Avenging Luna
Chapter 184: Alexander Black— Her Father

Chapter 184: Alexander Black— Her Father

CHASE POV:

The journey back to the palace was a blur. The weight of her in my arms was both grounding and unbearable. Each step I took seemed to echo with the finality of what had happened. Leila was gone, her vibrant presence extinguished, leaving only a beautiful, lifeless shell.

The guards and Damon followed in silence, their usual chatter or strategic murmurs muted by the tension rolling off me in waves. Not a single one dared to speak, their eyes downcast whenever I passed.

By the time we reached the palace gates, word of the canceled coronation had already spread. The council members—those pompous old fools—were gathered in the entryway, their faces twisted in a mix of fury and confusion. I could feel their anger radiating toward me like heat waves, but the moment their eyes fell on Leila in my arms and the blood staining my clothes, they all went silent.

Good.

For once, they had the sense to shut up.

Because if even one of them dared to say something—if one of them even so much as hinted at questioning me—I would have unleashed every ounce of rage still simmering inside me. I was teetering on the edge, and it wouldn’t have taken much to tip me over.

Without a word, I pushed past them, my red eyes daring anyone to challenge me. They didn’t.

I ascended the stairs, every step heavier than the last. My chest felt hollow, as if carrying her had stolen all the strength I had left. But I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop until she was laid to rest somewhere deserving of her.

When I reached my chambers, I shut the door behind me, the soft click echoing in the oppressive silence. For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at the bed we’d shared not so long ago. It felt like a lifetime ago now.

Carefully, I laid her down, her body unnaturally still against the soft sheets. Her once vibrant hair was matted with blood, her clothes torn and stained. She didn’t deserve to look like this—not my Leila.

Gritting my teeth, I moved to clean her up. Every touch was gentle, almost reverent, as I washed away the blood and dirt that marred her. My hands trembled as I worked, but I didn’t stop until she looked like herself again.

I chose a blue dress for her, the color reminding me of the sky at dawn—peaceful and endless, like she’d always been to me. Once she was dressed, I brushed her hair, smoothing it back until she looked as though she were merely sleeping. Peaceful, serene.

But it was a lie.

She wasn’t sleeping.

She wasn’t going to wake up.

The sight of her lying there, so beautiful and still, made my chest ache. My knees threatened to give out beneath me, but I forced myself to stand. I owed her this. I owed her dignity, even in death.

I stood there for a long time, unable to move, my eyes tracing every curve of her face as if memorizing her all over again. A sharp knock at the door pulled me from my reverie.

Damon stepped in, his face tight with something between pity and concern. He carried Ash in his arms, the boy’s tear-streaked face buried in Damon’s shoulder.

Ash.

How was I supposed to raise him now? He was her son—now my son—but he was also a wolf. A wolf in a vampire’s world. What did I know about wolves? About raising one? I knew nothing of their customs, their needs, their struggles.

The only thing I knew was that I had to try. For her.

Damon gently set Ash down, and the boy hesitated, his wide eyes locking onto Leila’s still form.

"Mommy?" he whispered, his small voice cracking.

I stepped aside, giving him room. He climbed onto the bed, his little hands reaching for hers.

"She’s sleeping, right?" he asked, looking up at me with a glimmer of hope.

I swallowed hard, my throat burning. "She’s... resting," I said, the words tasting bitter.

Ash curled up beside her, clutching her hand as silent tears slid down his cheeks.

I turned away, unable to watch, my hands clenching into fists. I wanted to roar, to destroy, to tear the world apart for what it had taken from me. But I couldn’t.

Because now, more than ever, I had to hold it together.

For Ash.

For Leila.

For the family we were supposed to have.

Damon didn’t linger long. He wasn’t one for emotional moments, and this one was too raw even for him. But I could see it—the way his jaw tightened, the way he avoided looking directly at Ash. Despite his tough exterior, he cared deeply for the boy. Seeing Ash like this, curled up and broken instead of his usual cheerful, bubbling self, affected him just as much as it did me.

He hesitated at the door, his hand on the frame. "If you need anything... you know where to find me," he said gruffly, his voice quieter than usual.

I nodded, unable to muster any words. He gave one last glance toward Ash before stepping out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Now it was just the three of us.

