The Vampire's Luna
Chapter 130: Tori Kelly ft Ed Sheeran - I Was Made For Loving You

Chapter 130: Tori Kelly ft Ed Sheeran - I Was Made For Loving You

She bit down on her lower lip, almost hard enough to bruise, grounding herself against him in small movements. She needed more. He was teasing, and Luna was seconds away from clawing his shirt off and devouring him.

"I want to mark you all over again," Damien growled against her skin. His mouth moved to her neck, tongue tracing the scar of her existing mark.

His lips lingered there longer than usual. "Let me mark you all over again. I want to do it properly this time," he whispered.

And when his fangs descended, Luna felt the familiar pressure of them grazing her skin.

Her body tensed. And in a blink, she panicked—eyes wide, heart racing. Her hands scrambled against his chest, and she pushed herself off his lap as though he were fire and she’d just realized she was flammable.

Damien blinked in surprise.

"What’s...what’s wrong?" he asked, bewildered. The desire in his voice faltered. His brows creased in confusion as he sat back, watching her adjust her dress with shaky fingers.

"Uh...nothing. I should go," she stammered. She wasn’t even meeting his eyes. She was running. Again.

He stood slowly. "You..." he began carefully, "I just thought... I didn’t mark you the right way last time. I mean, you were mad at me for weeks—maybe longer—and I just thought..." He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to collect the thoughts now spilling.

"Wait...you don’t want me to."

Luna’s eyes flew to his. "No, I do," she said quickly, stepping toward him before hesitating again. "I just..."

She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t tell him what she knew.

"Luna?" he asked, gentler now. "What’s going on? Tell me."

"My mum will be waiting," she deflected weakly, turning as though that excuse could shield her from everything building between them.

"Luna!!!" Damien’s voice thundered, echoing against the gazebo walls. His eyes flared red, his control cracking.

"You say you love me," he growled, hurt woven into every word, "but you’re still against the thought of being marked."

She whirled back to face him, tears threatening. "You already marked me!" she cried. "There is no use for another."

Damien stared at her, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. "No use for another?" he repeated bitterly. "Is that all this is? You think I just want to leave scars?"

"That’s not what I meant," she whispered.

"I wanted to do it right this time," he said. "Not just because you were dying. Not because we were desperate. But because I love you. And I wanted to give you something real. Something sacred."

"You gave me everything already," she tried.

"It still bothers you? Me... a vampire with you, a werewolf?" He wasn’t accusing, not really—but there was a plea beneath his question, one asking for a kind of reassurance that words could barely touch.

"No! Goddess, no. Please, Damien... Let’s not fight," Luna whispered, her hand reaching out toward him as though she could physically stop the words spiraling between them. Her eyes were wide, frantic, shimmering with a thin film of tears threatening to fall.

"I’m not fighting. I just want to know why you’re acting so repulsed. Like I disgust you now."

"Because I know!" Luna burst, the words spilling out before she could catch them. "I know, okay? I know that marking me meant your death—and you still did it." She was crying now, thick, helpless tears that blurred her vision and streaked her cheeks. "I know that every day is one day closer to you dying."

Damien stood completely still. His eyes darkened, and his lips parted just slightly.

"When did you know?" he asked quietly. .com

"I went to see Morvakar," she admitted. "After I found you in pain with Veyron in your office."

As if the gods above were mourning with them, the sky outside broke open. Rain began to fall, drumming a rhythmic sorrow onto the wooden rooftop of the gazebo.

"That was when you changed. That was... that was when you finally gave in to me."

"Damien..."

"You pitied me."

Her breath caught in her throat. "What? No. No, that’s not it."

But he wasn’t listening. Not really. He was staring past her, through her.

"You agreed to marry me without a hassle," he continued, a hollow laugh escaping him. "I thought that was strange, but I told myself you were finally realizing just how right we were for each other. That it had finally clicked for you. That you’d stopped fighting what we had."

"We are right for each other!" Luna exclaimed.

"Your actions don’t seem to mean that," he said. "You’ve been fighting me since the moment we met. You clawed at our bond, denied it, questioned it, ran from it. And then—" he paused, taking a heavy step back, "—the instant you hear I’m dying, a switch flips."

"Damien—"

"I’m not stupid, Luna." His jaw clenched. "Don’t take me for one."

"I just..." she started, stepping toward him. "I just didn’t want to waste any more time."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, you felt guilty. You felt responsible. And guilt is not love, Luna. It’s penance. And I never wanted you to love me because I was dying."

"You’re wrong."

Damien didn’t reply. He only gave her a long, unreadable look, his crimson eyes seeming to dim, just slightly. And then he turned. "You can find your own way home," he said simply, and walked out of the gazebo, each step a punch to her gut. fre ewebno(v)e\l.(c)om

"Damien!" she shouted, but he didn’t turn. "Please... don’t do this."

But he had already vanished into the rain.

*****

The night of the engagement party arrived, and everything felt like a dream someone had colored in too perfectly. Queen Ravena had outdone herself, as expected. The Blood Castle’s garden had been transformed into something from a fantasy. Even the moon seemed to have RSVP’d to the event, casting a silver gleam across the castle grounds.

Damien stared out from his bedroom window, the reflection of the glittering garden mocking the ache in his chest. Two days. That’s how long he’d kept himself from Luna. Two days of silence, of not hearing her voice or feeling her hand slip into his. Two days where he replayed the moment in the gazebo over and over.