Damien Vladermer's Arc

Chapter 11 of 13

The truth on the table had changed things. Skylar trusted Damien now. But he still carried one lie. Her blood was not just willing. It was his cure, the only thing that stopped his hunger. He wanted more of it, and he could not keep asking without telling her why it mattered so much. Her shop had saved itself. Orders poured in. Skylar worked past midnight every night, folding cloth and packing boxes. Damien helped when she let him. He tied string. He labeled parcels. He filled her old canvas bag with finished goods for the morning drop. One night she dropped onto the black silk bed. Her arms hung off the side. "I can't move," she said. Damien sat beside her. The city glowed outside the high window. Her pulse beat at her throat, steady and warm. His hunger stirred. He had planned to slip out and feed on a stranger again, the way he always did. He pulled her against his chest. She did not pull away. He breathed in the scent of her neck. His fangs pressed down behind his lips. "Skylar," he said. His voice broke. "I need to tell you something." She turned her head. "Then tell me." "Your blood. It's not like other blood." He forced the words out. "For eleven days I went hungry. Nothing helped. Then I found you. You're the only one who stops it. The only cure." She was quiet. He waited for her to leave. She always warned she could leave. "That's why you kept going out," she said. "To feed on other people. So you wouldn't need me." "Yes." She sat up and faced him. "You didn't want to use me." "No." Skylar studied him a long moment, reading his face the way she read every room. Then she brushed her hair back and bared her neck. "Stop hiding it," she said. "I choose this. Nobody ever chose me. So I get to choose too." Damien held still. "You're sure." "I'm sure." He licked the soft skin first. Then he kissed it. Then his fangs slid in, careful and slow. She gasped, but her hands gripped his shirt and held him closer. Her blood filled him. The long ache in his chest finally quieted. He drank only a little. He drew back and pressed his lips to the marks. She rested against him, calm and warm. And in that quiet, Damien understood the thing he had been running from. The hunger was gone. But he still wanted her. Not her blood. Her. He loved her. He held her until she slept. The last secret was dead. She knew everything now, and she had stayed. But a new weight settled in him. He loved a mortal woman who wanted a family and a home. He was already dead. He could give her his heart, his cure kept safe. He could not give her a life. Not yet.