Lilith Luna Dusk
The city is alive tonight.
Through the tinted glass of my limo, I watch as the streets pass by in streaks of gold and crimson, the neon signs casting eerie reflections on rain-slicked pavement. The rhythmic pulse of nightlife hums just beyond the window—laughter spilling from high-end restaurants, the distant roar of traffic, the occasional blaring horn breaking the night's harmony.
Inside the limo, however, there is only silence.
I sit back against the cool leather seat, one leg crossed over the other, my fingers idly tracing the silver ring on my index finger. Across from me, Celeste is watching, her silver eyes sharp despite her relaxed posture.
"You're quiet tonight," she finally says, her voice a low murmur.
"I have a lot on my mind."
Celeste nods, but she doesn't pry. She knows better.
The events of the Moon Banquet still cling to me like the remnants of a dream I can't quite shake. Kade's possessive rage, Damon's presence, the prophecy whispering its secrets from the edges of my consciousness. All of it has tangled into a web of complications I don't have the patience to deal with right now.
Because tonight, my path leads elsewhere.
The limousine slows as we approach the hospital. A gray building of concrete and glass, cold and sterile against the city skyline. The sharp scent of antiseptic greets me the moment I step through the automatic doors, mingling with something else—something metallic, like blood lingering in the air.
Hospitals always smell like endings.
Celeste falls into step beside me, her boots clicking against the polished tile. I don't need to check in. They know me here. The staff has long since learned that I don't wait, don't ask for permission.
I navigate the hallways with ease, the fluorescent lighting casting harsh shadows along the walls. Room 407.
When I step inside, I am greeted with the sound of slow, labored breathing.
Anna.
She looks so much smaller than I remember. The years have not been kind to her, and neither has the sickness that has taken root inside her fragile body. Sunken cheeks, hollow eyes, skin stretched too thin over delicate bones. Yet when she sees me, she still smiles.
"Lilith," she breathes, voice barely above a whisper.
I step closer, my heels muffled against the linoleum floor. "You look like hell."
She laughs—a soft, breathy sound that is almost lost to the steady beeping of the monitors. "And you look the same. Untouchable as ever."
I sink into the chair beside her bed, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers are cold, trembling slightly as they curl around my own.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," she admits after a pause.
I arch a brow. "You think so little of me?"
"The reverse is the case. And I know you don't like hospitals."
That much is true.
I glance around the room—the muted beige walls, the IV line trailing from her frail wrist, the dull, lifeless air that seems to drain the energy from everything it touches.
No, I do not like hospitals.
"I need to ask you something," Anna says suddenly, her fingers tightening around mine. "Something important."
I meet her gaze, waiting.
"It's about Lily."
My stomach tenses.
The little girl.
I've only met her once. A small, fragile thing with dark curls and wide brown eyes, peering up at me with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.
"My daughter," Anna continues, her voice cracking slightly. "I need you to take her."
For the first time in a long time, I don't know what to say.
Anna swallows hard, her free hand gripping the blanket weakly. "I have no one else. No family. No one I trust. But you—" She stops to take a shuddering breath. "You can keep her safe."
The air between us shifts, thickens.
I have built my empire on power, on strategy, on ruthlessness. I have burned bridges, destroyed enemies, carved my own path in a world that wanted me to kneel.
And yet, this woman—this dying woman—asks me for something I am not sure I know how to give.
"Lilith," she whispers, her voice breaking. "Please."
Silence stretches between us, heavy and unyielding.
Then, finally, I nod.
"I'll take her," I say, my voice quiet but firm. "I'll raise her as mine."
Anna exhales sharply, relief flooding her features as tears slip silently down her cheeks. "Thank you."
I hold her hand until the end.
Until the monitors slow.
Until the beeping stops.
Until the room is silent.
Then, I rise.
Celeste watches me carefully as I step away from the bed, adjusting the hem of my dress as if that will erase the weight of what just happened.
"Where's the girl now?" I ask.
"At the adoption center downstairs," Celeste replies. "We can take her tonight."
I nod once and turn on my heel, leaving the room without looking back.
