CHAPTER 179: THE COLOURIST - A WAY

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "What exactly is your way?"

"I can lead you to his mate," William said.

"What are you talking about?"

William smiled faintly. "I just need a lock of Damien’s hair."

Gabriel blinked. "You need what?"

"A lock of his hair," William repeated.

Gabriel stared at him as if he’d asked for a unicorn liver. "We have just a few days before the coronation to pull everything together. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to get close to the crowned prince now, much less pluck a piece of his scalp."

"You will find a way." Williams got to his feet, making for the door.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing? Are you crazy? A human walking in the midst of vampires. You don’t think you’ll get noticed?"

Williams turned. "Relax, Lord Gabriel. I used a cloaking spell, only you can see me."

And just like that, he vanished into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him with annoying finality.

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, muttering curses in ancient tongues. His office was silent again

.Gabriel stared out the wide arched window of his chamber, watching as Blood City lit up in its usual ghostly glow. The coronation was only a week away. The city was preparing to crown Damien in full ceremony, a nightmare Gabriel had tried and failed to prevent.

And now, he had less than a week to tear it all down.

*****

f.(r)eewe/bnov\ll.com

When Luna got back home, Damien was already fast asleep—shirtless, limbs tangled in the sheets like a fallen statue. His broad chest rose and fell slowly, unbothered by the weight of the world or the noise of the city outside preparing for their future.

He must’ve been exhausted, she thought, from dancing and smiling.

Luna stood there for a moment, still in her wedding dress, the fabric catching the moonlight from the high window. It was strange, this stillness. A few hours ago, they’d been wrapped in celebration, drowning in music and laughter. Now there was only silence—and the faint pressure of expectation creeping in again.

The coronation was in a week.

With a sigh, she carefully stepped out of her dress, letting the layers slide off her body. She moved quietly, not wanting to wake him. Clad only in her underwear, she slipped into bed beside him.

Her lips pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Then she turned away to rest, letting her back face his chest.

Damien stirred. Even in sleep, his body responded to her. He felt the warmth of her body against his cool skin and instinctively draped a protective arm around her.

Luna melted into his hold, her body curling into his. Her fingers found his and clasped them loosely.

His was cold. Hers was warm.

They needed each other.

A few minutes in, Damien’s hand began to stray, almost absentmindedly. He was half-asleep, his body still humming from the chaos and splendor of the day’s events. His fingers lazily traced Luna’s stomach, brushing over the curve of her waist.

Luna’s back was snug against his bare chest, feeling every breath he exhaled on the nape of her neck. His hand moved higher, fingers now gently cupping her breast in the dark. She let out a low chuckle, more breath than sound.

"You’re half-dead with fatigue, and yet somehow you still manage to grope me," she murmured teasingly.

"Mmm," Damien breathed, not quite verbal, not quite asleep. "Husband duties."

Luna smiled. Husband. She’d barely had time to absorb it. The wedding had been grand. There had been flashes of joy and stolen kisses.

With one finger, Damien began to flick her nipple rhythmically, his touch still gentle. Luna let out a soft moan, and buried her face into the pillow. Her thighs shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, seeking more contact, more friction, more of him.

Gently, Damien’s hand dipped lower, past the waistband of her underwear. His fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs and began to draw lazy circles, his breath hitching when Luna whimpered, pressing herself closer, her hips rolling back against him.

Her soft moans grew into steady sighs, breathy and needful. She gripped the sheet with one hand and reached back with the other, fumbling a bit until her fingers found the hardness pressing against her from behind. She slid her hand beneath the band of his shorts, curling her fingers around him, stroking in slow, steady movements that matched the rhythm of his touch.

Damien hissed softly through his teeth. The pleasure was sharp. His free hand moved up to cup her breast again while his other continued to work between her thighs. She was wet now, and responsive, her body arching to meet him with every pass of his fingers.

They were both wide awake now, their exhaustion forgotten.

The tip of Damien’s cock was ever so often coming in contact with her ass as she slid her palm up and down the full length of him. Her hand, slick with warmth, moved rhythmically, her breathing soft beside his.

Damien pushed continuously against her fingers, the movement unhurried. His jaw clenched, his eyes fluttering closed as he soaked in the pleasure of her touch. There was no rush.

Both of them were lost in their own little world. They were lovers, they were soul-bound. His body, colder by nature, clung to her warmth. Her fingers trembled slightly as she touched him, overwhelmed by the comfort of knowing she could make a prince unravel with just her hand.

Luna was first to go down that erotic cliff, the wave of release crashing through her quietly but powerfully. Her body tensed, then melted back into him. She bit her bottom lip to muffle the sounds, but Damien heard. He felt her. Every twitch, every intake of breath. He followed shortly after, groaning against her shoulder as he came undone. There was something so intimate, so incredibly human, about climaxing together in silence, in sync.

Their fingers stilled. Their hearts slowed. Their bodies, sticky and satisfied, pressed close. Damien’s arm draped across her waist, pulling her tight. Quietly, they both drifted to sleep, still connected, still tangled in warmth and scent and safety.

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