Rejected Luna, Vampire Queen

chapter 13

I scrambled off his lap with such frantic energy that my legs tangled, nearly sending me face-first onto the cold floor. My heart wasn't just beating; it was thumping against my ribs like a trapped drum, the sound echoing loudly in my ears. I didn't dare look back. Instead, I pivoted and began marching toward the door as fast as my trembling feet would carry me. Every instinct I had screamed at me to run, to find a dark corner, and to hide under my bed until the world made sense again.

"No."

His voice didn't just carry; it boomed, filling every empty corner of the quiet room with a heavy, deep vibration. "I didn't mean for you to leave."

The command hit me like a physical wall. I froze mid-step, my back still turned to him, too terrified to even draw a full breath. Behind me, I heard the soft creak of the mattress as he stood up. I kept my eyes fixed on the door handle, but my ears picked up every tiny movement—the rustle of fabric as he pulled his shirt back over his broad shoulders, and then the steady, rhythmic thud of his footsteps. They were slow and intentional, getting closer and closer until I could feel the radiating heat of his body pressing against my back.

He glided around me, blocking my path, and then came to a halt. His big, warm hands reached out, settling firmly on my waist. I gasped as my skin felt like it had been touched by a live wire; where his fingers pressed, it felt as though I were on fire. He didn't look at my face. His head was bowed, his dark gaze intensely observing the tattoos etched into my skin—the Serpent Mark. He stared at the ink for what felt like an eternity. I stood there like a statue carved from stone, my throat locked, too afraid to utter even a single syllable.

"You act like I am going to kill you or something," he spoke suddenly.

His voice was a low rumble right against my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine. A dark, hollow smile seemed to play in his tone as he continued. "Yes, all the bad things you have probably heard about me... they are all true. I am the Devil Alpha. But I won't kill you. At least, not yet."

*Not yet?* The words chilled me to the bone, offering no comfort at all, but I managed a small, jerky nod. I forced my chin up, and for a fleeting second, my eyes crashed into his dark, icy ones. They were like frozen lakes—beautiful but deadly.

"Have you eaten this morning?" he questioned, his brow arching slightly.

I struggled to find my voice, but my throat felt as dry as a desert, parched and tight. "Yes... no... I mean, no," I stammered, the words tripping over each other. I felt incredibly stupid. Why did my brain turn to mush every time he looked at me? Why couldn't I just speak like a normal human being?

"Okay. Come and eat with me," he commanded.

I stayed rooted to the spot for a heartbeat, my mind reeling. Was he actually inviting me? Or had I finally slipped into a very strange, vivid dream? This was the man who didn't eat with anyone. He didn't even talk to people if he could help it! But he began walking away, and without thinking, I found myself following him like a lost, confused puppy.

We entered a dining room that was absolutely massive. It was bigger than my entire house back in the Crestwood pack, with high ceilings and gold-trimmed walls. The table was so long it looked more like a road than a place to eat. And the food—it was overwhelming. Every type of dish I could possibly imagine sat on gleaming silver plates. There was roasted chicken dripping in juices, piles of fresh fruit, warm bread, and mountains of pasta. It was even more food than what Ava had shown me the day before. It was obvious he wasn't going to finish even a fraction of this feast. It was also painfully clear that he usually sat in this big, empty room all by himself.

He pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. I carefully slid into the chair right next to him, feeling small and out of place in the grand room. He reached out with elegant movements, picked up a small apple, and began to eat it slowly, his eyes distant.

My stomach chose that exact moment to let out a loud, embarrassing growl. I was starving. I summoned every bit of courage left in me and reached for a large bowl of fried chicken. I didn't care if I looked like a caveman or a starving animal. I started eating fast, my hunger taking over. This was only the second time in my entire life I had even seen this kind of expensive, seasoned chicken, let alone tasted it.

I tried my hardest not to look at him. I didn't want to know if those scary, dark eyes were judging the way I was tearing into the meat. I told myself one thing: if he already hated me, then the way I chewed wasn't going to change his mind. So, I ignored my manners and kept going.

I finished the entire piece of chicken, even chewing on the bones loudly because the seasoning tasted so incredible. When I finally wiped my mouth and raised my head to see if he was angry, I was surprised. He wasn't looking at me with disgust or annoyance. Instead, he was quietly cutting a pineapple into soft, perfect pieces, his face calm and completely unreadable.

Then, my eyes landed on a big bowl of pasta. It looked delicious, smelling better than anything my Aunt Rebecca had ever cooked in her life. Back home, eating pasta was a huge privilege, something reserved only for the most special days. But here, there was a mountain of it just sitting there.

I tried to use the sticks on the table—the chopsticks—but my fingers felt clumsy and useless. I managed to get a tiny bit into my mouth and gasped. "God, it tastes so good!" I whispered to myself, forgetting for a moment where I was. I tried to grab a bigger portion, but I was so awkward with the sticks that some of the red sauce splashed onto my clean clothes.

Damon stood up abruptly. He didn't say a word, but he reached out and pulled his chair even closer to mine until our shoulders were almost touching.

"That is not how you use chopsticks," he remarked calmly.

He reached over and took the sticks right out of my hand. My heart stopped. I watched, breathless, as he dipped them into the pasta, swirled a perfect portion, and held them up to my lips. He was feeding me! I hesitated for a second before opening my mouth and taking the bite he offered. It was the strangest thing I had ever experienced. He would feed me a large, perfect bite, and then he would take a tiny, almost invisible bite for himself using those same sticks.

I watched the play of muscles in his strong arms as he moved. I couldn't help but wonder... if he barely ate anything, how was he so big and powerful?

Finally, I felt like I was going to burst. I couldn't take another bite if I tried. "I think... I am satisfied now," I said softly, leaning back.

He stood up and wiped his hands with a white silk cloth, his movements slow and graceful. I stood up too, bowing my head low to avoid his gaze and trying to be as polite as possible. "Thanks for today. I'll be heading out now."

I turned to leave, feeling a sense of relief that the weird morning was finally over. I took one step toward the door.

"Not so fast, little human," he said.

His voice was low, but it carried a sharp, undeniable command that made me stop dead in my tracks. I felt the hair on my neck stand up as he stepped closer.

"You are going to give me a massage."