The adoption center is dimly lit, quiet at this hour.
A receptionist glances up, recognition flickering in her tired eyes.
"Miss Dusk," she stammers. "I—um—"
"I'm here for Lily."
Her mouth opens, then closes. She nods quickly and disappears through a set of doors. Minutes later, she returns, leading a small figure by the hand.
Lily.
She looks even smaller than I remember, swallowed by an oversized sweater, her curls slightly tangled, her stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in her tiny hands.
She hesitates when she sees me, eyes flicking to Celeste, then back to me.
I crouch down, leveling our gazes.
"You remember me," I say.
Slowly, she nods.
"You're going to come with me now," I tell her. "You'll be safe."
A long pause. Then, in the smallest voice imaginable—
"Okay."
I extend a hand.
She takes it.
And just like that, she is mine.
The drive home is silent.
Lily sits beside me in the limo, watching the city blur past the window. She doesn't cry. Doesn't speak.
She just watches.
When we arrive, my mansion looms before us—tall, dark, an unshakable fortress against the night.
Lily hesitates at the steps, staring up at the iron doors with something unreadable in her gaze.
"You live here?" she asks softly.
"Yes."
She frowns. "It's big."
I smirk. "You'll get used to it."
Inside, the staff watches curiously but wisely says nothing.
I lead her to a bedroom—a simple, quiet space with soft lighting, a plush bed, and nothing too extravagant.
"This is yours now," I tell her.
She glances at me. "For how long?"
"As long as you need."
She blinks up at me, something vulnerable in her gaze.
Then, slowly, she climbs onto the bed, curling up with her rabbit.
I step back, reaching for the door handle—
And that's when I feel it.
A presence.
A gaze.
I turn slightly, my eyes catching movement in the shadows of the hallway.
Damon.
He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with unreadable eyes.
He knows.
Of course he does.
I meet his gaze, unflinching.
Neither of us speaks.
Then, slowly, he smirks.
And just like that, I know—this changes everything
The silence stretches between us, thick and humming with something I don't want to name.
Damon watches me from where he leans against the hallway wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. The dim lighting casts half his face in shadow, but his smirk is clear—infuriatingly so.
"You don't look like the type to play house, Luna," he says, his voice smooth, edged with something knowing.
I exhale slowly, keeping my expression unreadable. "And you don't look like the type to care what I do."
His smirk deepens, but he pushes off the wall, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. My pulse remains steady, but something inside me coils tight.
I don't move.
Neither does he—at least, not in the way I expect.
Damon reaches out, his fingers brushing against my jaw, barely a whisper of a touch. It's fleeting, but it sends a shiver down my spine, unwanted and undeniable.
"You forget, Lilith," he murmurs, his voice lower now, more dangerous. "I always care."
I don't know what enrages me more—the words themselves or the way my body reacts to them.
I should step back. Should shove him away and put distance between us before this spiral of tension pulls me under.
But I don't.
For just a second, I let myself feel it.
The warmth of his hand, the heat of his gaze, the ghost of something almost tender in the way he tilts his head slightly as if waiting for me to break first.
I won't.
I never do.
I inhale sharply, stepping back and breaking the moment like glass shattering against stone.
"You should go, Damon." My voice is firm, betraying nothing. I do not care to ask why he is in my house or how he got in. I just need him gone from here.
His eyes flicker with something unreadable, but he doesn't argue. He studies me for a beat longer before giving a slow nod.
"Alright, Lilith." His voice is softer now. "Goodnight."
He turns, disappearing down the hallway, his footsteps fading into the vast emptiness of my mansion.
And for the first time in years—years—I let myself crumble.
Silent tears slip down my cheeks before I can stop them, burning hot against my cool skin.
I hate this.
The loneliness. The isolation that comes with standing at the top. The knowledge that no matter how much power I claim, how much control I wield, I will always be alone.
A whimper rises in the back of my mind.
My wolf stirs, wincing at the loss of our mate, at the distance I keep forcing between us.
We are not meant to be alone.
I close my eyes. Swallow the ache.
And for once, I have no response.