The Vampire's Luna

He walked out of the castle and into the courtyard, his broad shoulders tense beneath the thin fabric of his fitted shirt. He followed the familiar trail toward the gardens, seeking the calm the fountain always offered—the same spot Luna had once claimed for herself.

When he arrived there, he stopped dead in his tracks. At first, his breath caught, his heart leaping traitorously in his chest. For the briefest moment, he thought he was seeing Luna—standing tall and still by the fountain, her hand skimming the water’s surface, making lazy ripples under the moonlight. It was such a familiar sight it was like stepping into a memory. But when he blinked and looked again, the illusion broke. It wasn’t Luna. The figure was softer, cloaked in a robe, her hair tumbling freely over her shoulders, her posture uncertain where Luna’s had always been commanding. It was Mabel.

A frown tugged at his lips as he strode forward. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

Mabel startled, turning quickly, the moon catching her face in pale silver. She dipped her head in a quick bow, her voice hushed. "Your Highness..."

Kyllian’s gaze sharpened as he took her in, every line of her figure. His eyes swept down her form instinctively, checking for harm. "Are you alright?" he asked, the question softer now.

Her lips curved faintly. "I’m fine, Your Highness. You?" she asked.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture uncharacteristic of his usual composure. "Just... couldn’t sleep. Thought some air in the garden would help me." The truth was, the walls of his chamber felt like they were closing in on him, every thought about the Moon goddess and the danger ahead choking him.

"Oh, I’m sorry," she said quickly. "I’ll leave you to it." She turned, her robe swaying lightly with the movement.

Before he could think better of it, Kyllian’s hand shot out, fingers closing around her arm. "Stay," he said. He didn’t want her to go.

Mabel turned her face slightly toward him, her eyes wide, searching.

"Stay. I need the company too." Kyllian urged. His hand lingered at her arm, the contact warm even through the thin robe she wore. He pulled back a moment later but his eyes did not waver. "Unless, of course, you really have to go."

"I can stay." She chose a spot beside him, careful not to stand too close, yet close enough to feel the weight of his presence. Together, they stared into the black mirrored surface of the fountain water. The moonlight silvered the ripples, and the night air was cool with the faint scent of roses and lavender. The castle gardens had always been Luna’s refuge, but tonight it felt stolen. After a long silence, Mabel’s voice cracked. "I am afraid..."

Kyllian turned sharply to face her, his sharp profile cutting against the shadows. He searched her expression, his chest tightening. "Of what?" he asked.

"Of being alone. Of having this baby alone." It was a confession of loneliness, of longing.

"You won’t be alone." Kyllian’s reply came immediately, instinctively, and perhaps too forcefully. He straightened, as if by sheer authority he could erase her fear. "Do I have to emphasise how imperative it is that your child is born safe and sound?"

"I don’t mean that."

Kyllian exhaled slowly, letting the tension ease from his jaw. "You don’t want to be lonely," he murmured, this time with understanding. He knew loneliness. Despite his title, riches, and endless company, his heart was emptier still.

Mabel nodded, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. "I know it’s stupid. I got myself into this situation anyway." She bit her lip. "But I thought, for the briefest moment, that I had a shot. That maybe someone could love me... want me." Her hand tightened against her robe.

Kyllian’s throat worked, his gaze lingering on her face. "You never found your mate?" he asked carefully.

"I did. He had to reject me. He already had a family." She gave a short, broken chuckle. "I sure know how to pick ’em, uhn?" She tried to shrug, tried to make light of her pain, but her eyes betrayed her.

Kyllian looked at her, the curve of her cheek in the moonlight, the strength in her brokenness, the quiet defiance in her attempt to laugh at her wounds. His hand twitched, wanting to reach for hers, but he held it still. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

"I cannot promise you that you will not be lonely. But I am responsible for you," he continued, eyes glinting. "So how about we be lonely together?"

"You are not lonely." Mabel argued quickly. "You can’t be."

"What makes you think that?"

"You have the queen mother," Mabel listed softly, glancing at him. "You have the princess. You even have the king of Blood City."

Kyllian let out a sharp laugh. "Are you pregnant in your brain?" His lips quirked in a rare grin. "The King of Blood City?"

Mabel smiled faintly at his incredulous tone. "Yeah. I know the both of you need to maintain this rivalry thing," she said, lifting one shoulder in a small shrug, "but the moment you thought the werewolves were in trouble, you instinctively leaned toward him. You trust him, even if you won’t admit it. And I think the feeling is mutual. You have people you can lean into. You are not lonely."

Kyllian’s gaze fixed on her. He had people, yes, but none of them filled the space that gnawed at him when the halls grew too quiet. None of them stood beside him in the long hours of the night when duty stripped him bare of everything but his thoughts. "You can lean into me."

Mabel’s chuckle came out soft. "You... you are the Alpha King." The title itself sounded like a barrier, an iron gate between them. Her eyes flicked away, as if refusing to be caught in his.

"Yeah..." Kyllian replied, stepping an inch closer, his presence brushing against hers. "And I am offering to be the one you instinctively lean on."

Mabel looked up at him then, heart hammering. "Thank you, your highness," she whispered, before her gaze darted away and fixed stubbornly back on the fountain’s ripples.

What she didn’t notice was Kyllian’s gaze still on her.

He wanted to assure her, to prove with more than words that his offer to be her strength wasn’t empty. Kyllian’s chest rose with a deep inhale before he reached for her. His palm brushed her cheek, calloused fingers against delicate skin, tilting her face upward until her wide eyes locked with his. For a heartbeat, time fractured—the Alpha King standing in the gardens with a pregnant woman who was not his mate, not his queen. Then he bent his head and kissed her.

His other hand slid into her hair, thick locks curling around his fingers as he held her in place. Mabel gasped, her robe parting slightly to reveal the curve of her throat, vulnerable and tempting in the pale glow. A dangerous sound rumbled low in Kyllian’s chest, and for an instant he thought he might never stop.

But then, just as suddenly, he tore himself away. His lips lingered inches from hers, his breath still hot against her skin. He smiled faintly at the shock painted across her features, the way her eyes darted to his mouth as though she couldn’t believe what had just happened.

"You... you just kissed me." She stammered, her fingers rising unconsciously to her lips as if to test whether they still carried the heat of him.

"Yeah... yes, I did."

"Ugh..." she chuckled nervously. Her eyes widened at the enormity of it—what it meant, what it could mean.

"I’m just a man, Mabel." Kyllian’s smile was small. "Kings are also men." Then, with a gentleness that contrasted the hunger of moments before, he extended his hand toward her. "Come on, I’ll walk you back to your room."

Her hesitation lasted only a second before her hand slipped into his, trembling, dazed. She could still taste him. Together they walked through the silent gardens.

*****

"Isolde, you are being dramatic," Councilman Richard snapped, his patience fraying. Isolde had stormed in, her face pale, eyes burning with fear.

"The queen has sent Talon to watch my every move!" Isolde declared. "I am not safe in my own home, Richard. What if something happens to me? What if she intends to silence me?" Her hand pressed to her chest in despair.

Councilman Bishop, who had been quietly sitting in the corner, raised a brow at the spectacle. His eyes flicked from Isolde’s heaving chest to Richard’s irritated expression. "She does sound... distressed," Bishop remarked.

Richard slammed his palm on the desk. "You tread on dangerous ground, Isolde."

Isolde lowered her gaze, her lashes fluttering. The role of the frightened pregnant woman suited her well. "It is not baseless," she whispered. "I have a child to think of. If the queen does not want me here, then at least give me the council’s protection."