CRIMSON MOON

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER 19: A FRAGILE RESPITE

(Selene’s POV)

The night air was thick with the stench of blood and burning wood as we left Ravenshade Manor behind. My body ached—every cut, every bruise, every broken piece of me screamed for rest. But I couldn’t afford weakness.

Not yet.

Damian led the way, his movements tense and controlled, but I could see the strain beneath them. The curse was still inside him. Waiting. Clawing.

He should have been free. We killed Devereaux. I made sure of it.

And yet, the golden glow in his eyes hadn’t faded.

I tried to push the thought aside, focusing instead on the road ahead. We moved through the city’s back alleys, keeping to the shadows. Most of Devereaux’s men were dead, but I didn’t trust that we’d gone unnoticed.

By dawn, all of Ravenshade would know their king had fallen.

And the monsters that lurked in the dark? They’d be coming for the throne.

I exhaled slowly, glancing at Damian’s profile. His jaw was tight, his muscles coiled with tension. He hadn’t spoken since we left the manor, and I knew why.

He was fighting it.

Whatever darkness still clung to him, it wasn’t done yet.

"We’re almost there," he muttered, breaking the silence.

"Where exactly is ‘there’?"

"A cabin," he said. "Middle of nowhere. No one will find us."

I studied him, catching the flicker of something guarded in his expression. "Yours?"

His hesitation was slight but noticeable. "It was my mother’s."

Something in my chest tightened. Damian never talked about his family. Not in the years I had known him. Not even when we were…something more.

But now wasn’t the time to push.

I nodded, pressing forward despite the growing weakness in my limbs.

The hours passed in silence. The deeper we went into the woods, the colder the air became. My breath curled in mist before me, and even my leathers did little to shield me from the chill.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Damian slowed.

"There," he said.

Through the trees, I spotted it—a small, weathered cabin, half-swallowed by ivy and time.

Safe. Secluded. Perfect.

And yet, something about it sent a strange shiver through me.

Damian led me inside, the door creaking as he pushed it open. The space was simple—stone fireplace, wooden furniture, dust coating nearly everything. It smelled of pine and faded memories.

I barely took three steps before my legs finally gave out.

"Selene!"

I felt Damian catch me before I hit the floor, his grip firm but careful.

I groaned, trying to shake off the exhaustion pulling at me. "I’m fine."

"You’re not." His voice was rough, edged with frustration. "You’re bleeding again."

I frowned, glancing down. He was right—my side had reopened, blood seeping through the torn leather of my armor.

Damian muttered a curse under his breath. "Sit down."

I wanted to argue, but my body had other ideas.

So I let him lower me into the old chair by the fireplace. He disappeared into another room, returning a moment later with a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a cloth.

"Not exactly a healer’s kit," I muttered.

He crouched beside me, golden eyes flicking to mine. "It’ll do."

Then, with gentle hands, he began to clean the wound.

I sucked in a breath at the sting, my fingers gripping the armrest.

"Hold still," he murmured.

I forced myself to.

His touch was careful, precise. Not the work of a man unaccustomed to tending wounds.

"Who taught you this?" I asked, my voice quieter than before.

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t look at me. "My mother."

I stared at him, the firelight casting sharp shadows over his face.

The Damian I had known—the one I had hunted with, kissed under moonlight—had always been a mystery.

And yet, here we were, in a place that meant something to him.

Something he had never shared before.

I swallowed, watching the way his hands moved as he wrapped the bandage around my waist.

The silence between us shifted.

It wasn’t the quiet of exhaustion anymore.

It was something else.

Something heavier.

Something undeniable.

His fingers lingered for a fraction too long before he finally pulled back.

"Done," he said, standing.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

"Get some rest," he continued, his voice gruff. "We’ll figure out our next move in the morning."

I watched as he turned away, heading for the door.

But just before he left the room, he hesitated.

Then, without looking back, he murmured—

"I’m glad you’re alive, Selene."

And then he was gone.

Leaving me alone with the fire, the lingering pain—

And the ache in my chest that had nothing to do with my wounds.