The Vampire's Luna

"Seliora," he acknowledged without looking up. "What can I do for you?"

She took a few measured steps into the room, letting her long gown sway just enough to draw attention. "I came to remind you," she said smoothly, "that I’ve reached my fertile cycle once more." She tilted her head, lips curving. "You should be in my castle tonight."

Damien blinked. "Should I?"

"Yes. As your royal concubine, it is my duty and yours to ensure a royal heir."

"I can’t," Damien said simply. The words fell from his mouth heavy enough to slam shut the air between them.

Seliora narrowed her eyes. "I don’t understand. Why not? Again?"

Her voice was cool at first. But the practiced patience of a woman who had been dismissed one too many times was beginning to unravel at the edges.

"I... cannot leave," Damien began, reaching for a justification, something halfway diplomatic. But then he stopped himself, jaw tensing. His pride, or maybe his confusion, refused to allow vulnerability tonight. "I don’t have to explain myself to you."

And with that, he gulped down the wine in the glass, got up and walked toward the bar cabinet.

Seliora’s lips parted, stunned at the brush-off. "The kingdom needs an heir," she said sharply. "The first time, you weren’t here. The next time, you claimed to be busy. And now?" Her tone rose, becoming sharper with each word, her delicate fingers trembling slightly. "What’s your excuse now?"

"That’s enough!" Damien snapped. He turned on her, eyes glowing faintly with that dangerous flicker that made his enemies tremble and his allies tread carefully. "I am still your prince! Go to your castle. We’ll talk about this in the morning."

For a moment, it seemed Seliora might back down. But then she straightened her shoulders, chin high, and let the fire rise in her eyes.

"If you miss tonight, Your Highness, I will go to the High Council tomorrow morning," she said as a promise.

Without waiting for permission to leave, she turned on her heel and swept out of the castle.

Damien stood still, one hand gripping the edge of the bar. The prince who could command legions, who could silence entire courts with a glance was now being outmaneuvered by a woman with ambition and absolutely no regard for how messily love complicated royal obligations.

He sighed. "Luna, I know you’re here. I can hear your heartbeat."

There was a beat of silence before Luna stepped into the dim light of the room. She emerged from the shadows by the bedroom doorway, barefoot, wrapped in one of his oversized shirts that hung off her frame in the most dangerously distracting way.

"There are about ten other people in this house," she said dryly, folding her arms, "How can you identify mine alone?"

She stopped herself. "You know what? Don’t answer that."

She had momentarily forgotten the very obvious and very inconvenient truth. Her heart was the only one beating in the entire castle. Probably in all of Blood City.

Damien looked at her. "It sings to me," he said softly. "Your heartbeat. Even when I sleep, it echoes in my mind."

Luna rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the pink creeping into her cheeks. "Romantic," she muttered, pacing into the room. "But creepy. Just a little."

Damien chuckled, but it was hollow.

"You should go," Luna said softly.

"I know," Damien replied, eyes fixed on the bottle now half-empty. He didn’t look at her because he knew the moment he did, he wouldn’t be able to walk away.

"But you don’t want to," she said. It was an accusation.

"Because I cannot," Damien said, finally turning to face her, whiskey still warm in his blood. "Not with you here. Not since the moment you entered my life. I don’t want anyone else."

Luna’s expression faltered. She wanted to laugh, to brush it off. But the look on his face made her chest ache.

"I have two mates, Damien," she said. "I’m the last person who should be mad about you being with your concubine. This situation is already a nightmare."

"That’s not it, Luna." Damien paced, raking a hand through his dark hair. "Really. Maybe it’s the mate bond. Maybe it’s just... me. But I cannot, for the life of me, see myself buried inside another woman. The thought of it..." He shook his head, laughing bitterly. "It feels like betrayal."

Luna swallowed hard. Her defenses, which were barely stitched together, began to fray.

"This isn’t about you or me anymore, Damien," she said quietly, like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. "You said it yourself. You need an heir. Your kingdom needs you to step up."

"Luna..."

She stepped forward suddenly and placed her hands flat against his chest. His heart didn’t beat, but somehow, it still felt like it was racing. "For me... Damien. Do it for me."

Damien looked down at her hands, at the delicate fingers resting against the fabric of his shirt, and then up into her eyes, those eyes that had undone him piece by piece. Her pupils dilated, her breath slightly quickened. She was pretending to be strong.

Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible tether, he reached for the buttons on the shirt. One by one, he undid them, his fingers grazing her skin like he was trying to memorize her through touch alone. His eyes followed the trail of pale, bare skin he uncovered, captivated.

Luna stood still, shivering slightly from the weight of everything that had led to this moment.

He slid the shirt from her shoulders. It fell to the floor silently, pooling at her feet.

Damien’s voice was a whisper now, thick with emotion and whiskey. "You ask me to give myself to another woman... but how can I, when you’ve already taken all of me?"

Luna stood tall, her chest rising and falling with each strained breath. She was nearly bare, clothed only in her underwear, but somehow she looked regal. Her eyes, wide and dark, never left Damien’s face. She wasn’t standing there as a woman waiting to be touched, she was offering herself as a crutch for him to do what had to be done.