The Vampire's Luna -
Chapter 86: Pentatonix - Run To You
Chapter 86: Pentatonix - Run To You
"That a mate will choose love every time," Damien answered. "No matter the status. No matter the time."
And with that, the vampire prince stared off into nothing in particular. He had chosen love. Gods, he had. He had risked everything. And still, it wasn’t looking like love was going to choose him back.
Veyron studied him closely. This wasn’t just a prince confiding in an old advisor. This was a man beginning to break under the unbearable weight of hope. Of wanting.
"I need you to tell me the truth, Your Highness," Veyron said finally, sitting forward. The jest had left his voice entirely now, replaced with a steely resolve. "And please know that I ask for the good of the kingdom before yours."
Damien turned his gaze to him, slowly. He looked tired.
"Veyron..." Damien sighed, as though the confession itself might crack Veyron, perhaps himself.
The sage closed his eyes for a brief moment. His ancient bones already knew the answer before it was spoken. "You did, didn’t you? You marked her."
Damien nodded, slowly, the weight of his guilt dragging down even the gesture. "It was an easy choice. I couldn’t watch her die. Morvakar won. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest earlier."
For a man with the wisdom of centuries, Veyron suddenly looked a hundred years older. His entire body sagged as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs and replaced with dread. "Oh... no. Oh goddess, no! Your Highness... no..." His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the arms of the chair, trying to steady himself or maybe the reality they now lived in.
"It was me or her," Damien said. There was pain there, layered and tightly coiled beneath his words.
"No," Veyron snapped. "It was her or us! Without you, we are done for! Without you, there is no us. Your uncle takes the throne. You know his plan, right? To get rid of all vampires not marked by true bloods. Where does that leave us?"
Damien swallowed hard. "Veyron... I will do everything in my power to make things right."
"How long do you have?"
"A year... maybe less." The words fell from Damien’s mouth like stones into a well.
"Goddess have mercy," Veyron muttered, slumping further. He looked like he might curse, or pray, or both at once.
*****
Luna was playing culinary roulette in Damien’s pristine kitchen. She had commandeered the space.
She needed to do something—anything—to fill the time. Pacing the room and reading wasn’t working anymore. Meditation ended in agitation.
So she cooked.
Well—cooked ish.
She had raided Damien’s pantry only to discover that vampires apparently stocked food that are pretty to look at but completely useless when you’re starving.
Still, she made do. Chopped some vegetables, pan-fried some pork.
The table was set. Luna had even attempted to fold the napkins into swans.
Just as she was about to sit down and taste the food, the door creaked open.
Damien stepped in, shoulders stiff. He looked exhausted.
"I made dinner," Luna announced too quickly. She hated how hopeful she sounded.
Damien blinked at her, surprised. "You cooked?"
"I told the maids not to bring anything in today. I figured I could..." She trailed off, gesturing to the table as though it would finish her sentence for her.
A smile threatened Damien’s mouth but didn’t quite make it. "Smells... edible."
"Gee, thanks," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. "Glad to know I’m still good for something."
He walked in further, shrugging off his coat. "I didn’t say good. I said edible."
"Oh!... The...Royal...Concubine...Seliora was here today to drop an invite off," Luna announced as casually as she could manage, though her voice held that dangerous kind of brightness people used right before setting something on fire.
Damien gave her a squint. "You had to call her entire title?"
Luna shrugged, leaning a hip against the dining table. "It is what she wants to be called."
There was something deeply satisfying about watching his eye twitch ever so slightly.
Damien exhaled heavily through his nose, shaking his head. "Women..." he muttered, as though that one word was an explanation.
He crossed over to the coffee table and picked up the elegantly sealed envelope Seliora had left behind, running a finger along the crest with an amused grunt. "Ah! Lord Bishop throws the most excellent parties."
He turned toward Luna with a boyish grin. "Would you like to come?"
Luna crossed her arms and arched a brow. "Wouldn’t it be better if you went with The...Royal..."
"Oh for fuck’s sake!" Damien exclaimed, throwing his hands dramatically into the air. "I want you to come."
She chuckled softly, that elusive sound he’d spent days trying to earn back. "How am I supposed to hide the mark?" She gestured to her neck. "A scarf doesn’t exactly go with any of my dresses."
"I can fix that," Damien said, confidence threading into his voice. "Meet me at the Royal Empire tomorrow."
Luna tilted her head, pretending to consider. "Okay. Let’s see what magic you can work."
It was easy, too easy to fall into this rhythm with him. Banter laced with buried emotion. She hated how natural it felt.
"I’m going to go take a shower," Damien announced, loosening his shirt collar and beginning to head toward the hallway.
"Okay," she replied, carefully avoiding looking at his back because she was already dangerously close to offering to help unbutton things.
There was a pause, followed by a tentative: "Wanna join me?..."
Luna whipped her head toward him, brow raised so high it could cut clouds.
"No? Too soon? Worth a shot," he said, smiling sheepishly as he backed away slowly, hands raised in surrender.
"In your dreams, smooth operator," Luna said, rolling her eyes as she turned toward the dining table and added under her breath, "And even then, don’t bet on it."
She heard him laugh softly as he disappeared into the hallway.
And yet—despite her annoyance, the petty little jabs, the stubborn need to maintain distance—there was warmth blooming in her chest.
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