The Vampire's Luna

The sensation nearly destroyed her. A moan clawed at her throat, desperate to escape, but she bit her lip hard, refusing to give in. She couldn’t let herself enjoy this.

Pleasure surged through her anyway, sharp and sudden, a cruel betrayal of her resolve. Her body clenched around him, heat and hunger building despite herself. She began to move, slow at first, rocking her hips in small, tentative motions, then faster as the sensations overwhelmed her. Each rise and fall dragged her closer to the edge she had promised not to cross.

Beneath her, Damien grunted, low and raw. The sound vibrated up into her spine, shattering her restraint. She gasped and rode him harder, chasing the rush she couldn’t deny. Her nails dug into his chest, her hair spilling forward as her breath came in ragged bursts. She clamped down around him as her climax ripped through her, and in that same breath Damien moved.

Still blindfolded, he sat up in one swift motion, powerful arms locking around her waist. He gripped her tightly, holding her in place as though she was the only anchor in a storm. His fangs dropped with a soft click, his body trembling with the violent need of the bond.

Isolde knew what was coming. She tilted her head, exposing her neck, surrendering to the one thing she both craved and feared.

Damien’s mouth closed over her skin, and then his fangs sank deep. The piercing pain shot through her, white-hot, only to drown instantly in the rush of heat that followed.

Tears slid down her cheeks even as her body convulsed with pleasure. In his blindfolded haze, in his fevered need, she could tell, he was imagining Luna.

And yet, the mark was hers. The bond seared her soul, binding her fate forever to a man who would never truly love her.

She cried out. Pleasure tore through her like a violent storm, shaking her bones, flooding her veins, until she could no longer contain it. Damien held her tighter, his powerful arms locked around her as though he was drowning and she was the only thing keeping him afloat. His head buried against her neck, his fangs still lodged deep in her skin, he came undone inside her with a guttural growl. The bond snapped tight around them in that instant, iron and fire, an unbreakable tether forged in heat and blood.

But as soon as the haze of release left him, his entire body stiffened. The reality of what he had just done came crashing down on him. With a force that startled even her, Damien ripped himself away. He pulled her off his lap as if her touch burned him, leaving her gasping, the mark still fresh on her skin. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving, but his hands moved with cold precision as he tore the blindfold from his face. His eyes, wild and bloodshot, flicked toward her once, and the look that passed through them made her shrink back against the pillows. It was fury. Fury at himself. Fury at her. Fury at the entire cruel design of fate.

He was on his feet in seconds, tugging his trousers back into place, his movements harsh, almost violent. Grabbing his discarded shirt, he stormed out of the bedroom. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Isolde trembling, tears streaking down her face, a hollow ache spreading where she had hoped to feel warmth.

In the living room, Lucivar was pacing like a man possessed, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The moment Damien emerged, his father’s head snapped up, sharp eyes searching his son’s face for the truth.

"Is it done?" Lucivar asked quickly.

"Yes," Damien growled, the single word filled with venom. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful, and his eyes still burned with a fire that could level kingdoms.

Lucivar exhaled, almost in relief, but before he could speak further Damien cut across him. "Did you get the scarf to Morvakar?"

His father hesitated, guilt flickering across his face. "Uh... no, not yet. I was waiting until this was over to—"

Damien’s snarl cut him short. The sound was primal, filled with centuries of restrained violence. Spinning on his heel, he stormed past Lucivar, his fury radiating like heat from a wildfire.

Outside, the night air was sharp and cold, but it did nothing to soothe him. He stalked down the path toward his castle, every muscle in his body wound tight, every nerve on fire. Morvakar better be right. This cursed ritual, this obscene act—it had to work. It had to buy him freedom from the poison slowly killing him, from the threads of fate choking his soul. Because if it didn’t, if the sorcerer had played him for a fool, Damien swore he would tear the man apart limb by limb and salt the earth with his ashes.

The castle loomed before him, a black silhouette against the starlit sky. He entered through the great doors without ceremony, his guards bowing low but wisely avoiding his eyes. They had learned long ago not to meet their king’s gaze when his temper was like this.

Damien didn’t stop until he reached his chambers. He stripped off what remained of his clothes with violent, jerking motions and stepped into the shower, turning the water scalding hot. Steam filled the air as he braced his palms against the stone wall, letting the cascade pound down on him. He scrubbed at his skin like a man possessed, desperate to erase every trace of her—the feel of her thighs around him, her hands on his chest, the sound of her moans.

But no matter how hard he scrubbed, no matter how long he stood there with water streaming over his body, he couldn’t wash away the truth: he had marked her. The bond was forged. And it would never, ever be undone.

When Damien returned to his bedroom, he stopped dead. A sheet of paper lay upon his pillow. He crossed the room in a single stride and snatched it up. At the corner of the paper was a familiar name - Morvakar’s. His hands shook as he dipped a finger into his mouth, wetting it with saliva, then dragged it across the surface. As the moisture touched the ink, glowing letters bled across the page, revealing the hidden message.