Beloved by The Moon

Chapter 6

As the golden hues of approaching sunset streamed through the window and Morgan stood before the mirror. It had been awhile since someone took her out for dinner. Every time she envisioned a romantic evening, it was immediately followed by thoughts of late-night work of investigations and impending deadlines. Focus, she reminded herself. This was in no way a romantic occasion, she was simply paying the price of the story told by the man.

He had sent his servant, Emma—the elderly woman who had opened the door when she barged in to inquire about Mara. Now, Emma arrived at her door, knocking gently, carrying breakfast and a small gift.

"From Master Naram," she announced, placing a basket of freshly baked pastries on the table. Pastries were her weakness, and her stomach rumbled in response. The basket of pastries were filled with an assortment of croissants, mini baked tarts and eclair.

"You make this?" Morgan asked, in awe at the assortment of foods.

"Of course," Emma replied.

"Please send my regards to him," she replied, her smile genuine.

"Will do, Miss Montgomery. Have a lovely day."

After Emma left, she carefully unwrapped the gift. Inside was a striking black dress, form-fitting and falling just above her knees. She couldn't help but smile. Thank goodness she had packed her heels for the trip.

She arrived after dark, around 7 PM, parking her car with a soft crunch of gravel underfoot. After a moment's hesitation, she knocked on the door. Emma answered, her warm smile greeting her as she stepped aside.

"Right this way," Emma said, guiding her toward the dining room.

The dining room exuded an air of timeless elegance, with crystal chandeliers casting a soft glow over the mahogany table, elegantly set with fine china and polished silverware. Heavy velvet drapes framed the tall windows, hinting at the night beyond, where shadows danced under the pale moonlight.
As she entered, he rose from his seat, a slight bow emphasising his chivalrous nature. "Welcome, miss Montgomery," he said, his voice smooth as silk, laced with an ancient charm. "I trust you found the house to your liking?"
She nodded, momentarily captivated by the way he moved, each gesture fluid and deliberate, as if he were part of the very fabric of the room. He gestured for her to sit, pulling her chair out with a flourish, his dark eyes glimmering with something unreadable.
"Dinner is but a simple affair," he said, but his smile hinted at secrets. As he poured rich, crimson wine into her glass, the colour caught the candlelight, glowing ominously. "I hope you enjoy it."
The dining table was understated yet elegant, with simple lines that spoke of quality rather than extravagance. They sat opposite each other, and she couldn't help but admire how well he was dressed that evening; the finely tailored suit hugged his form perfectly, exuding an effortless sophistication. Just then, Emma entered, gracefully delivering the dinner—a beautifully plated lamb chop accompanied by a fresh arugula salad.
They conversed over the meal, the soft clinking of cutlery punctuating the silence as flickering candles cast gentle shadows that danced around them. Initially, the conversation felt innocent enough—questions about when Morgan had arrived in town, where she had grown up, and which college she attended.

It's the price of the story, she reminded herself, maintaining a composed demeanour. Behave and don't bite your host.
But then he probed deeper. Why had she come to this area? Where were her parents? Who knew she was in town? If she hadn't encountered a serial killer before, she might have brushed off these questions as innocent curiosity. But given her past, they felt all too familiar—just the sort of inquiries a predator might make before killing someone in a remote town.
"So, what exactly are you?" she blurted, unable to ignore the elephant in the room. The dinner was his price for the story told about the Blood Cult but a soul could only pry, right?
"It all depends on which era of civilization you come from. I was known as the descendant of Lamashtu first. Some call me uber, Jiangshi, nosferatu, bloodsucker and the list goes on but you might know me as..."
"Vampire. You are a vampire."
As the revelation washed over her, the ground seemed to tilt beneath her feet. A wave of dizziness surged through her, making the room spin as if she were caught in a whirlpool of thoughts. Morgan felt like throwing up the content of her stomach. Her breath quickened, and a light-headedness enveloped her like a thick fog, blurring the edges of reality. She grasped the table for support, her heart racing, each pulse echoing the weight of the truth she had uncovered. It felt as though the very fabric of her understanding had been unravelled, leaving her both exhilarated and unsteady, teetering on the brink of a new world.
The word rang in her mind.
Vampire.
Vampire.
Vampire.
"Miss Montgomery?" Naram called. After the truth spilled from his lips, a heavy silence settled between them. He watched as Morgan's expression shifted. The spark of understanding was replaced by a shadow of distress, and a deep concern stirred within him.
"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Morgan's gaze drifted to the floor, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
As swift as a vampire would, he stood from his chair and reached for her. Morgan was having a panic attack. He touched her shoulder but as soon as he did so, her head snapped up. The wave of panic that he sensed from her before instantly vanished.
There was something unsettlingly enigmatic about her, he mused.

