The Alpha's Stolen Luna-Chapter 119: Eat

Kaya

Damien had me transferred back to the packhouse—back to where it all began.

When Camilla escaped, he figured out immediately that I had helped her. I was separated from Serena on the spot. It must have happened while I was under another round of sedatives, because when I woke, I was already back in his room, shackled to his bed. All I could do was pray that the old witch and her daughter were still somehow alive. At least.

He told me Camilla had been shot with a silver bullet and was probably dead by now, lost somewhere in the winter forest, buried beneath the snow.

I don’t believe him. But at the same time... I don’t want to think about it anymore. I just hope my blood didn’t harm her in the end. I just hope... for something.

"Miss Kaya?" a soft female voice calls from the door, making me flinch. When I lazily shift my gaze, I see a young maid standing there, someone I don’t recognize. Maybe Damien brought her from Golden Lake––I’m not sure.

I wonder if the Dark Wood staff weren’t really thrilled to learn I had returned.

"Miss Kaya," the girl repeats, stepping into the room with a silk dress cover draped over her skinny arm. "Alpha Damien sent you this—he wants you to wear it to dinner tonight."

I stare at the shimmering fabric as the chandelier light dances across its smooth surface. It’s only the outer case, yet it already looks extravagant. That makes me wonder what the actual dress looks like. And that thought alone disgusts me.

"Fine," I mutter flatly. I don’t really have the strength to argue. "I’ll wear it."

"Oh—good!" the girl exclaims in relief, clearly pleased that I didn’t put up a fight. "Then we need to start getting ready, Miss! Alpha Damien asked you to be on time."

Asked, I sneer inwardly, rolling my eyes. The motion makes my head spin even more. Damien doesn’t ask—he orders. But it makes no difference. If I refuse, he’ll drag me to that dining hall himself.

So, just as I’ve done in this mansion for the past five years, I obey.

When I step into the hall, the long table is already set—candles burning low, golden cutlery gleaming, roasted meat filling the air with its heavy scent. It should have been appetizing, but the unexpected presence of his ghouls poisons everything.

They stand at attention along the walls, grotesque figures that once used to be nothing but dead flesh. Their rotting skin clings to their bones in patches, their eyes sink deep into ruined sockets, and yet they move with eerie coordination.

Some carry trays, serving food with stiff, deliberate precision. Others stand behind Damien’s chair like guards, their ragged breaths rattling in their throats.

Damien leans back comfortably, a glass of blood-red wine in his hand, his lips curled in satisfaction as he watches shock and confusion taint my features. "Sit," he commands in a smooth tone as though this were a civilized gathering.

I lower myself into the chair across from him, my hands clasped tightly in my lap. I still have leather handcuffs binding both my wrists and ankles, but the chains were strategically elongated, perhaps to make my movements less restricted.

Damien snaps his fingers, and the ghouls shuffle closer, one placing a plate before me—meat, bread, vegetables, all arranged neatly. A parody of normalcy.

My stomach twists. It has already been hard to swallow food with all the drugs poisoning my system, but the sight of their decaying fingers brushing against the gold makes bile rise in my throat, threatening to spill.

I force my gaze down at the food, refusing to let my eyes linger on the rotting flesh or the way one ghoul’s jaw creaks when it moves, as if the bones were grinding together.

Damien notices, of course. This gruesome play is entertaining to him. "No appetite?" His voice carries a mocking lilt. "Pity. They went to great effort to prepare this meal."

I finally lift my gaze to him, my expression cold. "You let these creatures touch your food?"

His smile deepens. "And aren’t they marvelous?" He gestures toward the nearest ghoul, who bows stiffly, like some macabre butler. "They are learning, Kaya. Adapting. Their minds are... growing sharper. Soon, they will be more than puppets. They will be soldiers. My army."

I clench my fork tightly, but don’t lift it to eat. The scent of roasted meat mixes with the stench of decay that clings to the ghouls. My stomach refuses to accept anything from this table. And honestly, I don’t even understand why Damien is doing this to me to begin with.

"You find it disgusting," he says after a pause, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I find it beautiful. And you know why? Because it was your blood, Kaya. You made it happen."

My heart sinks at his words, but I keep my face unreadable. Rage burns inside me, but I can’t show him that he is getting under my skin. Instead, I keep silent, staring down at the untouched food.

Damien tilts his head, studying me with that predator’s patience of his. "Still not hungry? You should eat. You’ll need your strength. Unless you want to waste away before I decide what to do with you."

Then, without even letting me answer, he rises to his feet, circles the dining table, and stands before me, eyes darkening as his beastly nature pushes forward.

Slowly, he takes the fork from my loose grip, pierces a slice of meat with it, and brings it to my pursed lips, holding my chin with his other hand. "Eat."

I want to scream, but that means I’ll have to open my mouth.

"Eat," he orders again, his voice getting colder now, more intimidating. "For every piece of food you reject, a woman in the tunnel will die. You have already killed my Luna––do you want to take on a heavier burden of death?"

Fucking bastard.

I want to believe that he’s bluffing, but it’s Damien Windthorne. I can’t fucking guess what he can do anymore.

So I part my lips––reluctantly––and the moment the meat touches my tongue, I start heaving, nearly choking on it as I force my body to push it down.

"Good girl," Damien grins, sliding his thumb over my lower lip. "Now, how about some wine with that steak?"

I don’t want any fucking wine, but I am scared to say no. Damien smiles at my silence once more, then lifts my glass of wine and takes a generous sip. Then, before I can even register it, he smashes his lips against mine, tugging my hair at the back of my head so that the pain would force me to open my mouth.

It works––I do, but as soon as I feel his tongue inside my mouth, I get completely livid, and sink my teeth into its wine-laced flesh, pulling away as I feel the tinge of copper on my own tongue.

"You fucking bitch," he scoffs, but I can see his eyes burning with malice. I know he is about to lose his shit and slap me, but before that thought can even cross his mind, the heavy doors of the hall slam open. The sound reverberates against the stone walls, making the ghouls shift uneasily.

Damien’s rage fades entirely. He sets the glass down and turns around, frowning while one of his men rushes inside, breathless and pale.

"Alpha Damien," the man bows quickly, his voice strained. "It seems we are under attack."

The words hit me like a jolt of lightning.

Damien’s eyes narrow, his voice dangerously calm. "It seems? By who?"

The man hesitates for a fraction of a second, then says, growing even paler now, "Blood Moon, Sir."