Chapter 301: I’d Rather Die
"I’d rather die." Damien cupped her face in both hands and held her. "Sweetie. I’d die. I’m not going to be with her. If I do, you will never see me again. It will be the last breath I draw."
Luna’s throat made a small, unsteady sound. "Don’t say that," she whispered, the command laced with fear. Her hands curled against his wrists.
"I swear on Magnus." Damien’s fingers tightened, then softened; he lifted her chin so their eyes locked. "I almost gave in. I almost did." He told her about the instant—how the bond pulled. "Talon came in at just the right moment," he breathed, as if the werewolf’s interruption had been nothing short of divine intervention. "But even then, I knew—if I tipped over the edge, there was no way I would be able to face you." His eyes were dark with shame.
"I love you, you idiot," she sobbed.
"Not as much as I love you." He bent his head until their lips met—first a rough, desperate press, then softer, worshipful. He kissed her as if each contact could stitch up the torn seams of their life. His hands moved across her back, anchoring himself to the woman who had stood by him through thorns and triumphs.
Luna kissed him back. Her tears salted their lips. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, the tension of days of silence and hurt unraveling in a rush of heat.
"I love you," she whispered against his lips again and again.
"I know," Damien rasped, pressing his forehead to hers. "Don’t leave me."
The ache of Morvakar’s absence, the betrayal of Isolde’s pregnancy, the cold distance she had kept—it all boiled over into this desperate clutching. Her hands tore at his clothes, nails grazing skin as if she wanted to remind herself he was alive, real, hers.
Their mouths collided again, frantic, messy. His kiss was bruising, hers was bitter with sorrow. He lifted her, carrying her to the bed. She wrapped her legs around him, tugging him closer, closer still.
"Damien..." she breathed.
He shushed her with another kiss.
Their clothes fell away in uneven strips, discarded without care. His mouth traced her throat, tasting the pulse that thundered with fear and longing, his tongue catching on the salt of her tears. She arched beneath him, her body trembling.
When he entered her, it was sharp, aching. She cried out, and he buried his face in her neck, holding her. The rhythm they found was desperate, each thrust a plea, each gasp a confession neither of them could voice.
"I can’t lose you," she whispered brokenly, nails sinking into his back.
"You won’t," he swore against her skin. He moved harder, deeper.
It was heartbreak in motion—two souls clinging to each other, using pleasure as prayer. She sobbed beneath him, he trembled above her, and still they moved together, frantic, alive.
When release tore through them, she cried his name. He didn’t care that he had just spilled his seed inside her. He wanted to give her all of him, to feel all of her And then they simply held each other.
*****
Councilman Richard called a council meeting. The great marble chamber of Blood Castle buzzed with a strange, uneasy energy. As Damien sat upon his throne, Luna at his side, both of them already knew what it was about.
The remnants of the council—the lords who had survived the purge of traitors stood.
Richard stepped forward into the center of the hall. His eyes flicked from the king to the queen, he famously sharp-tongued councilman looked...apologetic. He cleared his throat.
"Your Highness. Councilmen. I come before you today to announce news of a...royal nature. We have a new heir on the way."
The chamber rippled with whispers, muted gasps. A few lords lifted their brows, surprised. Why would the queen dare face another pregnancy, even after the difficulty of her last?
Richard’s gaze hardened, his lips pressed thin. And then he continued.
"King Damien is expecting a child with an immigrant named Isolde."
The hall erupted. Shock fractured the chamber.
Luna’s fingers tightened around the armrest of her throne. She wanted to scream, to deny, to demand.
"As requested by the queen, the pregnancy has been confirmed to be real and to be a true blood. When the child is born, we will confirm also its paternity," Richard finished. Councilmen shifted uneasily.
Luna straightened in her chair, her spine tall, her chin tilted ever so slightly higher. The throne beneath her felt colder than iron. The air between her and Damien was taut, a thread strung too tightly, one that might snap with the faintest tug. Their story had been rehearsed to perfection, yet now, under the scrutiny of dozens of hungry eyes, it tasted bitter in her mouth.
Damien cleared his throat, forcing steel into his tone. "The woman in question was merely a one-night stand," he said flatly. "Myself and the queen were having...difficulties at the time. It was a temporary lapse in judgment." His gaze flickered toward Luna then darted away. "Moving forward, when the child is born, the child will be brought into the castle and raised as a royal by the queen."
The council murmured. Luna sat motionless. She had agreed to this story, had demanded it even.
Richard cleared his throat again, that annoying little rasp that meant more bad news was coming. He stepped forward with a deferential bow. "Not to interrupt you, Your Highness, but...Isolde vehemently refuses this arrangement."
She let her lips curl into the faintest, most dangerous smile. "It doesn’t matter if she refuses," she said. "What will be done will be done. It is the throne’s decree. No whore will dictate terms to Blood City."
But then Lord Bishop stepped forward. "Your Highness, with respect..." He drew out the words. "We believe it is only fair to give the mother of a prince or princess the position of Royal Concubine within the castle. Our kings have been known to take concubines. Even the former King Lucivar had too many to count—dozens, by some accounts."