Eryk really understood what the king was going through—he did. This was a mate trying to find the other half of his soul. Still, there was a point where desperation began to border on futility. The night air was cold enough to bite through even the thick leather of Eryk’s patrol armor. Vampires had already combed through the woods in shifting patrols, the roads were swept, and the borders beyond had been watched. Yet there was no trace of Luna.
"Your highness," Eryk called, his voice carrying across the clearing where Damien stood, tense and almost vibrating with barely contained rage. "There is no sign of her." His throat tightened after the words left him, because he knew they would land like a blade in the king’s chest.
"Then we keep searching!" Damien’s roar cut through the night. "I don’t care how long!" His voice was raw, almost hoarse from hours of shouting orders and calling her name into the darkness. His hair was disheveled, damp with sweat, his shirt torn where branches had snagged in his frantic search. Even in the dim torchlight, Eryk could see the shadow in Damien’s eyes.
Kyllian stood just beside him, his own face grim. "He is right," Kyllian said firmly. "Talon had a head start and he isn’t back yet." The truth was, even Kyllian himself was beginning to worry. The initial assumption was that Morvakar had taken Luna, but with Talon gone so long, there was another possibility—one Kyllian hated to even let cross his mind—that something had gone wrong. Perhaps a complication... perhaps worse.
The knot in Kyllian’s stomach tightened. Watching Damien unravel was a cruel thing. He knew—gods, he knew—how much the king loved her. He also knew that Luna might be safer right now if Damien didn’t know exactly where she was or why. There were too many political hands grasping for power, too many eyes in Blood City waiting to exploit a moment of weakness. If withholding the truth from her own husband would keep her and the unborn heir safe, then so be it. It was a bitter choice.
Damien turned then, his head snapping toward Kyllian, his eyes burning. "She was safe," he snarled, every word an accusation dripping with venom. "She was safe inside Blood City—but just as always, you look for every opportunity to take her away from me!" His chest heaved, the muscles in his jaw clenching.
Kyllian held his ground. "I understand you are hurting right now," he said, "so I will not dignify that accusation with a response."
"You couldn’t just let her be. She chose me! She loves me! She is having my baby! But you had to butt in, insert yourself! Why the hell did you take her away?" Damien’s chest heaved. His eyes burned. The storm of emotion behind them was fear, grief.
"Because she wasn’t safe with you! Look what you people have done to her! Look what your child has done to her! Look what YOU have done to her!"
Damien’s jaw flexed once before he moved. He drew back a hand and punched Kyllian in the face, the blow a clean, powerful arc that made a sickening crack echo through the clearing. The impact snapped Kyllian’s head to the side, the sting of skin splitting under Damien’s knuckles mixing with the copper taste of blood on Kyllian’s tongue. His wolf roared for retaliation, and his vision tunneled red.
Kyllian turned his face back toward Damien, eyes flashing, and started to lunge. The shift of his weight was all muscle and instinct, but before he could close the gap, Damien’s men moved. They formed an immediate arc around their king.
It was in that charged, deadly moment that Talon appeared, emerging from the shadowed path at the edge of the woods. His sudden presence sliced through the tension, drawing every eye to him.
"Where the hell have you been?" Damien roared.
"I went to see Morvakar....He can help in finding her. He says he needs something of hers that’s intimate, something only she has ever used." His gaze flicked between the two men, silently urging them to put aside their feud—at least for now.
Instantly, Damien turned, his only thought to get back to Blood City. Every muscle in his body screamed with urgency—if Luna was out there, if she was in danger, he couldn’t waste another breath. His mind was a frenzy of images: her hand brushing his jaw before she turned away, the curve of her belly.
But the moment his stride quickened, a sudden, white-hot ache speared through his skull. It was a vicious, clawing force that stole his breath and scattered his thoughts. The world tilted violently, his balance slipping from him. His knees hit the ground with a thud, dirt grinding into his trousers. His hands sank into the earth as he fought for control.
"Your Highness!" Eryk’s voice broke through the roaring in Damien’s ears. His commander’s heavy boots pounded the earth as he rushed forward, arms sliding beneath Damien’s to haul him up. Eryk was strong but even his support felt like it was being swallowed by the weight pressing Damien down.
When Damien raised his head, the effort was monumental. His vision swam, but he caught the sharp flare of horror in Eryk’s eyes. "Your Highness!" the man cried again.
Damien knew why Eryk looked at him that way. He could feel it—the way his own body betrayed him. His eyes burned and throbbed, bloodshot, entirely crimson. It was the poison again, surging with a vengeance. He hadn’t felt it in months.
The pain this time was relentless, far worse than any flare before. It dug deep, stabbing at the very core of his being, and Damien knew—knew with a cold certainty—this wasn’t just another wave to endure. This... this was the beginning of the end.
His wife—his Luna—was missing, and now death had begun to bare its teeth at him. The thought clawed at him, because of the one thing it would steal: the chance to hold her again. To touch her skin while life still burned between them. To look into her eyes and see their child safe in her arms.