Damon Fox

Their mothers laughed like old friends, and indeed they were. Lucia and Helena met in their second year of high school. Both misfits in their own way—Lucia with her sweet, chaotic ways, Helena with her cold beauty and secrets in her eyes. It was no surprise that they met again years later, now adults, mothers, trying to lead a normal life.

What Lucia never knew… is that Helena was never entirely human. And that his son wasn't either.

Damon was born of an ancient pact. The fruit of a barely whispered desire by a woman too young to understand the consequences. A man too beautiful to be real offered her what she wanted most—true love—in exchange for a child. She said yes. And Damon was born with eyes that burned. With gifts that frightened. With memories that weren't just his.

Since he was very young, he dreamed of eyes that did not yet exist, of a laugh that did not yet have a sound, of the smell of a skin he had never touched. He dreamed about Clau. Long before she was born.

The night before he was due to give birth, Damon woke up with his chest on fire. He went out onto the porch, the sky cracked with a red moon. He felt it.

— “She’s here.” — he whispered, as if he already knew.

And he knew.

When Helena casually told him that Lúcia was giving birth, something inside him truly awakened. And from that day on, he began to see her. Even from afar, even in silence. Years passed. Always on the lookout.

As Clau learned to walk, he learned to control his hunger. While she made friends, he controlled his jealousy. While she grew up without knowing, he waited. And he prepared the moment to make her his.

The hospital smelled of wilted flowers and antiseptic. Damon walked silently through the too-white, too-cold hallways. His footsteps made no sound. It was as if the world had learned to fear him early—even the floor avoided disturbing him.

— "You're going to love seeing her, Damon!" — his mother had said earlier, excited. "Lucia's daughter was born this morning. Clau. A little angel!"

Little angel.

He smiled contemptuously at the word. There was nothing angelic about what he had felt since dawn. A restlessness, a new hunger, a longing that grew in his chest like a silent flame.

He knew it was for her. The one who had been born. The one who was his.

When he reached the bedroom door, no one noticed him. The two mothers laughed softly, exchanging memories of school while Clau slept in a transparent crib, wrapped in a white blanket. So small. So helpless.

But what he saw… wasn’t weakness. It was power. Destiny. A silent call that pierced him like a blade.

He stepped closer. She was fourteen hours old. He was ten years old. And yet, everything inside him stopped when he looked at her.

Clau wiggled her tiny fingers and opened her eyes for a moment. Dark, misty newborn eyes—but there was something in them. Something that recognized him.

Damon bent down, his fingers lightly brushing the glass of the crib. No direct touch, but he made a mark. Not with skin, but with soul.

— "You are mine," he murmured, so low that only fate heard. "And I will wait as long as it takes."

The baby made a small sound, almost a smile. As if she knew.

The mothers continued talking, without realizing what had just happened. Without seeing the shadow that was sticking to her like a seal. Without understanding that, at that moment, something ancient and dangerous had awakened.

And that Damon would never let her belong to another.

Clau had always gone unnoticed. At 14, she wore old sneakers, a baggy shirt and was still confused about her changing body. She was never the kind of girl who drew attention to herself — and she liked that.

But that Tuesday, something changed.

She entered the classroom as usual: hair loose, backpack fallen to the side, her head occupied with tests and grades. But her eyes... All eyes were on her.

It wasn’t subtle. Arthur, who had always ignored her, turned his head and followed her with his eyes until she sat down. Lucas, from the other class, bumped into her on purpose and said “sorry” with a strange smile. Even Henrique, who only talked to the most “popular” girls, looked her up and down with a glare that she didn’t understand — but that made her uncomfortable.

Clau felt her face flush. Her stomach churned. — Why so suddenly? It wasn't vanity. It was... restlessness.

She shrank back in her chair, trying to ignore it, but she couldn't get the feeling out of her head: something in herself had changed. Something others were noticing before she was.

And when he touched the back of his neck, his skin felt hot. Too hot.

A shiver ran through her body—but it wasn’t from the cold. It was as if invisible hands were touching her. As if someone… was watching her from inside her own body.

Clau lowered her eyes, swallowed hard. And then, a name popped into her mind, out of nowhere. A name she had never heard spoken out loud:

Damon.