"I'm fine. Shall we continue with dinner?"

As the main course was cleared, he leaned closer, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. "You mustn't fear the dark," he murmured, his gaze locking onto hers, "for it can be as much a refuge as it is a threat."

After the initial question about his existence, she shifted to lighter topics, leaving her curiosity about his otherworldliness behind to delve into the history he had traversed.

"I see you have a great fondness for history, Miss Montgomery," he said, pouring another glass of wine for her.

"Indeed, I do. Would you share some intriguing tales?"

"Such as..." he prompted, raising an eyebrow.

"Have you ever met Socrates?"

He chuckled softly. "Indeed, I have. A peculiar fellow, always lost in his own thoughts. Next?"

"Have you walked upon the grounds of the Parthenon in its prime? Watched gladiators in the Colosseum?"

"Yes to both. Though I'm not one for bloodshed. I had to bring my own cushion—back then, it was just straw stuffed into rough fabric. Tickets were a rarity; you had to know the right people for a good seat."

He paused, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as memories flickered through his mind.

"What was it like?" she pressed, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Ah," he said, leaning back slightly, "it was a spectacle, but also a stark reminder of the weight of history. Each moment steeped in the echoes of the past."

He spoke with a blend of wit and intensity, drawing her in with tales of ancient times and forgotten places.
With the dessert served, a delicate dark chocolate mousse, he reached for her hand, his touch cool against her warm skin. "In this moment, let us forget the world outside," he murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Tonight, it is just us."

Her heart raced, both from his proximity and the weight of his words. She was drawn to him, intrigued yet wary, caught between the allure of his charm and the instinctive warning that lingered in her mind. Yet as warmth blossomed within her, just as quickly, she shoved the emotion back down, reminding herself to stay guarded.
It doesn't dampen the intimacy of the moment wrapped around them, the delicious tension hanging in the air like the scent of rich cocoa. She found herself captivated, suspended in a delicate balance between desire and danger, knowing that in this luxurious setting, she was both the guest and the prey.

After the dinner, both of them stepped outside. The night was draped in a velvety darkness, speckled with stars that twinkled like scattered diamonds. Both of them stood by the edge of the garden, the cool breeze ruffling Naram's hair as he gazed up at the luminous moon.
Morgan sat down beside him on an iron bench, feeling the coolness of the earth beneath her. As they both stared at the moon, a comfortable silence enveloped them. She felt a sense of peace settle over her, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of racing thoughts she often wrestled with.
"You are Naram-Sin, aren't you?" Her voice held no tremor, just a calm acknowledgment that the man beside her was anything but human.

"Yes, the last great king of the Akkadians," he replied, his tone equally soft. Most who discovered this truth would have recoiled in fear.

"The more I learn, the more I realise how much I don't know," she said, contemplating the vastness of her ignorance.

"Albert Einstein," he answered without hesitation.

"I know I should be afraid, but I don't feel it—not right now. The only thing I want to uncover is the truth behind Mara's disappearance."
"She is alive—well hidden, but alive. If you want to save her, we must act fifteen days from now, during the ritual." He rose from the chair and walked over to the rose bushes. With a deft hand, he grabbed a pair of garden scissors nearby and effortlessly cut a stem, carefully dethorning the flower.

"How do you know that?" She stood as well, curiosity piqued by his actions.

"That's just how the blood cult operates. They must sacrifice someone every decade, preferably a young female," he sighed, a hint of weariness in his voice.

"The cult is as old as you."

"I'm older," he replied with a soft chuckle, handing her the dethorned rose.

As she accepted the flower, a warmth spread through her. She rose to her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, a gesture of gratitude and connection.

She chose not to ask any more questions about Mara. Perhaps tomorrow, but not tonight.