17. Luna
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LUNA
The hallway was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting shadows that danced across Benedetto's angular features. Heat radiated off his body as we stood there, facing each other, the air between us crackling with barely restrained desire. His dark eyes bore into mine, filled with a hunger that made my breath catch in my throat.
Benedetto's hand rested lightly on my hip, his fingers curling possessively into the fabric of my dress. I could feel the strength in his grip, the coiled power waiting to be unleashed.
"Well?" he murmured, his voice a low, rough growl that sent a shiver down my spine. "Are you coming in, or was that just for show?"
I hesitated, my heart pounding against my ribcage like a caged bird desperate to break free. I knew what this was—a moment of weakness, a chance to forget the chaos that ruled our lives and lose myself in his arms. But it was more than that. This was an opportunity, a means to an end. If I wanted to secure my future, I needed his child growing inside me.
I met his gaze head on, my chin tilted up in defiance. "I'm not a fool, Benedetto," I said quietly, my words carried on a shaky exhale. "I know what this is. But yes, I'm coming in. I'll take every chance to conceive that I can get."
Something flashed in his eyes—surprise, respect, perhaps even a grudging admiration at my boldness. He gave a curt nod and pushed the door open, stepping aside to let me enter first.
The room was swathed in shadows, the only illumination coming from the moonlight that filtered through the gauzy curtains. It painted everything in shades of silver and gray, from the rumpled sheets on the bed to the sparse furnishings scattered about.
Benedetto closed the door behind us, the latch clicking into place with a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the pulse of silence. I could feel him behind me, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of my dress and igniting a fire in my veins.
He stepped closer, the warm rasp of his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck. It made me shiver, goosebumps rising on my flesh. His fingers brushed my shoulders, trailing across my collarbones with a feather-light touch.
"You can still leave," he whispered, his lips hovering just beside my ear. "Last chance to run away."
I turned to face him, my pulse racing as I looked up into his shadowed features. Even in the dark, his eyes glittered with banked embers, twin pools of liquid heat that threatened to consume me.
"You want me to leave?" I challenged, injecting a note of sharpness into my tone.
His gaze raked over me, taking in every inch, from the rapid rise and fall of my chest to the determined set of my jaw. When his eyes finally met mine again, they were hooded, heavy with desire and something else—something raw and almost feral.
"No," he admitted hoarsely, the single word scraping out of his throat. "I don't."
The confession hung in the charged air between us for a single, breathless heartbeat. Then the coiled tension snapped, and Benedetto yanked me against him, his mouth descending to claim mine in a fierce, bruising kiss.
There was nothing gentle about it, no sweet brush of lips or tentative explorations. I matched him with equal fervor, my fingers digging into the hard planes of his shoulders as I pulled him impossibly closer.
The kiss was flavored with pent-up frustration and simmering anger, a need to unleash the chaotic emotions that had built up between us. Every slide of his lips, every nip of his teeth, every stroke of his tongue was a silent battle, a push and pull for dominance that left me weak and wanting.
My hands slid down the front of his shirt, mapping the sculpted ridges of his chest. Even through the fabric, I could feel the heat of his skin, the thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms. I pushed impatiently at the garment, desperate to feel him without barriers.
Understanding my unspoken demand, Benedetto broke away just long enough to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside. The reveal of his bare torso made my mouth go dry, my gaze drifting hungrily over the roped muscles and scattered scars that decorated his golden skin.
He reached for me again, his fingers going to the fastenings of my cloak. With a few deft movements, he unfastened it and let the heavy fabric slither to the floor in a whisper of silk. Then his hands were at my shoulders, undoing the clips that held my dress in place with an urgency that bordered on desperation.
As he worked the closures, I traced the raised edges of a scar that slashed across his ribs, feeling the way his abdominal muscles tensed and quivered beneath my touch. The vulnerability of the moment, the intimacy of exploring his body, made something ache deep in my chest.
Benedetto loosened the final clip and paused, meeting my gaze with an unreadable expression. Then, slowly, deliberately, he peeled the dress away, baring me to his heated perusal.
I stood before him in nothing but a thin shift, the delicate fabric doing little to conceal the curves it barely covered. His eyes raked over me, taking in every inch of exposed skin with a hunger that made me flush.
