He Drained My Blood for His White Moonlight

The nurse’s hands shook around the plastic syringe. She stared at my bruised arm, then shot a panicked glance toward the doorway.

"Mrs. Damien is six months pregnant," the nurse said, her voice wavering. "She has already donated blood twice this month. We can't take another four hundred milliliters."

Dr. Amelia stepped in front of the medical cart, blocking the nurse. "I am stepping in as her attending physician. Continuing to draw blood will cause placental bleeding. She and the baby will both be in severe danger."

Damien stood perfectly still by the glass partition. He didn't even look in our direction. His dark eyes remained locked on the intensive care unit, where Celeste lay unconscious amidst a tangle of tubes and wires.

"Draw the blood," Damien commanded. His tone offered zero room for debate.

"Mr. Damien, you aren't listening to me," Dr. Amelia argued, her jaw set tight. "This could induce premature labor. You might lose your child."

"Draw it." Damien’s voice dropped to a freezing register.

Cold sweat broke across my forehead. I wrapped my left arm over my swollen belly and reached out with my right. My fingertips snagged the crisp fabric of his tailored suit sleeve.

"Damien... please," I begged. "The baby has been moving less since yesterday. Something feels wrong."

He finally turned his head. His gaze swept over my pale face, registering my fear, and discarded it completely. He grabbed my wrist and peeled my fingers off his sleeve, one by one.

"Celeste can't wait," he said.

Dr. Amelia opened her mouth to protest again, but Damien’s glare silenced her. The nurse swallowed hard, swabbing the crook of my arm with alcohol. The needle pierced my vein. I squeezed my eyes shut as the crimson fluid began traveling down the clear tube into the plastic bag.

My vision blurred. A wave of dizziness hit me, and my free hand brushed against the silver chain resting on my collarbone. My thumb traced the familiar, jagged grooves of the broken iris pendant.

"I will find you," a boy covered in blood had promised me years ago, squeezing my hand just as tightly as I now gripped the chair's armrest. "When I grow up, I'll find you."

He was standing right in front of me. And he didn't remember a thing.

***

"All done." The nurse pulled the needle out and pressed a thick cotton pad to my skin.

She helped me into a wheelchair. I slumped against the synthetic leather backrest, completely drained of energy. My hand remained firmly planted over my womb, waiting for a flutter, a kick, anything.

Nothing happened.

The heavy double doors of the ICU slid open.

Damien walked straight past my wheelchair. The draft from his movement chilled my bare arms. He stepped to Celeste's bedside and took her pale hand in both of his.

"You're safe now," he murmured.

Celeste’s eyelids fluttered. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, tracking down her temple.

"Damien," she rasped. "I thought I would never see you again."

He leaned over, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. "I'm right here. I won't let anything happen to you."

The tenderness in his expression pinned me to my seat. In two years of marriage, he had never looked at me like that. Not once.

I lowered my head, staring at the scuffed linoleum floor. The terms of our marriage contract echoed in my ringing ears. Two years ago, my adoptive father lay dying, our family company bankrupt. I had been desperately searching for my biological family, hitting dead end after dead end.

Damien had offered a lifeline. He would pay the medical bills and use the Damien family's vast resources to find my real parents. In return, I would act the perfect wife for his grandfather and give the Damien bloodline an heir.

I knew it was a transaction. But I signed it anyway, foolishly hoping the boy from my past would eventually recognize the girl who saved him.

***

Sharp footsteps smacked aggressively against the hospital floor, growing louder. Eleanor Damien rounded the corner, flanked by two assistants in matching gray suits.

My mother-in-law stopped in front of my wheelchair. Her eyes darted from my ashen face to the fresh bandage on my arm. Her nose wrinkled in blatant disgust.

"Only four hundred milliliters?" Eleanor asked.

She pointed an immaculate fingernail at the half-filled backup bag resting on the cart. "Is that all you can do for Celeste?"

I gripped the armrests to steady myself. "Dr. Amelia said I can't lose any more blood."

"Excuse me?" Eleanor scoffed. "You're carrying a Damien child. That means your body, your blood, and the baby all belong to this family. You don't make the rules."

She snapped her fingers. An assistant handed her a thick file. Eleanor tossed it directly onto my lap. It hit my thighs with a heavy thud.

"Sign the long-term medical authorization," she demanded. "Whenever Celeste needs blood, you will be on call. Day or night."

"I am your daughter-in-law, not a blood bank," I said, my voice trembling.

"You are whatever we need you to be," Eleanor shot back.

I shifted in the chair, and the folder slipped off my lap. As it fell, the neckline of my hospital gown shifted. The silver chain escaped, exposing the broken iris pendant to the harsh fluorescent lights.

Eleanor’s gaze locked onto the metal flower. The color drained from her face entirely. She took a quick step back, staring at the necklace for a long, silent moment.

Then, her features hardened into a cruel mask. "Such cheap trash," she sneered. "Is it worth wearing for so many years?"

***

I leaned forward to pick up the scattered papers from the floor.

A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my lower abdomen. It felt like a knife twisting directly into my womb.

"Ah!" I cried out.

My hands flew to my stomach. The room spun wildly. I lost my balance and slid off the edge of the wheelchair. My knees slammed into the hard tiles.

A terrifying warmth soaked the fabric between my thighs, dripping down my calves. Dark red drops splattered onto the pristine white floor, pooling instantly.

The nurse dropped her clipboard. "Doctor! She's bleeding! Get a gurney out here now!"

At the sound of the shout, Damien whipped his head around. He saw me clutching my stomach, the blood spreading around my knees. His shoulders tensed. He took one quick step toward the door.

*Beep. Beep. BEEEEEEEEEP.*

The heart monitor inside the ICU flatlined, emitting a shrill, continuous alarm.

A frantic nurse shoved the glass doors open, nearly colliding with Damien. "Mr. Damien! Miss Monroe's condition is worsening! Her heart rate is dropping rapidly!"

Damien stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at my tear-stained face, then at the chaotic scene unfolding around Celeste's bed.

He hesitated for a single second.

Then he turned his back on me and bolted into the ICU, the glass doors sliding shut behind him.

I lay on the freezing floor, watching his broad back disappear. The pain in my stomach was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest. My trembling fingers pressed against my damp clothes.

*As long as you play the part of Mrs. Damien, I will protect you and the child.*

His promise from our wedding day mocked me. I finally understood. His protection never included choosing me over Celeste. It never would.

My vision faded to black at the edges. I closed my eyes, letting the tears slide into my hairline.

"Baby..." I choked out, my voice barely a whisper against the tile. "I'm sorry."

The edges of my consciousness frayed. Just before the darkness swallowed me whole, a pair of polished black dress shoes stepped into my fading line of sight, stopping inches from my pooling blood.

"Well, well," an unfamiliar male voice chuckled above me. "Looks like my brother just threw away his most valuable asset."