Page 93 of Of Shadow and Moonlight

“How do I get Damien to feed? How do I arrange it? He’s too worried that he’ll hurt me by… feeding from me. But I don’t want him fighting the darklings and Marcus when he’s not at his best.”

Those rosy cheeks filled as a sympathetic smile lit her face. “It isn’t easy to allow a mate to feed from another. For you to be willing to have him do it, for his sake, is admirable.” Her eyes fell for a moment. “For routine feedings, human blood does suffice, it is, however, weaker. If he were ever injured, he would need the blood of our kind. He only needs to summon one of the families to present a female for his use.”

The words she chose made my skin crawl.A female for his use. My mind wandered, remembering that without Lucia here, he’d had to fend for himself for centuries. Did he use different women? Did he use the same woman? Neither made me feel any less sick at the thought, and I couldn’t understand why. It was just blood. He’s an immortal, he needed to feed.

My eyes dropped to the caramel-colored liquid in my cup. There was a part of me that hated the thought of him touching another woman, but if it was best for him, I would have him do it in a heartbeat.

“Anna, how is everything here?” Vincent asked from outside the door. “Is Cas, okay?”

“Everything is good. She’s just worried about Damien.”

I set my tea down on the tray. “You can come in, Vincent.”

The door creaked as he pushed it open. “Damien will be fine, Cas, I promise. He’s a powerful warrior, plus he’s got the best fighters with him. They’ve got his back.”

“Thank you, Vincent.” It did offer some relief that he wasn’t out there alone, but I still worried.

Anna stood, lifting the tray. “It’s getting late, Cas. Why don’t you try to get some rest? Damien should be back within a couple of hours.”

“Thank you for the tea, Anna.”

She flashed me a smile before leaving the room. “Anytime, love.”

I sat there a moment in silence, the room feeling empty and hollow. Just a couple more hours and he would be here. I reached over to turn the lamp off and slid under the blankets. The bed was cold without Damien’s warmth around me. How I wished he were here, holding me as he had last night. I curled into myself. My arms wrapped around Damien’s pillow, hugging it tightly as I inhaled his scent.

He’s going to be fine. Just go to sleep.

* * *

The sound of the door creaking open woke me. I opened my eyes to the darkness, hearing a faint shuffle of movement. The light in the bathroom came on and the door quietly closed.

I climbed out of bed, walking to the bathroom. I could faintly hear movement on the other side of the door as I approached it. I prayed Damien was okay after tonight’s rounds, but my mind raced with the possibilities of his condition just beyond this door. Would he be injured? How badly? I quietly turned the knob, opening the door to find Damien removing his coat.

He was a mess, his clothes covered in what I could only make out as a mix of darkling, sweat, and blood. “Mea luna? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you—”

“Are you hurt?” My voice broke.

“Just a few scratches, nothing major.”

I reached for his chest, undoing the bandolier that held his knives and setting them down on the floor. His words weren’t enough to silence the worry that was surging within me.

“Cas…”

I didn’t stop, reaching for his shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it to the side.

“Cas…”

My eyes searched over him as I checked his chest, his shoulders.

“Cas—”

“Just… let me see that you’re okay,” I snapped, my hands shaking as I traced the healing wound on his chest that Marcus had given him.

His hands took mine, lifting them to gently kiss my knuckles. “I promise... I’m okay. The night was rather calm.”

Calm? This was calm? The shirt he wore was trashed, ripped in various places. His pants had some nicks and tears, and I didn’t know whose blood soaked into the black fabrics, whether it was his or the darklings.

I walked behind him, turning the shower head on. I couldn’t explain the feelings that were consuming me. There was this indescribable urge to take care of him, to tend to any wounds he had. I couldn’t fight it.