The Vampire's Luna

As the maid began to dab powder on Sharona’s cheekbones, a sudden knock echoed at the door.

Sharona’s head whipped toward the sound. Her voice turned venomous. "Get the door!"

The maid paused, her hands hesitating for a beat before she bowed slightly and hurried to obey. As she twisted the knob and pulled the heavy door open, her breath caught in her throat.

Standing there, framed by the dim corridor light, was the man she had only seen on Blood City media—the soon-to-be crowned king of Blood City, the vampire prince himself. Prince Damien. He looked taller in person, his presence magnetic and overwhelming.

"Your Highness," she breathed, bowing quickly, her body dipping low in submission. The moment her head lowered, she felt the necklace against her chest pulse—one sharp beat. Then another.

"Lady Sharona?" Damien asked. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

"I’ll get her," the maid answered quickly, trying to move away, eager to put distance between herself and his unsettling intensity.

But Damien reached out, not touching her, just stopping her with his voice.

"You’re not Lady Sharona?" he asked, frowning.

"No. I am her maid," she said softly, eyes downcast.

He was stunned. For a moment, the hallway seemed to tilt beneath him. Everything inside him had told him that the person calling out to him was behind this door. And here she was—this girl. Not a noble. A maid. But he couldn’t ignore the raging storm in his body screaming that it was her.

His gaze dropped lower. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

And then he saw it.

A pendant hung loosely around her neck, simple in design yet pulsing faintly with a red hue.

"What’s that?" he asked, voice suddenly sharp.

"I... I don’t..." the maid stammered, visibly nervous now under Damien’s intense stare. Her fingers instinctively reached for the pendant around her neck, as if hoping to hide it. "A man walked up to me in the lobby and gave it to me. Said it would change my fate." She smiled, awkward and uncertain, as though only now realizing how foolish it all sounded. The glimmer of naive hope in her eyes flickered beneath her fear.

Damien took a step closer, narrowing his eyes at the pulsing red glow of the necklace. It called to him now, with every inch of his body, curling around his bones.

"Isolde!" a shrill voice rang out from within the room, slicing through the moment. "What in the world is taking so long? You bumbling fool!"

Sharona’s voice was rich with entitlement, and then she appeared at the doorway. But her confidence faltered the moment she saw who stood outside her door.

"Your Highness!" she gasped. There was a hunger in her eyes, quickly masked by faux elegance. She shoved Isolde out of the way with an irritated hiss, sending the girl sprawling to the floor with a soft thud against the carpet. "Don’t mind my maid. I didn’t—"

The sound of Damien’s boot shifting on the floor silenced her.

A dark, dangerous look crossed Damien’s face, and in an instant, the energy around him changed. The very air in the corridor seemed to tighten.

Sharona’s words dried up in her throat as he stepped past her without acknowledging her presence. His gaze was fixed solely on the girl on the floor—on Isolde.

She looked so small and startled, trying to catch her breath as she pushed herself upright with trembling arms. Her long lashes were wet with humiliation, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she met his gaze squarely, even in her shame.

Damien extended a hand without a word. And the moment her fingers brushed his—

A red glow burst from thin air, wrapping around their wrists. The ancient mate bond manifested before their eyes. It coiled and shimmered, a visible sign of fate’s final decision.

Isolde’s wide eyes shot to his, filled with disbelief and wonder.

"Oh my goddess," she whispered, voice trembling as reality sank in.

Her hand still lay in his, and she didn’t pull it back.

Damien didn’t either. He stared at the mate string, heart thundering in his chest as the fire that had pulled him all morning suddenly made sense. This was the pull. This was the call.

Sharona’s hand clutched the doorframe, her perfectly contoured jaw slack with horror. "No... this... this is a mistake."

All Damien could manage was "fuck!"

*****

"Your highness, if I would be allowed to go in search of my husband. I am worried and, truth be told, my pregnancy isn’t really fond of this position." She was crouched low on a ceremonial cushion, her back curved uncomfortably, her long robes pooled around her. Her hand cradled her slightly rounded belly as her golden eyes searched the room for a familiar shadow that refused to appear.

Around her, the Temple glowed faintly from the sacred fires burning in golden sconces. The Trueblood council watched in silence. They spoke with glances, with breaths, with the restrained tension of a court always teetering on the edge of ceremony and chaos.

King Luciver, perched above them on the throne exhaled slowly. His eyes flickered with concern. "We don’t know what has happened yet," he said. "For now, you can get up and sit on a proper chair."

Luna’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer. For all his cold demeanor and terrifying reputation, she could see it—the crease between his brows, the quiet urgency in the twitch of his fingers resting on the arm of the throne.

Two of the temple attendants approached her quietly. They bowed first, as per protocol, and then gently helped her rise. Luna’s legs trembled a little beneath her. Her body, though powerful, was not untouched by the demands of carrying a true blood child.

And then the door opened.

The murmurs hushed immediately. Heads turned.

"I apologize for my delay," came the voice that made Luna’s heart stutter in her chest. "I got caught up in an urgent matter."

Damien strode into the sacred hall. His presence was magnetic. His aura crackled faintly with power and restrained emotion, as though he had walked through a battlefield before arriving.