The Vampire's Luna -
Chapter 45: Imagine Dragons - Radioactive
Chapter 45: Imagine Dragons - Radioactive
"Protocol," one of the guards grunted, refusing to make eye contact.
He didn’t have to wait long, though. The silence around the outer perimeter of Blood City broke with the purr of an approaching engine. A sleek, obsidian-tinted car pulled up, definitely royal-issued, judging by the smug aura of power it exuded. The window rolled down slowly and Damien, tilted his sunglasses down just enough to peer at him with a quirked brow.
"Get in," he said, casually.
Kyllian sighed and got in, shutting the door behind him with a solid thunk.
"You hungry?" Damien asked.
Kyllian side-eyed him. "Are you offering food?"
"Yes," Damien replied smoothly.
"Then yes."
They rode in uncomfortable silence. Tension hung in the car.
Eventually, they arrived at a high-end restaurant. Even the air smelled rich. As soon as the prince stepped inside, the staff scattered into action. In a matter of minutes, the already-seated patrons were politely escorted out.
Kyllian raised a brow. "You always throw people out when you’re hungry or just when I’m around?"
Damien smirked. "I like my privacy. Besides, you talk too loud."
They sat at an elegant table near a window. A server appeared immediately, bowing deeply. Damien ordered a tall glass of blood cocktail. Kyllian went for a rare steak.
After teir respective orders were brought, Damien leaned back, folding his hands together, eyes fixed on Kyllian. "What did you find out?"
Kyllian didn’t waste time. "Luna is King Magnus’s legitimate child. There was no affair."
Damien nodded slowly, eyes narrowed.
"But?" Damien prompted.
Kyllian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The Queen had help conceiving. Magical help."
Damien’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes.
"From Morvakar," Kyllian added.
Damien finally picked up his cocktail glass and took a thoughtful sip. "Ah. The vampire sorcerer."
"You don’t seem surprised," Kyllian noted, a little annoyed.
"I had a heads up," Damien said calmly. "But I don’t have all the pieces yet. You’re just helping me color in the edges."
Kyllian narrowed his eyes. "Why do I feel like you’ve been two steps ahead of me this whole time?"
"Because I am," Damien said, grinning around his drink.
"What’s next?" Kyllian asked, tapping his fingers against the polished table. His jaw was tight, the muscle ticking just beneath his cheek. Patience was never his strong suit, especially not when Luna was involved.
"We wait until the next full moon," Damien replied, tone maddeningly calm.
Kyllian’s brows shot up. "For what?"
"Confirmation of our theory," Damien said smoothly, lifting his cocktail glass and twirling the blood-red liquid.
Kyllian scoffed, annoyed. "She won’t be here on the next full moon, and you know it."
"It doesn’t matter," Damien replied, setting the glass down with an irritating clink. "You will bring her back."
Kyllian exhaled hard and leaned back. His steak was barely touched, congealing pitifully on his plate.
They finished the rest of their meal in silence.
After the plates had been cleared and a server refilled their glasses with unnecessary ceremony, Kyllian broke the silence. "I’d like to see her."
Damien dabbed his lips with his napkin in a gesture so aristocratic it nearly made Kyllian puke. "No, you can’t."
"Why not?" Kyllian asked, trying to keep his tone civil, though his right hand curled into a fist beneath the table.
Damien shrugged, all cool indifference. "Because I said so."
Kyllian let out a short laugh. "That’s it?"
Damien met his gaze, no smile this time. His voice dropped sincerely. "Because I’m afraid."
Kyllian blinked. That, he hadn’t expected the honesty.
"Afraid of what?" he asked, though part of him already knew.
Damien held his gaze. "Losing."
Damien leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Look around me, Kyllian. I’m heir to the throne. Without my mate by my side, I can’t take it. I can’t lead. I don’t have an heir. My kingdom will unravel."
"She’s the heir of our kingdom too," Kyllian said. "Luna was born for this. She has a duty...to her people, her land, her bloodline. Especially now that everything’s falling apart."
"I know," Damien whispered. "I know. But give me this, Kyllian. Just... give me a few more days. Let me be selfish for once in my life. Let me have her... by myself."
Kyllian looked at him. Really looked. Beneath Damien’s polished charm, his regal bearing, his calculated responses, there was a man on the edge.
"You touched her, didn’t you?" Kyllian asked, one brow arched, the accusation curling off his tongue. He didn’t shout, he didn’t need to. The weight behind the words carried a lethal sharpness, one Damien felt deep in his gut.
"No less than you did," he replied smoothly. His hands were folded neatly on the table, but his eyes... they burned.
Kyllian’s jaw clenched. "She was to be my wife."
"She is my mate," Damien shot back, the calm slipping into primal possessiveness.
"Mine too!" Kyllian barked. "You think I like this? You think I enjoy knowing another man is touching what the fates bound to me?"
"Do I look like a man who enjoys sharing?" Damien’s voice was dangerously cold. "For her sake, I am tolerating you. That’s the only reason we’re not already at each other’s throats."
"Tolerating me?" Kyllian repeated, scoffing as if Damien had just offered him a backhanded compliment wrapped in a slap.
"Yes! I see you with her. I see the way you cloud her judgment, pull her in with your sweet words and faux nobility. Right now, all I have are these few days. Just let me have them. Let me have her... even if the stars are laughing at us."
"Fine," he said. "But remember this...when she comes back, she is mine. And then, Prince Damien, you’ll need my permission to see her." He stood up from his chair, a smirk on his face. "We’ll see how nicely that will work out."
*****
Later that evening, Damien sat in the main drawing room, a glass of untouched wine in one hand, thinking of Luna. He barely noticed the Royal Concubine enter until she cleared her throat.
"Your Highness," Seliora said, her body language the perfect blend of seductive poise and calculated timing.
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