Chapter 30 Dream Come TrueNightmare?
Dream Come True or Nightmare?
The sparse room was furnished with only the bare essentials: a narrow bed draped with worn but oddly inviting linens, a shabby nightstand tucked in the corner, and a single window. Pale moonlight streamed through its thin curtains, pooling on the floor.
After a brief survey of the room, Damien shut the window with a soft thud, his movements quick and purposeful. He tossed the leather bag of supplies onto the bed and left without a word.
Alone for the first time since they’d escaped, Luna wasn’t sure what to do.
She sat down on the bed and peeled off her boots, relief flooding her the instant they hit the floor.
She wiggled her toes happily; the boots weren’t exactly her size, and the poor construction pinched them on the sides, pushing them together uncomfortably, but they were good enough for now.
Once they reached Eloria, once she was settled in her new life, she’d find better ones.
New life.
The thought sent a shiver coiling down her spine. Tonight was the last night she’d spend in Ghelvina . . . After this, she’d begin a new chapter. With new people, new customs. With magic. She could only hope she didn’t make a fool of herself.
Brushing her fingers over the threadbare white cotton sheets, she straightened the pillow lying crooked on the mattress.
The small act grounded her, if only for a moment—but the day still clung to her skin, heavy and stale.
Eager to shed the weight of the journey, Luna dug through the leather bag and pulled out a fresh set of clothes, then undressed and slipped them on.
She’d just finished when Damien returned, carrying two dinner trays. “Figured it would be nice to have a warm meal,” he said, setting the trays down on the bed.
She couldn’t argue with that as she took in the aroma of the food. The steaming bowl of hearty stew and freshly baked bread, though not as refined as the meals she enjoyed back at the palace, still felt luxurious.
Damien sat at the foot of the bed, eating in silence. Neither spoke—they were too focused on the food. When they finished, he set the plates and tray on the nightstand.
“You take the bed.”
The bed was small, but they’d shared tighter spaces in recent nights. Surely, he wouldn’t mind now. She tilted her head, the question shown on her face as her hair slid off her shoulder.
“We’re in a human town,” he answered. “I highly doubt I’ll get any sleep anyway.”
A likely excuse. If he genuinely thought this place was dangerous, why would he even want to spend the night here?
But she didn’t have the energy to argue with him, especially with the toll of using her magic still clinging to her bones, so she crawled into the bed, settling between the sheets, and murmured, “Suit yourself. If you didn’t want to sleep with me, you could’ve just said that.”
A sly grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Are you suggesting you’d like my company?”
“You know very well what I am suggesting.”
He groaned, as if her answer caused him physical pain. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”
Fine. She didn’t need his cozy, comforting arms holding her, protecting her from the dreams that plagued her mind every night. She’d much prefer sleeping alone in a cold, strange bed. Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted him.
Deciding to test how strong his willpower really was, she spoke as seductively as she could, “You know . . .” She yawned, stretching her hands over her head, allowing her shirt to rise, exposing her lower abdomen.
“I sleep better with nothing on.” She looked up at him through her lashes, adding, “That won’t be a problem for you, will it? ”
She didn’t wait for his answer. With practiced ease, she tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head to reveal the soft curve of her bare skin beneath.
Damien’s jaw clenched, his eyes flicking away for a moment, then returning, his resolve fraying with every inch of her exposed skin. Clearly his willpower wasn’t one of magical strength.
“Aren’t you hot?” she offered, gesturing towards his tunic.
Damien wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Incredibly.”
In a blink, shadows darker than any night sky slid along the walls like a protective barricade, as if commanded to stand watch, then he moved to her. Each step was slow, deliberate, his gaze locked on hers.
Anticipation thrummed in every fibre of her being.
Standing before her now, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
Luna didn’t bother pretending to be coy.
Her gaze drifted down, unapologetically—over the curve of his shoulders and the broad expanse of his chest, dusted with faint trails of dark hair that tapered over firm, ridged muscles.
His stomach, cut and lean, spoke of strength earned, not sculpted for vanity.
A web of scars marred the perfection—some pale and faded, others angrier, newer .
. . like slashes of history carved into flesh.
One in particular caught her eye; a deep, jagged mark ran across his abdomen, disrupting the neat lines like a wound that never quite healed clean.
She reached out, fingertips brushing against the rough ridges of the scar. “What happened?” She’d seen his scars before, when they’d washed in the river, but she’d been too distracted then to ask.
He flinched, and she withdrew her hand.
“My sister happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Arleen . . .” A faint smile tugged at his lips. “She’s restless. Never could stay in one place for long. The wind calls, and she’s gone.”
“The one getting married?”
He gave her a stiff nod, then he drew in a breath. “When we were kids, she snuck out one night. No idea where she was headed—some wild adventure, I’m sure. I followed her. Pure luck that I did.”
He pointed to the scar Luna had just touched. “I earned that one protecting her from a group of nightwalkers.”
She studied it, how it twisted along his chest and disappeared beneath his ribs. Whatever nightwalkers were, they hadn’t gone down easily.
“Was she okay?”
“Yes.” His voice lowered. “I got there just in time.”
His fingers brushed near the scar, not quite touching it. “That was the first time I really understood what it meant to stand between someone and death.” He glanced at her. “After that, it never stopped.”
