The Vampire's Luna

Her mouth fell open. A sound escaped her lips. "What...what is going on with you, Damien? Why are you doing this?" The bond between them pulled taut, the invisible thread of matehood straining, bleeding. She searched his face desperately for a crack, for the man she loved hidden beneath the ruthless king before her.

"I am not doing anything," Damien replied. "You are. Why can’t you just accept that Isolde is carrying my child?" He stepped closer now, his presence overwhelming, suffocating, his scent invading her lungs until her wolf snarled in confusion. "You would hurt my child? My child?"

The accusation cut deeper than any blade. Luna staggered, her throat closing. He believed that. He truly believed she was capable of such treachery. "You believe I would go that far?" she whispered.

"I believe you feel scorned," Damien bit out. "Even though it was your idea to carry on with the mating in the first place." He had turned her sacrifice, her compromise, into her guilt.

Luna’s vision blurred with tears. She stepped even closer, until only inches separated them, "If you hurt even one hair on Talon’s head..."

"Like I said, he will be prosecuted according to the laws of Blood City."

Luna turned sharply, unable to bear the sight of him—this man who bore her husband’s face but moved like a stranger. Her vision blurred with rage and betrayal, but her spine remained straight. She swallowed back the scream clawing at her throat, turned on her heel, and walked out.

"Oh..." Damien’s voice followed her. "And as soon as Isolde is discharged from the hospital, she will be returned to Blood Castles."

Luna froze mid-stride. Just for a second. Just long enough for her wolf to howl inside her chest, to claw against her ribs, demanding she turn and rip the throne room apart. If she lingered, she would tear him to pieces. Her next stop would be werewolf territory. If Blood City had declared war on her people by chaining Talon, then she would answer with fire.

*****

The air in the throne room shifted the next morning. Damien sat on the throne, every line of his body carved with authority and exhaustion. His people did not see the war raging inside him.

The doors groaned open, and Talon was brought in under heavy guard. Shackles of silver cut into his wrists. Yet his steps were steady, his shoulders straight, his chin high. He carried himself like a warrior walking into battle.

Talon stopped a measured distance from the throne platform, close enough that his gaze locked with Damien’s, far enough that protocol could still be maintained. His eyes held no fear, only the hard steel of a man who had already weighed his death and found it worth the cost.

Councilman Richard stepped forward. "Talon, representative of King Kyllian, living under the protection of Queen Luna in Blood City." His gaze flicked briefly toward Damien, as if seeking approval, before he continued. "You are charged with the assault of a Blood City citizen and the attempted murder of a member of the royal family."

Richard lifted his chin. "You will be judged by the council of Lords. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty."

"The victim says it’s you."

Talon’s lips pressed into a firm line. "The victim is mistaken."

"Where were you two nights ago?" Richard pressed, circling.

Talon paused.

"You will be guilty of treason if anything you say here is a lie, Talon," Richard warned.

Talon turned his head slowly, his gaze slicing across Richard before returning to Damien. "I was on the hill at the boundary."

"Doing what?" Richard asked sharply.

"I was under orders to keep an eye on Isolde."

Murmurs erupted instantly, councilmen whispering behind folded hands.

"By who?" Richard demanded.

"The queen gave me my orders," Talon answered.

"Did the queen give you orders to assault Isolde?"

Talon’s chest rose, his chin higher still. "I did not assault Isolde, and the queen gave me no such orders."

"You admit to keeping watch on Isolde’s building on the night she was assaulted. Did you see anyone going in or out that could have done this?"

"No."

Richard straightened. "You see where I am going with this? You admit to being there. You admit to watching her. Yet the assault occurred. If not you—then who?"

"I’ve heard enough." Damien’s voice cracked through the chamber. His eyes burned with a dangerous light as he lifted his hand in a decree. "You will be sentenced as soon as the queen is interrogated tomorrow. In the meantime, you will be held in the castle prisons."

Talon nodded once and turned as the enforcers stepped forward, dragging him away down the long aisle between councilmen, but Talon’s shoulders stayed squared, his spine unbroken. His presence, even in shackles, radiated loyalty—not guilt.

"Where is the queen?" Councilman Richard’s voice pierced the tension. "She hasn’t been informed she will be investigated tomorrow."

"I am guessing," he said slowly, "she is currently either on her way to or already in werewolf territory right about now. And I am guessing the Alpha King is going to be pissed."

"Your Highness, since when are we afraid of the werewolves? You are the king of Blood City." Lord Bishop puffed his chest. Around him, some lords murmured their agreement.

Damien’s gaze snapped to him. He rose from the throne. "Were any of you around during the vampire–werewolf war?" He let the silence stretch, daring anyone to answer. No one did. They shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you remember how brutal it was?" Damien pressed. "I wasn’t around," he admitted, his eyes darkening, "but my father was. And let me tell you—we are still paying the price until now. We bled entire generations into that soil. We lost sons, daughters, mates. And for what? Pride."

The lords bowed their heads, chastised.

"Your Highness, I don’t think this will lead to a war." Richard said. He laced his fingers together. "If this is handled delicately, it can be resolved without escalation." The other councilmen erupted almost immediately, each vying to sound the wisest, their arguments crashing against one another in a discordant roar. Some demanded that werewolves be reminded of their place. Others, more cautious, whispered about the fragile treaties holding their city together. The chamber became a cacophony of ambition and fear, centuries of prejudice bubbling up in raised voices.

Damien rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, his temples throbbing. The council didn’t understand. They never did. They thought of politics, of power, of winning favor. But he had a different war to fight—one that tore at him in the marrow of his bones. His wife. His queen. His mate. Every clash with Luna left him gutted, bleeding invisible wounds. Every word she hurled at him carved deeper than any enemy blade. And yet, gods help him, he longed for her, even when she looked at him like he was the monster under her bed. He wasn’t sure which terrified him more—the thought of losing her completely or the thought that she might stay and hate him forever.

*****

Kyllian stood tall and unyielding at the boundary gates of Blood City, his very presence radiating the kind of raw dominance that made guards shift nervously on their feet. The guards bristled, refusing him passage.

Luna exited her car, a storm incarnate—hair wild, eyes glowing with her wolf barely leashed, her presence thick with command. "I am the queen of this city," she thundered. "And I say you let him through." Her hands trembled from the sheer fury burning in her veins. "You have ten seconds, or I will have all of your heads, and I promise each and every one of you, your families will not be left out of this disrespect."

The guards blanched.

Kyllian watched her, silently. It wasn’t the time—he knew it, gods, he knew it wasn’t—but he couldn’t stop the tug at his lips. She was magnificent, even in rage. Perhaps especially in rage. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

The gates clattered open at last, metal groaning under hurried hands. Kyllian slid into his car, while Luna climbed into hers.

When they approached Blood Castles, Luna’s heart stopped cold. A line of guards stood shoulder to shoulder across the castle entrance.

Luna’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. "You have got to be kidding me," she whispered, fury lacing every syllable.

Kyllian quickly slid out from his car. He raised his hand, palm open, a silent command meant both for her and for the guards. "I would like to speak with King Damien," Kyllian declared. "I will wait here."

He turned deliberately toward Luna, who sat rigidly in her car. He leaned closer. "You head on home. Be with Magnus. I will handle this." His gaze held hers. "Go, Princess."

Luna’s lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. She gave a single, trembling nod, her throat tightening too much to speak. With a sharp jerk, she shifted gears and pressed her foot hard on the accelerator. The guards at the gate scrambled, throwing it open in their desperate attempt not to be crushed beneath her car. Her vehicle roared past, and the air seemed to carry the echo of her rage long after she had gone.