The Vampire's Luna

"Your Majesty!" he dropped to his knees with a thud that shook loose leaves from the branches above. "Get him to the clinic! Now!" he barked at the warriors.

But the king’s blood-soaked hand lifted weakly, halting them.

"Wait," Magnus rasped. His face was ashen, sweat gleaming. "I’m glad... you’re here. Closer."

Kyllian crawled forward without hesitation, swallowing the rising lump in his throat. "Your Majesty, you’re bleeding too much. We have to move you—now. I’ll carry you myself." His fingers reached instinctively to the gaping wound at the king’s side, trying to apply pressure, trying to stop the impossible.

But Magnus caught his wrist.

"My time is up," he said softly. "You will become king now. You must choose your Luna wisely. But more importantly..." He wheezed and tightened his grip with surprising strength. "There will come a time when the vampire prince will no longer be there for my daughter. And when that time comes..." He coughed, blood dripping from his lips. "Protect her. And her child."

Kyllian’s heart cracked straight down the middle.

"Your Majesty, no—don’t say that. Please. Just give me a chance to get you to the clinic. You’re strong, you’re still strong. I’m not ready. The pack needs you. She needs you."

Magnus shook his head with effort. "They will need you."

His body trembled, lips turning a purplish hue. And yet... a small smile played on them. "Tell Ravena... I love her. She must stay strong." His eyes fluttered, staring up through the branches as if trying to see the stars beyond the smoke. "I’m proud of you."

And then, the mighty alpha king exhaled his life.

His eyes dimmed, fixed on nothing, and the forest seemed to fall silent. Even the wind dared not howl.

Kyllian sat frozen, his hands slick with blood, his chest rising and falling in shallow, broken motions. He pressed his forehead to Magnus’s shoulder, hot tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I wasn’t ready," he whispered. "Gods help me, I wasn’t ready."

One of the warriors behind him stepped forward. "Your majesty? You have to make the call."

Kyllian didn’t answer immediately. He reached down and closed the king’s eyes with reverent fingers. Then he rose slowly, shoulders squared, the mantle of leadership falling on him.

Then he gave a heart wrenching howl.

Luna’s head snapped in the direction, her wolf senses catching the unmistakable sound.

"Father!" The word tore out of her throat, rising from the deepest part of her soul.

Around her, the surviving werewolves, bloodied and battered, staggered or fell to their knees as though they’d been struck by the same invisible force. The bond to their Alpha King had broken. They had felt it.

She ran. Her heart thudded violently.

When she reached the clearing, it felt like time collapsed around her. Magnus was lying still, his once-proud chest no longer rising. His eyes were closed, peaceful as if dreaming of a world without war.

"No... no, no, no..." Luna fell to her knees, her beautiful gown now soaked with mud and blood. "Goddess, please, no." She pulled his body into her arms, cradling him as if she could rock him back to life. "Don’t do this to me. Not you. Not now."

A scream escaped her throat. It was a scream that hollowed out the soul.

Behind her, Kyllian stood. His arms trembled at his sides, fists clenched so tightly his nails drew blood. His gaze swept across the battlefield. And there, Damien, standing too still, too composed, his presence a reminder of all that had been lost.

Kyllian’s eyes darkened. His jaw ticked. A storm gathered behind his irises. "This...This is your doing."

Damien stepped forward instinctively. "Kyllian?" He recognized the storm of grief, but more importantly—he recognized the blame.

"You know quite well I would never condone this," Damien said, carefully. "Unless there is another reason you’re mad, don’t speak in grief what you’ll regret in clarity."

"Don’t tell me how to grieve!" Kyllian snarled. "You bring death wherever you go. All your kind knows is blood and pain." He raised a shaking hand toward Magnus’s body. "You see that? That was a king. A father. You dragged this war into our home. Into her life!"

Luna still held Magnus, rocking, weeping softly now. The strength in her seemed to ebb with every second. She didn’t speak, but her silence screamed volumes.

Damien’s expression hardened. "Then let’s be clear, King Kyllian," he said, emphasizing the title. "I am mourning him too. And I swear by my mother’s grave—I will find out who sent these vampires, and why."

"Swear all you want," Kyllian bit back. "But someone must pay. And you..." He took a step forward, and behind him, the remaining werewolves rose, shoulders squared, eyes glowing, ready to strike at a word. "You are the enemy. An eye for an eye. A king for a king."

"That would be a wrong move," Damien said. "You have no idea the war that would follow. You cannot kill a vampire prince and be guaranteed peace."

He stepped forward slightly, hands half-raised in diplomacy. The glow of his red eyes simmered beneath his calm. "I may be standing on your soil, Kyllian, but the moment you strike me down, you sign a death warrant for everyone here. Including the ones you’re trying to protect."

"But our king can be killed?" Kyllian roared back, grief bursting from his chest. "Where was your concern for peace when he was slaughtered?" His voice crescendoed into a howl of rage, and without another breath of warning, he gave the war cry that would haunt the history books.

The soldiers behind him, loyal to the last, didn’t hesitate. They shifted mid-stride, bones cracking, claws ripping through skin as fur overtook flesh. Hulking beasts of vengeance hurtled forward.

Luna saw it all. Her heart stopped and then restarted in panic. No, no, no.

Time seemed to warp around her. She didn’t think. She moved. She flung herself in front of Damien. "Stop!"

But Kyllian was already too far gone. His werewolf form was massive, his claws extended in lethal fury. He saw her leap, but his body couldn’t obey fast enough. Damien did. Just barely.