A breath passed before he went on. “I’ve led armies. Seen war too many times, in too many places. That’s where I met Gregory . . . and, believe it or not, Harlow and Knox too.”
Luna tilted her head. “Oh?”
Instead of answering, Damien sat down on the bed beside her, rolling his wrist absently, as if easing out an ache.
“The Siege of Durnhelm. Fifteen days of ash, rot, and thunder. I was barely twenty.” His voice lowered again, to a mere whisper. “I thought I understood war. I’d studied it, trained for it, but I didn’t.”
His eyes went distant, gaze fixed on something far beyond the room. “We slept in shifts—if we slept at all. The air burned with smoke and magic. You couldn’t tell what day it was. Stopped trying. Every hour blurred into the next.”
“Sounds awful.”
“It was,” he said, his throat bobbing slightly. “Gregory was a scout. Good instincts, terrible timing. Got separated behind enemy lines trying to map out a safe route through the ruins. I went after him—stupid thing to do, really. Nearly got both of us killed.”
“What happened?” Luna asked gently.
“I found him trapped in a collapsed watchtower. His leg was crushed under rubble. We were pinned down for two days. No food. No sleep. Just the sound of boots crunching outside and crows overhead.”
He flexed his fingers as if he could still feel the bite of the stone.
“I carried him back when the patrol finally passed. Thought I’d saved his life. But a week later, I walked into an ambush—arrow to the side. Couldn’t move. Gregory dragged me out under fire. Said we were even after that, but he’s been by my side ever since.”
“And Harlow and Knox?”
Damien released a slow, heavy breath, eyes drifting towards the door—like he heard something she hadn’t. “You should go to sleep. Morning will come before you want it to.”
With a huff, she pouted, but she did as she was told and shimmed down until she was lying flat on her back.
Seconds later, she felt his hand on her foot. His thumb pressed gently into her sole, calm, steady pressure; a whimper escaped her lips.
He said nothing. And neither did she—worried words would ruin whatever this was.
But nothing else happened. At least, not what she was hoping for.
He simply slid into bed and pulled her close, his arm draped loosely around her waist. For a moment, she let herself relax into it.
But something felt off.
He held her like he always did—but he wasn’t with her, not fully. His breathing was too even. His body, too still. Like he was waiting.
Not for her, but for the moment she let go.
Barely audible, Damien whispered, “If you want to keep your tongue, I suggest you quit using it.”
What the—
Luna’s eyes snapped open. Pale morning light slipped through the cracks in the curtains, soft but certain. The space beside her was empty. Frowning, she sat up and silently scanned the room. There was no sign of Damien, but the door was slightly ajar.
A male’s voice echoed through the opening. “Just cause you don’t like what I am saying doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
Sounded like Gregory.
“We’ll leave in a few hours,” Damien answered. “She needs her rest.”
“Since when are you so merciful,” Gregory retorted, his voice hard. “You realize the Darkened One won’t be if the exchange doesn’t happen soon.”
She flinched. What were they talking about?
Damien’s cold voice interrupted her thoughts. “You need not mention—”
The door clicked shut. Luna’s heart hammered, her blood roaring in her ears.
Did they work for the Darkened One? At the very least, they were somehow involved with him. “Exchange,” she whispered. The word was sour on her tongue, like rotten berries. What were they exchanging? The answer hit her so hard she almost flew off the bed.
He was going to exchange her.
“That explains everything.” He’d played her like a fool . . . like Clyde had. She forced back a sob; he pretended to have her best interests at heart, but in reality, he was a self-serving prick.
He had lied to her—of course, he had. Everyone she’d ever known was a liar. Why would he be any different?
Pushing the blankets off, she rose to her feet, knees trembling. A heavy lump was lodged in her throat, it burned and ached at the same time.
She wished she could shed her skin and erase the memory of him: His touch. His warmth. Of the false sense of safety he’d lured her into it.
Quickly, she collected her things from around the room.
She didn’t know what Damien’s plans were, but if the Darkened One was involved, they weren’t good.
“I’m so stupid . . .” she mumbled to herself as she stuffed things into her leather bag.
“Trusting a stranger. Such an idiot.” Tears blinded her, but she blinked them away as she dressed.
Now was not the time to break. Crying could come later, right now she needed to focus, to escape.
She slid the window open and crawled through as quietly as she could.
The drop wasn’t far with their room being on ground level. She looked up and down the miserable streets. It was barely morning so no one else was around.
Wasting no time, she peeled off, heading towards the stables.
She snatched Pickles’s bridle and saddle from where they rested on the wall and practically threw them onto the mare.
Buckling the equipment proved to be a challenge with her heart racing and her fingers shaking; she forced herself to take a steadying breath and tried again.
When the mare was finally ready, Luna tried to mount but couldn’t.
Pickles was just too tall. After several more failed attempts, she realized she needed help.
She scanned the dark stables, feeling like the shadows in the angles of the structure were closing in on her. Suffocating her.
A bucket caught her eye, and in the span of seconds, she had it turned upside down and under her feet to help her mount Pickles. One giant leap later, she was on the mare’s back.
She slammed her heels into Pickles so hard, the mare squealed and reared back, front hooves slicing through the air—then she bolted. Luna clung to her back, barely holding on.