Chapter 29 Luna #2
Damien turned toward me, his full attention almost tangible in the darkness.
“It’s not just symbolic,” I continued, tracing patterns on the stone bench between us.
“Severing pack bonds is like…like amputating a sense you’ve had since birth.
He used a ritual blade—silver mixed with wolfsbane.
The Alpha cuts here.” I touched the center of my chest. “Not deep enough to be physically dangerous, but enough to carry the herbs into your bloodstream, where they dissolve the magical connections to the pack collective.”
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “For the crime of loving someone from another pack.”
“Uh, no. Not love. Lust, pure and simple. And the draw of being a bad, bad girl. And getting pregnant,” I added. “Can’t forget that part in the list of my offenses. Diluting our pure Northern bloodline with Eclipse pack genes—truly unforgivable.”
The bitterness that always simmered just underneath my skin resurfaced, sharp and acrid.
“He gave you no choice?” His voice had dropped to a lower register, carrying an edge that made the hairs on my arms stand up.
“Terminate the pregnancy or leave the pack.” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warm night. “Not much of a choice.”
Damien went silent for a long moment. “I’ve never understood pack politics,” he said finally. “Vampires are territorial and hierarchical, but we don’t share the collective identity that drives wolf packs. The idea of sacrificing individuality for group identity seems so odd to me.”
“It’s not sacrifice when you’re born to it,” I said with a shrug.
“Pack bonds are… They’re like oxygen. You don’t think about them until they’re gone.
” I stared at my hands, remembering how they’d looked with claws, with fur, once upon a time.
“After the ceremony, I felt hollow. Like someone had scooped out everything that made me whole and left just enough to keep me functioning.”
“Yet you rebuilt yourself,” Damien said, genuine admiration warming his voice. “Created a new identity, a new profession. Found ways to provide for your child without pack support.”
“Had to,” I said simply. “Aria needed me functioning, not wallowing in self-pity.”
“Many would have broken under such circumstances.” His hand moved across the bench toward mine, not quite touching but close enough that I could feel the coolness radiating from his skin.
“Oh, I did break,” I admitted. “Maybe my nickname ‘The Ghost’ is just what grew from the dead pieces.”
The confession hung between us, raw and honest in a way I rarely allowed myself to be. Damien’s fingers finally bridged the gap between us, cool against my warm skin as they intertwined with mine.
“We are all composed of the pieces of our breaking,” he said softly. “The difference is whether those pieces form something stronger or something more beautiful than what came before.”
The unexpected poetry of his observation drew a small smile across my face. “That’s surprisingly philosophical for a vampire tomb raider.”
He grinned, stuttering my heartbeat. “I’ve thought a lot about the nature of transformation. I’m still learning new lessons.” His thumb traced circles on my wrist, sending shivers up my arm. “From unexpected teachers.”
Above us, clouds drifted across the moon, alternately revealing and concealing its light in patterns that reminded me of breathing. A gentle breeze stirred the garden, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine.
I scooted closer, barely able to keep myself from pouncing on him like a wild animal. But the tension in his shoulders betrayed the soft circles he traced into my knuckles.
“You’re worried about Paris,” I said. “Beyond the obvious challenges of the catacombs. What specifically happened? You started fires. You were hunting a spy. Someone wants your head. What else?”
His expression darkened. “It was a different time in the French Revolution, and I had personal reasons for starting those fires and angering the Parisian court. Those fires helped me hunt down certain members of the Winter Court who attacked my Summer Court.”
“Oh. The Revolution is practically yesterday in vampire terms. No wonder they’re still mad. So we’re walking into a nest of ancient vampires who already hate you, and me by default, to steal an artifact from their catacombs.“ I shook my head. “And I thought the Darién Gap was rough.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in wry amusement. “We simply need to locate and extract the Shadow Fang piece without triggering a diplomatic incident or a vampire blood feud.”
“Simply. Sure,” I echoed sarcastically. “Nothing simpler.”
Damien laughed. I wished I could make a recording of that sound and play it on repeat.
His eyes held mine with considerable warmth. “We make a good team, you and I.”
“Vampire and former shifter, both control freaks and chaos agents,” I said with a nod. “Practically a supernatural buddy comedy.”
“With considerably higher stakes.”
“Oh my god.” I sighed. “Vampire humor.”
His laughter deepened, and his expression shifted, became more intent, more focused. His hand tightened around mine, tugging me closer, his gaze dropping to my lips. Then he leaned in to kiss me as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I eagerly met his lips, and the combustible need inside me lit to every corner of my body.
There was no stopping my burning, even if I wanted to.
And I didn’t.