After removing the rest of our clothing, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the bed. We tumbled onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, our mouths finding each other again as our hands roamed with frantic urgency.
He settled his hips between my thighs, the hard press of his arousal against my core making me groan. His warmth made me ache with primitive need.
"Please," I whispered against his lips, not even fully sure what I was begging for. "Benedetto, please..."
He answered with a deep, powerful thrust, sheathing himself inside me to the hilt. The sudden fullness, the exquisite stretch and burn of his possession, tore a ragged moan from my throat. I arched against him, tilting my hips to take him even deeper.
Benedetto set a relentless pace, driving into me with a force that shook the bed frame. Each fierce pump of his hips pushed me higher, winding the coil of tension tighter in my core. I clung to him as he ravaged my body, my nails scoring thin red lines down the flexing muscles of his back.
It was fast and rough and was spurred on by desperation and raw animal need. There was no room for tenderness here, no place for soft caresses or sweet words. This was a frantic race towards release, a battle to use pleasure to obliterate the demons that haunted us both.
My climax built, the pressure expanding outwards until my entire being was focused on the place where we were joined. Benedetto seemed to sense how close I was, because he changed his angle slightly, hitting a spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids.
"That's it," he growled, his voice a dark rumble against my ear. "Let go, Luna. Come for me."
His words were my undoing. With a hoarse cry, I shattered in his arms, my body convulsing as ecstasy ripped through me in violent waves. Benedetto followed me over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside me.
We collapsed together in the aftermath, slick with sweat and struggling to catch our breath. My heart pounded against my ribs as if it wanted to escape my chest, and every nerve ending felt raw and exposed.
As the haze of passion slowly began to clear, I became aware of the intimacy of our position. Benedetto's weight pressed me into the mattress, his face buried in the crook of my neck as his chest heaved against mine. For a stolen moment, it almost felt like we were lovers instead of reluctant allies.
But I knew better than to indulge in that fantasy. This had been a means to an end, a calculated risk to improve my chances of bearing the child that would secure my future. I couldn't afford to let sentiment cloud my judgment.
With an unsteady exhale, I gently pushed at Benedetto's shoulders, needing to put some distance between us. He rolled off of me with a soft grunt, settling onto his back beside me. For a long moment, we both just stared up at the ceiling, lost in our own swirling thoughts.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged emotions. I knew I needed to say something, to find a way to navigate us back to safer ground. But my tongue felt thick and clumsy, my brain still fogged with the lingering haze of pleasure.
In the end, it was Benedetto who broke the quiet. "When will you know?" he asked gruffly, his gaze fixed resolutely on the ceiling. "If it worked, I mean."
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the twinge of disappointment his dispassionate tone sparked in my chest. "In a few weeks or so," I replied, forcing my voice to remain steady. "When my bleeding time comes. Or doesn't, as the case may be."
He grunted an acknowledgment, the sound devoid of any real emotion. I risked a glance in his direction, trying to read his expression in the faint moonlight. But his features were carved from stone, giving nothing away.
I shifted slightly, wincing at the unfamiliar ache between my thighs. It was a tangible reminder of what we'd done, of the line we'd irrevocably crossed. In the passion of the moment, it had been easy to ignore the consequences. But now, in the harsh light of reality, doubt began to creep in.
Sighing, I rolled onto my side and propped myself up on one elbow. Benedetto lay beside me, one arm thrown across his eyes, his chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. My gaze traced the network of scars that marred his golden skin, each one a silent testament to a history of violence and pain.
Unable to stop myself, I reached out and gently traced the ragged edge of a particularly brutal-looking mark just below his ribs. Benedetto tensed at the contact, his arm falling away from his face as his eyes snapped open to meet mine.
"Why Tulliano Lucardi?" I asked quietly, my finger still resting on his scar. "Why are you hunting him with such single-minded focus?"
Benedetto's jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. For a long moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. But then he exhaled heavily through his nose, his gaze sliding away from mine to fix on the ceiling.
