Chapter 24 Healing
Healing
Asoft shake stirred Luna from sleep, releasing her from the clutches of a nightmare where faces familiar and unknown haunted her. She blinked, dried tears making her lashes stick slightly.
Damien knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder.
He’d dressed in the clothes they’d picked up from Hazelwood; a dark shirt comfortably hugged his shoulders, but the pants didn’t quite fit his long legs, riding up slightly above his ankles.
His expression was gentle, even in the dark: brows slightly lifted, the tension gone from his jaw, and a faint warmth in his eyes.
He seemed so steady, so solid—everything she wasn’t. She wanted to fall into that, to forget, or at least be distracted from the weight of everything she’d lost. Maybe clinging to him was wrong, but he was right here.
Groggily, she yawned and reached for him. “It’s still dark.” Her fingers curled around his wrist, tugging slightly. Just enough to bring him back into her space, where warmth could mean something more.
But Damien pulled away; it wasn’t rough, nor cruel, yet it was enough of a choice to allow cold air in his place, lingering between them.
She blinked back her confusion. He’d spent the night holding her, comforting her as she relived the trauma of the last few days—twisted and warped in the torturous way bad dreams liked to play. Why was he acting so distant now? It wasn’t like being in each other’s arms was awkward anymore.
Unless it was for him—and he just hadn’t said so.
A pit formed in her stomach.
Had he been acting on pity? Politeness? A gentleman’s sense of duty? After all, he hadn’t tried to kiss her, despite his earlier comment of regretting not doing so . . . not even once.
Maybe he was right to hold back.
She should be devastated, consumed with thoughts about her family and the kingdom she used to call home, not of reaching for the first warm body that made her feel safe. Not looking at him like she was starving and he was the only thing left in the cupboards to eat.
Shame tinged her cheeks red, but she didn’t pull back from it; she’d deal with the guilt later.
“You’re so confusing,” she murmured as she lowered her hand and sat up.
Damien rose, unbothered by her comment, and brushed the dirt from his hands. “We should keep moving.” His eyes were on the treeline, to the shadows beyond. “Get as much distance between us and Hazelwood as possible.”
She stared at her lap, trying to swallow the ache that clawed up her throat. “Right.” She sat up straighter, keeping her voice even. “Wouldn’t want to run into old friends.”
He passed her a piece of bread, and she took it with numb fingers, not looking at him; rejection silenced the hunger gnawing at her insides.
She didn’t speak until they were riding.
Pickles trotted steady beneath her, the forest pressing close around them as they followed a creek upstream.
The trees were thick, the air cool and quiet, broken only by the rippling water and the wind weaving through the branches.
Damien rode ahead, and the space between them seemed intentional now.
Staring at his back, her fingers tightened on the reins and she called out nervously, “Damien.”
He slowed, turning slightly in his saddle. “Hmm?”
“Why . . . Why do you do that?”
He brought Barley to a stop, but he didn’t look back at her, not right away. When he did, his eyes weren’t cold, just . . . tired.
“You’re upset,” he said quietly.
“I don’t understand,” she corrected. “You comfort me throughout the night. Risk your life for me, even. But when I try to get close to you—really close—you act like I’ve done something wrong.”
His jaw flexed. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Then what is it?”
He exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking to the trees. “Do we really have to do this?”
She swallowed hard but didn’t answer. Silence his only encouragement to go on.
“I don’t want to be another cage for you,” he began. “I’ve seen your life. How sheltered you’ve been. I’m not . . . I’m not going to be . . .”
The unsaid words hung in the silence, knotting her insides. “Is that what you think this is?”
“I think you’ve been through hell,” he said. “I think you lost everyone you cared about, and I think you’re still bleeding . . . still hurting. You look at me and see someone who’ll keep you safe, but that’s not the same thing as wanting me.”
She stared at him, stunned.
He continued, softer—almost bitter. “I’m not saying I blame you for anything. I just . . . I’m tired, Luna. Tired of being needed more than I’m wanted.”
The silence between them stretched.
When Luna finally spoke, her voice was small. “You think I’m using you.”
“I think you haven’t decided if you want me . . . or what you think I can give you, and I can’t afford to take that risk,” he said, not unkindly.
She looked away. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
Her chest tightened. “I reached for you because I wanted to.”
