Chapter 1
On the night of the full moon, I, a male vampire, married into the werewolf pack wearing a black veil.
My groom-to-be, Carl, sneered in front of everyone. "I'd rather die than touch a man."
I sighed and lifted the veil, only to hear the sound of shattering glass.
Before I could react, he hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me straight into the bridal chamber.
"Didn't you say you wouldn't touch me?" I asked.
He bit down on my button, voice rough. "That was before I met you."
*****
On the night of the full moon, I stood before the werewolf altar, black veil covering my face, waiting to marry another man.
My name is Cynthia, the useless one among vampire nobility. I can't fight, can't hunt, can't even charm people. My only talent is baking cakes.
Below the platform, the wolves muttered among themselves—probably things like, "Why is it a guy?"
But in a situation like this, I could hardly bake a cake on the spot to shut them up.
Father said this was a diplomatic marriage. I had to go through with it.
I sighed and waited for the ceremony to begin.
The elder recited a string of vows. Something about peace between the two races, never betraying each other, the usual script—then turned to Carl, my groom-to-be, "Carl, do you accept this vampire, Cynthia Van Herbert, as your mate?"
The scene went quiet.
Through the thick black veil, I could only make out a silhouette. Tall. His arms were crossed, and he didn't look willing.
"Me?" He spoke, scoffing. "I'd rather die than touch a man."
The crowd exploded.
The wolves doubled over laughing. Some slapped their thighs, others punched each other's shoulders, and a few even spat out their drinks.
My face burned. My fingers twisted together under the veil.
I'd expected this, really. A man marrying another man. It was absurd.
A warrior of the werewolf pack, willingly marrying a male vampire? It was an insult to their pride.
Forget it. I knew it wouldn't work.
I took a deep breath and lifted the veil.
The moment moonlight touched my face, the noise around me cut off like someone had flipped a switch.
All the laughter, the jeering, the heckling gone. The square, packed with hundreds of people, went so quiet you could hear the wind from the distant plains.
I was about to say "let's just call it off," but before I could open my mouth—
Crash.
Someone's glass hit the ground.
Then came a few more sharp cracks. Several werewolves dropped their cups, wine splashing everywhere.
Someone choked on their drink, coughing violently.
Before I could process what was happening, I looked up and met Carl's eyes.
Those amber eyes had completely changed.
He stared at me, his throat bobbing, like a wolf that hadn't eaten in three days suddenly spotting fresh meat.
My heart dropped.
No way. Even if he hated me, he couldn't hate me this much.
He's not going to eat me, is he?
I instinctively stepped back, but he grabbed my wrist.
"Continue the ceremony," he said.
He turned to the stunned officiant. "What's next? Do I kiss my bride?"
Before I could react, he leaned down, bringing with him the wild scent of a wolf, and kissed me.
I froze completely, mind blank, body stiff.
The next second, the world spun. Carl hoisted me over his shoulder, ignoring the gasps behind us, and strode toward the manor.
"You!" I clung to his shoulder, panicking. "Didn't you just say—"
He walked faster.
I landed on the bed in the bridal chamber.
The mattress was soft. I bounced twice. Before I could sit up, he was on top of me.
One hand braced beside my ear, his large frame casting me entirely in shadow. There was nowhere to run.
His breath was scorching against my skin. Every hair on my body stood on end.
"You—you said you wouldn't touch a man." My voice shook.
He didn't answer.
He bit down on the first button of my collar.
The thread snapped with a tug.
The button landed on his tongue. He tilted his head and spat it out. "That was before I met you."
My brain completely short-circuited.
He used his mouth to undo the buttons. The second, the third... his teeth grazed my skin now and then. It didn't hurt, but it tickled unbearably.
I tried to push him away, but he pinned my wrists above my head with one hand. I couldn't move.
"Wait—just wait—" I was panicked.
"Can't wait." His voice was low and rough against my collarbone.
"I'm scared."
I really was scared. I'd lived over three hundred years and had never been this vulnerable with anyone. I was nervous. More than that, I was embarrassed. And he was a man.
He suddenly laughed, then reached for the wine glass on the table and brought it to my lips.
"Drink. Relax."
I went quiet.
"Good boy."
*****
Upstairs.
Sephus leaned back in his armchair, long fingers holding a crystal glass, swirling the wine inside.
Behind him, his subordinate's voice carried worry. "Mr. Carl... he wouldn't be charmed by that vampire, would he? I heard vampires are best at bewitching people. What if that little bloodsucker means harm."
Moonlight illuminated his profile: sharp, cold. His silver-gray eyes held a layer of frost.
He set the empty glass on the windowsill.
"If that vampire means Carl any harm—" he said.
His long fingers traced the rim of the glass slowly, producing a faint hum.
"I'll kill him myself."
*****
The next morning, I woke to kisses.
My entire face had been kissed: forehead, eyelids, nose, cheeks, chin. Not a single spot spared.
I pushed at him, but he caught my hand.
Carl leaned down and bit my lip.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning." I wasn't fully awake yet. I could barely open my eyes.
He buried his face in my neck, nuzzling.
"You're heavy."
"Mm."
He said, "Mm," but didn't move.
I pushed at his shoulder. He didn't budge.
The difference in strength between a werewolf and a vampire was painfully clear in that moment.
Eventually, he got up on his own.
"I'm taking you to the market today." He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a set of clothes.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Werewolf clothes." He dug out a belt and a pair of boots. "Those flimsy things you wear will make you cold."
"Vampires don't get cold."