Damien’s footsteps echoed as he stepped further into the kitchen. "Luna, I do not have ti."
She chuckled without humor. "That’s your problem, isn’t it? You never have ti. Just demands."
"Luna, look at , please."
Luna hesitated for a heartbeat—long enough for the mont to stretch awkwardly—but then she turned reluctantly, her eyes eting his.
"I’m sorry," Damien said, the words heavy on his tongue, as if swallowing a live bat. "I am very sorry. Yes, I didn’t talk to you, but I thought—deep down—that you would say no."
Luna’s eyes narrowed. "I would have said no. Do you have any idea what it ans to be a banished princess? To know that my people—my own people—have no hope for the future because of ? Everyone has ssed with my life: Morvakar, my parents, you! The only person who hasn’t overstepped is Kyllian."
Damien rolled his eyes with a groan that echoed through the kitchen. "Yes, of course—Kyllian. Your Prince Charming. I didn’t see him jumping to your rescue when you needed it. The overgrown fool was about to jump your bones at the slightest scent of you."
Luna’s glare could have lted steel. "You know how heat works for werewolves, you idiot!"
Damien raised his hands defensively, a rare, sheepish grin twitching at his lips. "You know what, you’re right. I’m the idiot here. But—" he stepped forward, lowering his voice — "we still need to talk about us."
"There is no us, Damien. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I’m forging my own path from here on out."
Just then, the kettle let out its shrill whistle, breaking the tension. Luna turned quickly to turn off the stove, her back still rigid.
"So... what does your path look like? And where does it leave ?"
Luna grabbed her teacup, swirling the amber liquid as if it might answer that very question. "My path is mine alone."
"You’re stubborn. You know that, right?"
Damien stepped closer, each asured footfall sounding like a declaration in the silence of the room. Luna could feel the air shift, thickening around her as if the very oxygen bent to the will of his presence. Her breath hitched as his chest brushed gently against her back, a whisper of warmth through the fabric of her blouse. She stiffened, but didn’t move away.
Then, with practiced grace, he reached up and gently tugged at the scarf draped around her neck—the one she’d used all day like armor to hide the truth seared into her skin. The silk slipped free without resistance, fluttering to the floor.
Damien’s fingers—cool yet sohow searing—brushed over the mark at the base of her neck. His thumb traced the edges reverently, and Luna shivered.
"It’s beautiful," he murmured, a private confession spoken into the crook of her neck. "I truly wish that I had the ti to romance you, Luna."
The words struck deeper than she wanted to admit, echoing in places of her heart she thought had shut down after the banishnt. She didn’t move, but her entire body reacted instinctively. Her breath ca quicker. Her skin prickled beneath his touch. The bond—damnable, inescapable—pulled at her, making her heart thud.
And he knew it. Oh, he knew.
She cursed internally. This wasn’t fair. He had always had that effect on her. Now with the mark in place, she was fighting not just desire, but ancient magic that seed hell-bent on making her lt for him.
"I wish I could court you," Damien whispered, letting his hand fall but lingering dangerously close. "I wish I could show you exactly how much I love you. Date you. Sweep you off your feet. Whisper nonsense in your ear over candlelit dinners. Tease you with flowers and leave you breathless with a kiss against your lips... all before we even considered marriage."
Luna’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words ca. Her brain was foggy. Her knees a little weak. Her heart a traitor.
"I wish all these things," he finished, the words tinged with a sorrow she hadn’t expected. His lips were so close to her ear now that the warmth of his breath sent goosebumps cascading down her spine.
She found her voice, barely. "Nothing stops you. You’re the most impatient vampire in existence."
He chuckled softly, a deep and intimate sound that vibrated against her. "For a man who has unlimited life, you seem to be in a hurry."
I am in a hurry, goddammit.
But he didn’t say it aloud. He couldn’t. Not yet. Not while the hourglass of his hidden deadline emptied grain by grain behind his eyes. Instead, he slowly lifted a strand of her hair and brushed it aside, exposing her bare shoulder.
Luna inhaled sharply.
Damien leaned in, his lips hovering near her skin but not quite touching. He didn’t have to. His nearness was enough to make her head spin. "I still sll your maddening scent," he murmured.
"Dangerous. Addictive. Irresistible," he said smoothly, and this ti, he pressed a single, deliberate kiss to her shoulder.
Her knees buckled.
She gripped the countertop for support, biting back a sound that was embarrassingly close to a gasp. Her entire body was betraying her, and the worst part? He hadn’t even touched her properly yet. Just the lightest kiss and a few whispered words, and her blood was singing.
"You’re doing it again," she said through clenched teeth.
"Doing what?" he asked innocently, his fingers ghosting up her arm.
"That... thing. That thing you do where I forget why I want to punch you."
"I am rather good at that," he said, mock-proud, his smirk audible in his voice.
Luna turned sharply, ready to shove him or yell at him or sothing—anything to break the spell—but her movent only brought her face to face with his. Their lips were inches apart, their breath mingling, her hands pressed against his firm chest, his arms caging her against the counter without actually touching her.
It was a ridiculous, maddening standoff. Her pulse was hamring. Her mind scread at her to push him away. But her body—traitorous, confusing, bonded—was humming with need.
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