The Vampire's Luna Chapter 253: Do They Now?

Damien arched an eyebrow, lips curving into the faintest, most dangerous of smiles. "Do they now?" he asked.

"But..." Richard’s pause was deliberate. He stepped closer. "So of us in the council may already be constructing your coffin and giving your throne to Gabriel." And then—he smiled. "Which is why I am very relieved to see you healthy."

Damien’s gaze sharpened. "What is the council’s plan?"

The councilman hesitated, his throat bobbing with a swallow. His fingers twitched at his side, betraying the nerves that his polished voice tried to mask. "I shouldn’t say this," he began, almost wringing his hands together before steadying himself. "I shouldn’t be telling you—goddess knows, I risk much in speaking so plainly. But you of all people understand the dangers of letting the throne fall into Gabriel’s hands. If the tide turns fully his way, we all stand at the edge of ruin. I have no choice but to warn you."

Damien leaned forward then. His lips curved in the faintest smirk, one that suggested he had already calculated Richard’s desperation before the man even opened his mouth. "I promise," Damien murmured, "I will not use the information you give in any way." He held Richard’s gaze, and the oath sounded reassuring.

Richard exhaled heavily, shoulders sagging. "They all believe you are dying," he confessed. "And they an to act on that belief. They want to take Gabriel into hiding, to protect him. They fear the throne will be contested violently if he remains visible. The preparations are already underway. All that’s left is for him to be fitted for the crown." Richard’s mouth twisted, bitterness leaking through his tone.

Damien was silent for a long mont. Then, almost unexpectedly, his lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Let them," he said softly. "As a matter of fact," he added, "it is quite important that they take Gabriel into hiding. I need you, Richard, to push that agenda with every breath you have."

Richard stared, stunned. "Your Highness..." he stamred, confusion tangling his words. "Gabriel cannot have the throne. If they push him forward, if they anoint him even temporarily—"

"He will not." Damien’s interruption was quiet but absolute. He stepped closer, his presence filling the room. His eyes burned with cold certainty. "Report back to the council," Damien commanded, "and let them know I am still very sick. In fact—" He paused, a dangerous smile cutting across his face, one corner of his lips quirking upward. "—on the verge of death."

Richard bowed low, though his eyes flickered nervously before daring one last question. "One more thing, Your Highness... Any leads on the queen?"

"Just do as I have said...Oh, Councilman Richard. Do you rember the promise I once made? That every soul tied to Gabriel would answer for their cris?...Prepare yourself. You will oversee a flood of treasonous cases in the weeks to co." He took a deliberate step forward, his presence swelling. "And as for Gabriel himself..." His lips peeled back in a wolfish smile, eyes gleaming. "When I find proof of his betrayal, I will rip his head from his shoulders with my own hands."

Richard bowed again, lower this ti, his face pale, his breath quick. "Of course, Your Highness." Without another word, he turned and hurried from the chamber, the doors closing behind him with a dull thud.

Left alone, Damien glanced back at the folded note resting between his fingers. He ran his thumb across the inked words, his smile widening. "A hidden exit," he murmured under his breath. The possibilities lit his mind like fire racing across dry kindling. This was becoming a ga, one where every move would bring him closer to vengeance. "This will be the most satisfying hunt of my life."

*****

It had been two days.

Two days of screams, of relentless pain echoing through Morvakar’s castle. Two days of curses hurled between him and Thessa. Their partnership had curdled into venom.

At first, their conflict had been verbal. Thessa, with fire in her eyes, had accused him of losing focus, of being more monster than mage. Morvakar, with cold calculation, had answered with barbed words of his own. But words alone had not sufficed. When her defiance beca unbearable, he had raised his hand and shackled her in place with a cruel binding spell.

Morvakar had begun with sothing simple. He had mixed blood with molten lava and forced it against the child’s lips. Each drop had burned, searing tongue and throat, flooding the infant with agony. The intention was clear—blood was to beco poison in the boy’s mory, its taste a tornt rather than nourishnt.

The child’s wails had filled the chamber. He writhed for hours, his delicate skin fevered, tears streaking his face as his cries fractured into pitiful whimpers.

Thessa’s fury had turned to despair then. "Stop this madness, Morvakar! He’s just a baby! You’ll kill him before you get what you want!"

But Morvakar had not faltered. His eyes glead with dark conviction. "Pain is the most effective teacher," he said flatly, not looking at her. "Every reaction, every scream, every mont of resistance teaches more."

Thessa struggled against the spell, her muscles trembling, eyes glistening with helpless rage. "You’re destroying him!" she sobbed.

Morvakar glanced at her then, only briefly. "I’m shaping him."

And still, the baby had cried.

Morvakar’s thods had grown more twisted by the hour. At first, he had tried conditioning, offering the infant blood in careful asures. But when the child accepted it—when his small lips instinctively latched on as if the crimson liquid were his lifeline—Morvakar had punished him. Each acceptance was t with the cut of a blade, leaving angry red lines across delicate flesh. The baby’s cries had grown hoarse, his body marred with dozens of scars. His natural healing had not yet manifested, and each mark lingered like a cruel map of suffering. To Thessa, it was unbearable, watching the innocent body slowly covered in wounds. To Morvakar, it was a ledger of progress, proof of resistance, even if the outco was yet to reveal itself. Torture, he whispered to himself, was the only way out.

(I feel evil...I’m gonna go take a shower and wash all these evil off of . My gosh!!!)