile and the memory of her body pressed against his.

Damon stared blindly at the empty stone staircase.

He took a long, shaky breath into his lungs. The cold, strict walls he had built around his heart for his entire life were completely, violently crumbling down into dust.

He asked himself a question, his deep voice whispering quietly into the empty, torch-lit cavern.

"Am I really in love with her?"