The Vampire's Luna

Damien’s hands trembled slightly as he reached behind her and unclasped her bra, letting the straps fall from her shoulders. When the garment slipped from her arms, her breasts stood proud, like even they knew the power they wielded. Luna’s chin remained lifted, as if baring her body to the vampire prince was no more significant than baring her soul.

Damien looked at her like a man witnessing the divine. His hands moved to her hips with care, not haste. Slowly, he bent, eyes at the level of her navel, and slid her underwear down her thighs until they crumpled at her ankles. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Every nerve in her body screamed, but her face remained composed.

He closed his eyes.

She watched him, her heart in her throat.

He inhaled deeply. When he opened his eyes again, they shimmered with restrained hunger.

"Go, Damien."

And then, he stepped back.

One step. Then another.

"Damien?" she whispered not knowing if she was trying to stop him or to encourage him to go.

He heard her but still turned around and walked out.

Luna remained there, stripped of everything; her clothes her control. She didn’t move. Didn’t dare to. If she moved, she might fall apart entirely.

And then, as his footsteps echoed, the tears came.

They filled her eyes before she could stop them, blurring the door he’d just exited through. The sob erupted from her throat, unbidden and raw, and she slapped her hand over her mouth, horrified by the sound of her own pain.

Why was she crying?

She wasn’t supposed to cry. She was the future queen of her people. She was powerful.

But right now she was just a girl who’d been left bare; literally and figuratively.

And she wondered, in the stillness, Is this what he felt? When I chose Kyllian over him?

Was this what it had cost him to stand there as I gave myself to someone else, smiling through heartbreak, masking his agony behind regal indifference?

Was this what he swallowed every time he looked at me and pretended not to remember the feel of my skin against his?

"Oh, gods..." she muttered, stumbling back.

Despite everything, part of her admired him. Because walking away from her in that moment... that had taken more strength than she’d ever seen him use.

How could doing the right thing feel so wretchedly wrong? Her lips trembled as tears streamed down her cheeks, unrelenting droplets of betrayal by her own emotions.

She was trying to save him. Trying to help his kingdom.

The ache in her chest tightened, and she didn’t fight it anymore. She let the sobs wrack her body.

*****

Meanwhile, Damien was walking to his doom or rather, the Royal Concubine’s castle. It was hard to tell the difference right now.

He walked with such heaviness that made the maids glance at one another nervously. The same feet that once swaggered with power now trudged.

He should be used to this walk. This was the route he had taken so many times before, back when duty was just a word and Seliora was just a beautiful body to spend a fertile night with. Back before Luna’s scent had rewired his brain and her laugh had rewritten the laws of attraction.

Now, every step felt like a betrayal.

Not to the kingdom. But to himself. To what he wanted. To what he would never stop wanting.

But Seliora had been right, damn her sharp tongue and inconvenient logic. An heir was needed. A broken prince with no future mate and no legacy could not hold a throne not in Blood City, where power was respect.

As Damien pushed open the doors to her castle, the maids stiffened, then bowed low. Not one dared speak. They parted as he passed.

He didn’t pause to announce himself or make pleasantries. The time for formalities was dead.

He made his way straight to Seliora’s room, pushing open the doors without so much as a knock.

Inside, Seliora was in the middle of selecting a nightgown.

She gasped when she saw him, surprised he had actually come. "Your Highness?" she blinked. "You’re here?"

"Yes," he said. "Unfortunately."

She arched a brow, her lips curling slightly. "Well. Don’t sound so thrilled, Damien. Shall I roll out the rejection carpet now or wait till after the heir is made?"

Damien sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. "I’m not here to fight, Seliora."

Seliora assumed, rather smugly, that her threat about going to the high council had worked.

When Damien walked through her doors, she expected fire, resistance, or at the very least, disinterest. What she didn’t expect was the... quiet.

He stood there, tall and awkward.

"I’m sorry I dismissed your feelings, Seliora," Damien said sincerely.

Seliora tilted her head slightly, her tall frame matching his, neither one needing to look up to feel the pressure between them.

She studied his face, which she had once admired.

"Don’t treat me like this," she said, softer than she meant. "It wasn’t always like this."

Damien sighed and dropped his gaze as though her words physically scratched his conscience. "I know. I’m in a situation I cannot help, and I’ve been taking it out on you. That’s not fair. You don’t deserve that."

She gave him a nod and took a slow step closer.

"We are both bound by duty," she murmured. "But we used to be friends, Damien. Remember that? I hate what we’re turning into. Transactional. Cold."

He looked at her finally, eyes a little gentler, and nodded. "You’re right. I miss... when it was easier."

And perhaps, because there was nothing left to say, Damien pulled his shirt over his head.

There was nothing seductive about the motion. It was pure surrender.

Seliora’s eyes dipped to his bare chest, a place she once touched with the confidence of a woman who owned it. Now, even tracing it with her fingers felt like navigating foreign terrain.

"We never loved each other," she whispered, stepping closer. "But there was a time my touch could please you."