"It's not just about Lucardi," he said, his voice low and rough. "It's about my brother. Francesco." Benedetto's eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was seeing something beyond the confines of the room. "He was cursed by a sorcerer, driven mad by dark magic. And I believe Lucardi is connected to the one responsible."
I frowned, my brow furrowing as I tried to make sense of his words. "What do you mean, connected? How?"
Benedetto's lips twisted into a humorless smile. "That damned book he acquired, the one we were after tonight. It's the kind of rare, forbidden tome that sorcerers would kill to get their hands on. Lucardi must have procured it for one of them, as payment or a favor owed."
He shook his head, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "Sorcerers never give up anything so valuable without a steep price. And the timing...it lines up too closely to when Francesco first started showing signs of madness to be a coincidence."
I mulled over this new information, trying to reconcile it with what little I knew of Francesco's affliction and Benedetto's quest for vengeance. It was a tangled web, one that seemed to grow more complicated with each revelation.
"You say you don't care if your family line dies out," I pointed out, unable to keep the challenge from my voice. "Yet here you are, risking everything to avenge your brother. It seems a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"
Benedetto's gaze snapped to mine, his eyes flashing with sudden anger. "You don't understand," he growled, pushing himself up to sit. "No one else is doing a damn thing about it. They're all too preoccupied with their own petty power struggles to seek justice for Francesco or put an end to this madness."
I sat up as well, refusing to be cowed by his ire. "But he's family, Benedetto. Surely that counts for something, even in a family as fractured as yours."
He let out a derisive snort, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Family," he spat, as if the word left a foul taste in his mouth. "What has family ever done for me, or for Francesco? They'd sooner sweep his condition under the rug and pretend it never happened than lift a finger to help him."
The bitterness and resentment in his voice made my heart ache. I knew all too well the pain of feeling betrayed and abandoned by those who were supposed to love and protect you. After all, my own father had burned my mother alive for her moon magic when I was just a child. The scars on my heart would never fully heal.
"Not all family is like that," I said softly, reaching out to lay a tentative hand on his arm. "I haven't given up on my sister, or on the idea of building a new family someday. One founded on love and loyalty, not just blood and duty."
Benedetto stiffened at my touch but didn't pull away. He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
An awkward silence settled between us, heavy with all the things left unsaid. I could feel him withdrawing, his walls slamming back into place. The brief moment of openness and vulnerability had passed, leaving us once again as guarded adversaries rather than lovers.
Sighing inwardly, I slid off the bed and began gathering my clothes. There was no point in lingering, not when the chasm between us yawned so wide. I dressed quickly, feeling Benedetto's eyes on me but refusing to meet his gaze.
Only when I was fully clothed and had my cloak wrapped securely around me did I turn to face him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a sheet draped loosely across his hips, watching me with an inscrutable expression.
"I should go," I said quietly, hating the note of uncertainty in my voice. "It's late."
Benedetto inclined his head, his eyes hooded and distant. "Until next time, then."
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the pang of longing those words evoked. There could be no "next time," not in the way I secretly yearned for. This had been a means to an end, a cold transaction to better my chances of escaping my father's clutches. Nothing more.
Squaring my shoulders, I gave him a curt nod. "Until next time," I echoed hollowly. Then I turned and walked out, forcing myself not to look back.
As I stepped into the darkened hallway and pulled the door closed behind me, I nearly collided with a servant girl hovering just outside. She jumped back with a startled squeak, her eyes wide and guilty.
I narrowed my gaze at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and the way she wouldn't quite meet my eyes. She'd been eavesdropping, spying on our private moment. The realization made my stomach churn with unease.
Before I could say anything, the girl bobbed a hasty curtsy and scurried away, disappearing around the corner. I stared after her retreating back, a cold sense of dread unfurling in my gut.
If the servants were listening, then someone else knew what was going on. On the other hand, they had always eavesdropped, and the servant would be beaten for it. I’d be vigilant but I won’t report her unless she did it again.
By the time I reached my chamber, I felt as if I were sleepwalking, my limbs heavy and my mind fogged with fatigue. The events of the night replayed in my head as I collapsed on my bed—the raid, the deaths, my reckless gambit with Benedetto. It all swirled together into a dizzying cacophony as I sank into a restless slumber.