He didn’t respond further.
And for a moment, Luna thought he wouldn’t.
Then, without looking at her, he said, “I’ve spent my whole life fixing things.
” He ran his hand over Barley’s reins, straightening an invisible twist in the leathers.
“Cleaning up after my brothers. Risking my neck for my sisters. Managing every mess behind the curtain so the kingdom doesn’t fall apart.
It’s what I do; it’s what I’ve always done. ”
“It sounds like you take responsibility for everyone.”
“Everyone seems to see me as a saviour.” His eyes lifted to hers. “It’s how you look at me—even though I’ve asked you not to—like I’m holding the whole world up for you. Like I’ll always have the answer. Or that I’ll always catch you . . . but what if . . .”
Her stomach dropped. “I didn’t—”
He shook his head. “I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to be someone’s saviour, Luna. I can’t be needed like that.”
Her throat tightened. “You think that’s all I see you as?”
“I think it’s easier to fall for the person who pulls you from the fire than face what’s still burning.”
“So I’m a burden.” The words tasted vile on her tongue. “That’s how you see me—as a fucking burden.”
“No—”
“Why save me to begin with then?” she hissed. “Why bother?”
“Because,” he said roughly, “believe it or not, I’m not a monster—I wasn’t going to ignore someone clearly in distress.”
The words cut her. He’d said them before . . . that he’d saved her out of moral obligation. Apparently, he’d meant it.
“You think I want to be weak?” she asked quietly but not meekly, bitterness edging each word. “You think I want to be a damsel in need of a strong man rescuing me? Because I don’t.”
He stared at her, weighing her words.
Releasing a ragged breath, she said, resigned, “I’m not in distress anymore.”
“I’d sure hope not,” he replied dryly, “considering I haven’t left your side.”
The pain swelling in her chest nearly swallowed his words entirely. Shaking her head, she turned away as much as the saddle would allow, her gaze falling to the ground. “I have no desire to burden you or anyone else. You’re free to go. I’m more than capable of finding my own way.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
Her gaze snapped back to him, brows scrunched, but he was already turning away, guiding his horse forward again like the conversation had ended . . . as if that was all there was to say.
After a pause, once he realized she wasn’t with him, he glanced back and called out, “Come along, Luna. You’ve got work to do if you’re giving up your damsel title.”
She almost smiled. Almost.
When he nudged his horse onwards this time, she followed.
Luna wanted to stay angry as they rode but watching the rigid set of Damien’s shoulders softened something in her chest. He’d been brutally honest—maybe too honest—and beneath it all was vulnerability. That small thought loosened the knot inside her, just enough that she could breathe again.
Every few hours, they stopped to stretch their legs and let the horses drink. The first time, Luna stubbornly refused Damien’s help dismounting, but when she tried, her legs were so stiff and sore that she nearly toppled out of the saddle, practically falling face-first in the dirt.
After that, Damien insisted on helping her down each time, gently teasing that he didn't mind saving her from another encounter with the ground, especially considering how hard they’d been riding.
Initially, being so close was awkward. Both were hesitant, the tension from earlier still lingering.
Eventually though, the stiffness subsided, and Luna allowed herself to relax in his arms, savouring the butterflies that soared through her belly when he gently placed her on the ground.
She’d never admit it out loud, especially now, but she treasured the brief moments cradled in his arms.
Day passed into night, and yet they travelled on, guided only by the pale glow of the moon. Its light bathed the forest in a strange, silver-blue hue as the small creek widened and pooled into a quiet lake.
Luna looked up, her breath catching. Blue moons were rare, unpredictable things—never falling on a fixed schedule.
They came when they pleased, and she could count on one hand how many she’d seen in her lifetime.
There was something about the way the light touched the water tonight, soft and unreal, like the world was holding its breath.
Nature’s way of providing a momentary break from the chaos surrounding Luna’s life.
When they reached the lake’s edge, Damien drew his horse to a stop. “Let’s rest here.”
After helping her dismount, Damien unsaddled the horses, giving them a much-needed break from the equipment; Pickles began rolling on her back while Barley grazed on some nearby grass.
Luna’s body screamed in pain as she stretched. If she never got back in the saddle for the rest of her days, she’d consider life heavenly.