Ash, silent and heartbroken, clinging to Leila as though his touch could bring her back.

Leila, lifeless and still, her beauty frozen in time.

And me, standing at the edge of the room, drowning in a storm of emotions that threatened to consume me.

I looked at Ash, his small frame trembling with suppressed sobs. Damon’s departure only made the emptiness in the room more profound. He’d always been the pragmatic one, but even his absence felt like another weight added to the unbearable load I was already carrying.

"Uncle Chase," Ash whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the silence.

I moved closer, kneeling beside the bed. "I’m here," I said softly.

"Why won’t Mommy wake up?" he asked, his wide, tearful eyes looking up at me, searching for answers I didn’t have the heart to give.

I reached out, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. "She’s... she’s with the stars now, Ash. Watching over you, always."

He shook his head, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "But I want her here. I want her to tell me stories. To sing me to sleep."

His words stabbed through me like daggers. I pulled him into my arms, holding him tightly as he sobbed into my chest.

"I know, Ash," I murmured, my own voice thick with emotion. "I want that too."

I held him until his tears slowed, his small body exhausted from the weight of his grief. When his breathing evened out, I gently laid him back down beside Leila.

For a long time, I just watched them—the boy who had lost his mother, the woman who had sacrificed everything. And me, the man who had failed to protect them both.

Damon’s absence felt heavier now. He wasn’t one for sentiment, but I knew this would hit him hard later, when he was alone. For all his sarcasm and bravado, he loved Ash like a little brother. Seeing the boy so broken would gnaw at him, just as it was gnawing at me.

I stood and walked to the window, staring out at the darkening sky. Somewhere out there, life went on as if nothing had changed. But in this room, everything was different.

Everything was broken.

There was a knock at the door, pulling me from my thoughts. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the handle. My mind was still clouded, and the idea of dealing with anyone right now felt unbearable. But the knock came again, firm but hesitant, as though whoever was on the other side already sensed the storm raging within me.

I opened the door to find one of the guards standing there, his posture stiff, his face uneasy.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

The guard shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. "Your Highness," he began, clearing his throat. "Alexander Black is here. He’s requesting an audience."

The name hit me like a bolt of lightning, sending a chill down my spine. Alexander Black. The former vampire royal bloodline. My father’s old friend and confidant.

And the man he had claimed was Leila’s real father.

The guard continued, his voice cautious, as if afraid of my reaction. "He says the late king wrote to him... informed him that he has a daughter and a grandson. He’s asking to see them both."

I stood there, gripping the doorframe as the words sank in. The late king. My father. His letter.

Leila’s father.

For a moment, I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The weight of the revelation crashed over me, compounding the grief and anger that already consumed me.

"Where is he?" I finally managed, my voice low and cold.

"In the grand hall, Your Highness," the guard replied. "He’s... insistent."

Of course, he was. Alexander Black wasn’t a man known for patience or subtlety. The stories my father had shared about him painted a picture of a man who was as commanding as he was proud—a relic of an older, harsher time.

I nodded curtly. "I’ll see him shortly."

The guard hesitated again, glancing past me into the room where Leila’s body lay. His unease was palpable, but he said nothing more, simply bowing and leaving me alone once again.

I closed the door, leaning heavily against it. My mind was a whirlwind.

Alexander Black. The man Leila had never known. The man who had lived his life in the shadows of the vampire court, now standing in my palace, demanding to see the daughter and grandson he had never met.

What would he say when he saw Leila like this?

And Ash... how would I explain this to him?

I turned back to the room, my gaze falling on the bed where Leila lay, so still, so heartbreakingly beautiful even in death.

"This is what he’s come for," I muttered under my breath, anger flaring again. "To claim a family he abandoned."

But I couldn’t ignore him, no matter how much I wanted to. He was Leila’s blood, Ash’s lineage. And if my father had reached out to him, then he must have believed Alexander had a role to play in all of this.

Squaring my shoulders, I stepped toward the bed. "Stay with her," I told Ash softly, brushing a hand over his head. "I’ll be back soon."

Ash didn’t respond, his little hand still clutching Leila’s.

With a deep breath, I turned and walked out of the room, each step heavier than the last as I prepared to face the man who had suddenly become a part of this tangled, devastating story.