I dreamed of the barren plain Sofia had once described, an endless expanse of cracked earth beneath a starless sky. The air hung heavy and oppressive, carrying the cloying scent of decaying roses entwined with something sharper, more metallic. Like blood mixed with perfume.
An eerie stillness permeated the landscape, broken only by the mournful sighs of the wind. It felt ancient, this place, as if it had existed long before the world I knew. A remnant of a forgotten time, now inhabited only by ghosts and shadows.
Through the wavering heat haze, I glimpsed a figure in the distance. Tall and gaunt, clad in black robes that fluttered around its skeletal frame like the ragged wings of a carrion bird. It seemed to beckon to me, spindly arms outstretched, bony fingers curling in an unspoken summons.
Compelled by a force I didn't understand, I stumbled forward, my bare feet sinking into the sunbaked earth. The wind snatched at my hair and clothes, carrying snatches of whispered words that danced just beyond my comprehension. Fragments of a language I felt I should know but couldn't quite grasp.
As I drew closer to the figure, the whispers grew louder, more insistent. They wove around me like an icy current, rippling across my skin and making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I fought to make out actual words or phrases, but it was like trying to hold the wind - each time I thought I had it, it slipped through my fingers.
The figure's black robes seemed to absorb the weak light, giving the impression that it was a void in the shape of a man. The bones of its face, half-hidden by a tattered hood, were too long, too sharp to be human. Eyes like pits of liquid darkness stared out from sunken sockets, piercing me with an inhuman hunger.
I opened my mouth to call out, to demand answers, but before I could make a sound, a gust of wind slammed into me from behind, nearly knocking me off my feet. I whirled around and gasped at the sight that greeted me.
Pip, my beloved dragon, hovered in the air above me, his scales gleaming like polished onyx. He was far larger than in life, his massive form blotting out the empty sky. His wings, fully extended, stirred up whirlwinds of dust and debris as they beat against the unyielding air.
A wave of dread rose up within me as I met Pip's eyes, glowing with an otherworldly light. There was knowledge in that gaze, ancient and terrible. A warning of dangers yet to come.
This was no ordinary dream, I realized with a sickening lurch of fear. It was a message, a portent of some looming calamity that even Pip, with all his draconic wisdom, could not fully shield me from.
Pip let out a bone-shaking roar that reverberated through my body like a physical blow. Then he dove toward me, his powerful wings propelling him forward at impossible speed. I instinctively raised my arms to shield my face as he swooped down, bracing for an impact that never came.
Instead, I felt the lightest brush of scales against my skin as Pip's claws carefully encircled my waist. With a mighty surge of his wings, he lifted us both into the air, the ground falling away beneath my dangling feet.
I craned my neck to look back at the dark figure still standing in the distance, unmoving as it watched our ascent. A chill ran down my spine as I felt the weight of its gaze on me, cold and calculating. Assessing.
As if in response to my unease, Pip tightened his grip, pulling me close to his chest. I felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my back, strong and reassuring. But even that small comfort couldn't fully banish the icy tendrils of fear coiling in my gut.
Something was coming. Something dark and terrible, lurking just beyond the edges of my understanding. And I had a sinking suspicion that it had something to do with the shadowy figure from my dream and the arcane tome Benedetto sought so desperately.
I clung to Pip as he carried me away, my mind racing with questions I didn't know how to answer. How much of this dream was symbolic, and how much was literal truth? What did the figure want from me? And most chilling of all - was I already too late to stop whatever wheels had been set in motion?
Anxiety sat like a lead weight in my stomach as the dreamscape around me began to blur and fade, signaling my slow return to waking consciousness. I wanted to rail against it, to demand that Pip give me more answers, more guidance. But the dream was already slipping away like water through my fingers.
As the last vestiges of sleep fell away and I found myself blinking up at the canopy of my bed, one final thought crystallized in my mind with painful clarity. Whatever was coming, whatever dark forces were aligning against us...I had a terrible feeling that none of us were truly prepared to face it.
But ready or not, I knew the confrontation was inevitable. All I could do was try to steel myself for the battles ahead and pray that when the time came, I would be strong enough to protect those I loved from the coming storm.