Rejected Luna, Vampire Queen

chapter 14

"A massage?"

The words barely escaped my lips, coming out in a thin, shaky whisper. My legs felt like they were made of jelly, and I could hardly stand still without my knees knocking together. My heart wasn't just beating; it was jumping wildly against my ribs like a trapped, panicked bird fluttering its wings inside a broken cage. I stared at him, my eyes wide, trying to figure out if he was joking, but his face remained a mask of cold stone.

"Exactly," he replied, his tone chillingly smooth. He sounded incredibly calm, as if he were simply discussing the afternoon weather instead of something so intimate. He leaned back slightly, his dark eyes tracking the fear on my face. "I don't usually like being touched, and I certainly don't care for massages. But since you are my medicine... it stands to reason that this should help dull the pain."

He didn't wait for my consent. "Come with me," he commanded, turning on his heel.

I didn't have a choice. I felt like a puppet on a string, my feet moving on their own as I followed him through a heavy oak door and into his private bathroom.

The moment I stepped inside, the air was knocked out of my lungs. I gasped, my head spinning as I took in the sheer size of the place. It was massive, easily larger than any bedroom I had ever seen back at the Crestwood pack. In the very center of the room sat a giant bathtub carved from dark stone, looking more like a small, luxurious swimming pool than a place to wash. It was already filled to the brim with steaming hot water. Thick, white clouds of smoke rose toward the high ceiling, making the air feel heavy, humid, and strangely sweet.

Then, right in front of my wide eyes, he reached up and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.

I stopped breathing altogether. My gaze was immediately drawn to his torso, and my heart sank. His chest and stomach were covered in a map of different cut marks and old, silver scars. Some were long and straight, while others were jagged and angry-looking. But even with the marks of a thousand battles etched into his skin, he still looked incredibly handsome—dangerously so. His six-pack was defined and hard, every muscle showing perfectly under the warm glow of the bathroom lights. He looked like a legendary warrior who had survived a thousand wars and lived to tell the tale.

He stepped into the steaming water and sat down with a quiet splash. I stood there like a complete fool, my feet glued to the tiles as I stared at the surface of the water. He didn't say anything, but he tilted his head and gave me a sharp, knowing look over his shoulder. I knew exactly what that look meant.

I was expected to join him.

My hands were trembling so violently I could hear the glass clinking as I reached for a small bottle of golden oil sitting on a marble side table. I fumbled with the cap, finally getting it open before I stepped toward the edge of the tub.

I climbed into the warm water behind him, and as my skin hit the heat, I let out a sharp, surprised sound. "Oh!"

The water was so hot it felt like a shock to my system, sending a tingle through my entire body. I quickly clamped my hand over my mouth, my face flushing deep red. I desperately didn't want him to think I was some weak, clumsy child.

Damon sat there like a statue, not saying a single word. He didn't even bother to turn his head to see what the noise was about. It was as if he already expected me to be overwhelmed by his world. But as I settled behind him and looked at his bare back, my blood turned to ice in my veins.

There it was. The same snake tattoo that was etched into my own waist was staring back at me from his skin. But his was much bigger, spanning across his broad shoulders and down his spine. And it was terrifyingly strange. The ink looked like it was alive, the lines dark and pulsing as if the serpent were trying to tear its way out of his body from the inside. I didn't need him to tell me; I could see just by the way the skin was raised and red that it was causing him extreme agony.

My mind raced. How was he always so calm and composed? How could he walk, talk, and rule a pack with this much pain constantly biting into his back? I looked at the back of his neck, feeling a sudden, deep respect. He had to be the strongest man in the world to hide this kind of suffering.

I didn't dare speak. I poured a generous amount of the warm, golden oil into my palms and rubbed them together before placing them on his shoulders. I started rubbing his skin slowly, my movements hesitant at first. He didn't flinch or pull away. In fact, he didn't move at all. He simply sat there and closed his eyes, letting his head drop forward just an inch.

I worked the oil into his skin, feeling the incredible strength in every bone and hard muscle. Emboldened by his silence, I used my other hand to slowly trace the jagged mark of the large snake. The skin there felt burning hot under my fingertips, much hotter than the rest of his body. Still, he didn't make a sound. I wondered if he even felt my touch at all, or if he was just too brave to show any sign of weakness.

The only sound filling the room was the soft splashing of water against the stone. Then, his voice cut through the silence, low and rough like gravel.

"Where are your real parents?"

I froze, my hands stopping mid-motion on his shoulder blades. My heart skipped a beat. How did he know? How could he possibly have guessed that Uncle Michael and Aunt Rebecca weren't my biological parents?

"They are dead," I replied, forcing my voice to stay calm. I kept my eyes focused on the dark ink of the serpent, resuming the massage and trying to keep my hands from shaking again.

"How did they die?" he pressed, his voice flat but demanding.

I took a deep, shaky breath, the steam filling my lungs. "I have never actually seen my dad. I don't even know his name or what he looked like. And my mum... she left one day when I was very small. She looked me in the eye and told me she was going away for something very important. She promised she would be back for me soon. But she never came back. I eventually realized she wasn't coming."

The moment the word 'mother' left my lips, it was like his entire body turned to solid stone. He went completely rigid under my hands, not moving a single muscle. I stared at his back, wondering if he was feeling a flicker of guilt for asking. Did he know something about my mother? Did he actually care about how much that memory hurt me?

The silence in the bathroom became incredibly heavy, thick enough to choke on. I leaned in slightly, and I could swear I heard his heart starting to beat faster and faster against his ribs.

Suddenly, he whirled around in the water to face me. He moved with such predatory speed that I gasped, nearly slipping backward into the deep end of the tub. He leaned in close, looking right into the depths of my eyes. For a split second, the coldness in his gaze vanished, and he looked like he was right on the verge of saying something that wou

ld change my entire world.