The Scorned Luna-Chapter 56: What Did I Do

Damien pushed the door open slowly.

​The room smelled of blood, medicine, and damp sheets. Sofia lay on the bed, pale and weak, her shoulder wrapped in thick white bandages. Her lashes fluttered when she sensed him, but she didn’t turn her head. She expected shouting; she expected rage. She expected punishment. But none of that came.

​Damien stopped a few steps from the bed.

​"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

​The question stunned her more than the pain. Sofia frowned slightly. Why was he asking that? She didn’t answer. Her throat felt tight, and her head still spun.

​Damien took another step closer. His voice was low and controlled, but his hands were clenched at his sides.

Do you even realize what you did out there?" he said.

​She slowly turned her eyes toward him, confused.

​"You jumped in front of a bullet," he continued. "A silver bullet."

​Her brows pulled together. She honestly didn’t know why she had done it. The memory was blurred—gunfire, shouting, and then... Damien’s back was in her line of sight.

​"I... don’t know," she whispered hoarsely. "I just moved."

​Damien exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

​"That was stupid," he said flatly. "Reckless."

​Sofia flinched, expecting worse. But his voice didn’t rise.

​"You don’t throw your life away like that," he went on, his jaw tight. "Not for me. Not for anyone."

​She stared at him. "You were going to die," she said weakly.

​"I can handle myself," Damien snapped, then caught himself. His voice dropped again. "I’ve handled worse than that."

​He moved closer to the bed now, stopping beside her.

​"Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if that bullet had hit your heart?" he asked. "Do you know what danger you put yourself in?"

​Sofia swallowed. Her chest hurt—and not just from the wound.

​"I didn’t think," she admitted. "I just... didn’t want them to kill you."

​Damien looked away for a moment, his jaw working as if he were biting back words.

​"You don’t protect me," he said finally. "That’s my job."

​Silence stretched between them. Sofia studied his face. There was no hatred there now. No fury. Just something tight and painful in his eyes.

​"I thought you’d yell," she murmured.

​Damien looked back at her.

​"I wanted to," he said honestly. "But then I saw you bleeding. And suddenly, nothing else mattered."

​Her breath caught.

​"Don’t ever do that again," he said firmly. "Don’t ever put yourself between me and death."

​She nodded slowly, still confused. "Okay."

​He turned to leave, then paused at the door.

​"I’ll pretend you didn’t try to escape tonight," he said. "I’ll pretend it never happened."

​Then he walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

​Sofia lay back against the pillows, her mind spinning. She still didn’t understand why she had jumped. She still didn’t understand why he cared. All she knew was this: she had taken a bullet for a man who hated her... and she didn’t regret it.

​Hours later, Damien wasn’t back in the room, but a guard was in the room with Sofia, monitoring her. The healer had done a good job of healing her; she felt little to no pain, but somehow Sofia was worried. She could tell something was wrong. It was almost 4:00 AM, and Damien wasn’t back.

​Suddenly, the heavy double doors swung open.

​The guard straightened instantly, but Sofia’s breath hitched. Damien didn’t walk in; he prowled. His presence felt like a storm surge—cold and violent. But it was the sight of him that made Sofia’s sea-blue eyes widen in horror.

​He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His broad, muscular chest and the tattoos winding down his arms were completely slick with dark, drying blood. It wasn’t the spray of a single wound; it looked like he had been dipped in it.

​"Leave," Damien growled at the guard, his voice sounding as if it were rising from the depths of a grave.

​The guard didn’t wait to be told twice. The door clicked shut, leaving Sofia alone with the man who looked like he had just climbed out of hell.

​"Damien..." Sofia whispered, her voice trembling as she pushed herself up against the pillows. "Whose blood is that? Are you hurt?"

​Damien didn’t answer immediately. He walked to the small bar in the corner, poured a glass of whiskey with steady, blood-stained fingers, and downed it in one go. He finally turned to her, the golden fire in his eyes dimmed by a cold, hollow satisfaction.

​"It’s not mine," he said flatly.

​"Then whose?" Sofia asked, her heart hammering against her ample chest. "Please... don’t tell me you went after Alexander. Don’t tell me you started a war tonight."

​Damien let out a dry, jagged scoff, the sound echoing off the marble walls. "Alexander? No. Unfortunately, it isn’t his blood. Not yet. But soon."

​He stepped closer to the bed, the metallic scent of fresh blood hitting Sofia’s nose and making her stomach churn. He looked down at his hands as if seeing the blood for the first time.

​"It’s Zach’s," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I almost killed him. He is lucky some Alpha found our location and stopped me."

​Sofia swallowed hard in fear and took a step away from Damien. Damien frowned but didn’t say a word; he rather went to the bar and continued drinking.

​Sofia sat on the couch, not knowing what to say, but then she remembered Damien was about to tell her something in the car—about her betraying him—but she had suddenly lost consciousness.

​"Damien..." she swallowed hard. "Alpha Damien..." she corrected herself.

​Damien didn’t give her his attention, but she knew he could hear her, so she went on. "Back in the car, you were about to tell me something. The reason why you suddenly hated me. Why you called me a traitor."

​The room felt colder. Damien did not turn around. He stared at his reflection in the dark window.

​"Go to bed, Sofia," he said. His voice was low and sharp.

​"No," she said, holding the couch to stay steady. Her body trembled. "I almost died tonight. I deserve to know. What did you see two years ago? What made you hate me?"

​His hand tightened around the glass. For a moment, it looked like it would break. He drank anyway, but it did nothing to calm him.

​"I said, go to bed," he repeated. This time, his voice was flat.

​"Damien—"

​He turned suddenly. The gold in his eyes stopped her breath. He didn’t move closer, but the air felt heavy around her. The smell of blood filled the room.

​"You’ve had enough truth for one night," he said. His eyes flicked to her bandaged shoulder, then away. "You’re hurt. You’re weak. And I am not ready to talk."

​He placed the glass down hard and walked toward the bathroom. Bloody footprints followed him on the carpet.

"Sleep, Sofia," he said at the door. "That is a command."