The word reverberated like a whisper. Like an echo. Like a memory that wasn't hers—but was inside her.

— Are you feeling sick? — Mariana, her best friend, whispered.

Clau shook her head slowly, but she wasn't sure. Because something was wrong.

And that same night, the dream came back.

Stronger. Hotter. More real.

A man—or something like a man—stood in the darkness. His eyes were green as embers. His voice scratched at her mind: "You're growing up. And soon you'll remember me."

She woke up gasping, frightened. But her soul pleaded for him.

Clau knew something was wrong the moment Scott took her hand.

They were standing on the sidewalk in front of their usual diner after school when he stopped walking and looked at her as if he wanted to say the whole world in one sentence.

— Clau, I like you. More than just a friend. I can't pretend I don't feel it anymore.

She froze, her heart racing—not at the declaration, but at a strange shiver running down her spine. An instinct. A silent call.

It was then that she felt it. The presence.

He turned his face—and saw him.

Leaning against the glass wall of the coffee shop, the late afternoon light hitting his angular face. Black shirt. The posture of someone who belongs in the dark. His green eyes cut her in half.

The world stopped.

He didn't smile. He didn't blink. He just watched her, as if he had been waiting for her for an eternity.

Clau barely heard when Scott said her name.

When he blinked, the man had disappeared from the glass.

— Just give me a minute — she said, almost without a voice, entering the cafeteria as if she were dreaming.

He was there. Sitting at the table in the back. An untouched cup of coffee in front of him. His eyes still on her.

“Do I know you?” she asked, standing in front of him.

He smiled sideways, and his voice sounded like an echo inside her chest:

— Not yet. But go ahead. Call me Fox.

She touched his hand—and felt the shock. Like liquid fire beneath her skin.

The name Damon flashed through her mind. But the face was new. The touch was old. Confusion. Desire. Fear.

She took a step back, her lips trembling.

— You look like someone I know… from dreams. Only… it’s not him.

He looked down for a moment. — I like your hair clip, it matches your eyes. It says getting serious -Αγάπη μου, αγωνίζομαι να μην κάνω τον φίλο σου στάχτη.

What did he say? She couldn't say, but the way he looked at her. That was possession.

Clau left there with trembling legs.

And the heart no longer knew who it wanted: Fox, the real one... or Damon, the dream. Without realizing it... they were the same.

Late afternoon with the smell of rain and promises that didn't know whether they would come or go.

Ever since she met Fox, everything inside her has been mixed up. He was real. He had a scent, a presence. But he didn't feel like Damon. Damon was a burning ember in dreams. His voice was husky, his touch was incendiary. Fox was cold. Contained. The kind of silence that hurts. Scott insisted on walking her home. Clau didn't refuse. Part of her wanted to feel something. Wanted to try. To believe that maybe the old affection could blossom into something more.

They walked side by side. He made silly jokes, talked about teachers, gave brief smiles.

And she smiled back. Forced. Almost automatic.

Something inside her was restless. Like someone was watching. Like there was a silence inside her skin waiting to explode.

When they reached the gate, there was the most uncomfortable silence. Scott put his hands in his pockets. Clau looked down at her feet.

—I know I'm not the guy who makes you tremble—he said.

She stared at him, surprised.

— But I know you. I know what makes you laugh, what scares you. And if I don't tell you now, I'll regret it forever.

He approached slowly. Unhurriedly, carefully. And he kissed her.

It was sweet. Warm. The taste of mint with coffee still in the mouth. But the world… didn’t stop.

Her blood didn't run faster. Her body didn't light up. In the mind, a name appeared like a warm breath. Fox.

She walked away slowly, her heart heavy.

Scott sighed.

— Was I too fast?

— No. It's just... I'm trying to understand what I feel. There's too much going on.

He looked her in the eyes.

— Is there anyone?

She hesitated.

— I don't know. I wish it wasn't.

He smiled awkwardly.

— When you know… let me know.

He walked away. The air seemed thicker after he left.

Clau went up to her room and threw her backpack on the floor.

On the bed, a black hair clip with a small ruby.

And a note.

"When I touch you, you will know who I am. And you won't want any more lukewarm kisses, Clau. Nor fragile arms. Damon."