Chapter8
1075 Words
Michael's pov
My breathing was uneven, my hands trembling as I ran it over Samara's body, which was now laid on my bed.
I had a series of knocks on my door and I could tell it was Natalie. She asked me to come back to the chamber room but all that didn't matter.
What mattered was the body in front of me.
Samara.
Her lifeless body lay still in the center of the bed where I had placed her. Her pale skin was ghostly under the dim light.
Her pulse. I couldn't feel any pulse.
My mind was torn between panic and self-loathing.
I hated the blood moon for making me do this. I hated myself more for letting myself do this to her.
If she hadn't hated me before, I'm sure she would now. Staring at her unmoving body, fear gripped me in a way it never had before. Had I killed her?
No.
I refused to believe it. I couldn't have.
Swallowing hard to get rid of the lumps in my throat, I dropped to my knees beside her and pressed my fingers against her neck, hoping to feel her heartbeat.
I sighed in relief as I felt her faint heartbeat thump against my touch. Happiness washed over me for a minute but it was quickly replaced by a deep sense of guilt. I felt I had almost killed her.
I had to find a way to fix this.
I needed to look for a way to heal her and there's only one person I know who would have the herbs I could use. Scarlet.
I didn’t waste another second.
Slipping into the shadows, I made my way to Scarlet’s chambers. The castle was quiet as I moved silently, blending into the darkness. When I reached her room, I carefully eased the door open.
The scent of dried herbs and potions filled the air. I didn’t have time to search carefully, so I grabbed whatever I recognized. Bandages, antiseptic, healing salves. My hands moved on instinct, collecting what I could before returning to Samara as quietly as I went.
Back in my room, Samara remained in the same position I had kept her in over an hour ago. Her breathing was steady but shallow. Kneeling beside her, I got to work.
I tried to clean the wounds I had inflicted as carefully as I could, my hands surprisingly steady despite how I was shaking from within. Her body flinched slightly at the contact.
I felt disgusted with myself. I had let my selfishness and thirst for blood take control, and she had to suffer for it.
Minutes turned into hours and she still hadn't regained consciousness.
Notwithstanding, I never left her side.
I watched over her, every rise and fall of her chest reassuring me that she was still alive. The night dragged on, but sleep never came for me. Instead, I was left alone with my thoughts, thoughts I didn’t want to entertain.
By dawn, I was still seated beside her. The first signs of morning light filtered through the windows when a knock echoed at my door. My body tensed.
"Your Highness," one of my guards called from outside. "Samara is missing.”
I took a deep breath as I tried to look as unbothered as possible before unlocking the door. Stepping into the hallway, I met their concerned gazes with a cold expression.
"I released her," I said flatly.
They exchanged glances, confusion evident in their eyes.
"You… let her go?" one of them asked cautiously.
I nodded, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Yes. She is no longer a prisoner here."
The guards looked confused but knew better than to press on. As soon as they left, I exhaled, tension draining from my body. I got back into the room.
Samara was awake.
Her wide, startled eyes met mine. She looked like she was trying to recognize where she was.
Panic flashed across her face as she acknowledged my presence in the room.
I couldn't deny that her reaction hurt me. I felt like a monster.
She bolted from the bed, scurrying toward the door. But she was still weak, her legs barely supporting her. Before she could even make it halfway, she fell with a loud thud on the floor. In an instant, I picked her up and placed her back on the bed.
"Please calm down." I murmured, my voice laced with something unreadable.
Her breath hitched. "Please… let me go," she whispered, desperation flickering in her eyes.
I studied her, taking a few steps back. I expected her to accuse me, to shout at me and tell me how much she hated me, but all I saw was fear.
Something broke inside me.
I never want her to fear me.
Against my better judgment, I exhaled sharply and stepped back. "Fine."
She blinked. "What?"
"You want to go? "You can go." I repeated.
Suspicion flickered in her expression. "Why?"
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Admitting guilt wasn’t an option. Instead, I smirked slightly, masking the turmoil within me.
"But," I continued despite noticing how her face fell, "On one condition.”
I noticed how her ince bright eyes were now dim as she narrowed them on me. "What condition?"
"You will have to come back," I stated. "Twice a week."
She stiffened. "Why?"
I leaned in, lowering my voice. "To offer me your blood."
She looked taken aback for a moment, I thought she would refuse. But then, something flashed in her eyes and she nodded.
"Fine," she said quietly.
I hadn’t expected her to agree so easily. She didn't fully hate me after all.
"Good."
An awkward silence settled between us. Her gaze lingered on me, searching for something I couldn't place my fingers on.
I turned away first.
"You’re free to leave as soon as you feel stronger" I murmured.
She hesitated but didn’t argue. Slowly, she moved toward the door, pausing briefly before glancing at me one last time.
"Thank you," she said softly.
I didn’t respond.
The moment she stepped out, an unfamiliar emptiness crept into my chest.
I clenched my fists, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. Had I made a mistake?
Letting her go f
elt like a part of me had left with her.
For the first time in centuries, I felt a void I didn’t know how to fill.
And I hated it.
- Writer
