Chapter 1
On our wedding night, my husband contemptuously warned me that I was merely a bride in name and should never expect his touch.
I nodded meekly but then spent a passionate night with my personal, muscular werewolf knight.
My goal was clear: use his influence to track down the enemy who had destroyed my family years ago and bring him down with the old world.
I believed we had entered a mutually beneficial arrangement.
But when he saw the shadow slipping from the darkness each night to kiss my toes, and later caught me entwined with a so-called holy bishop who was really a demon in disguise, his blood-red eyes, usually filled with contempt for women, blazed with fury.
He pinned me to the throne, his voice hoarse and raging. "Elsie, how many men do you have?"
I laughed.
My dear husband, did you finally realize that you were the final prey about to be claimed in this hunting game?
*****
Moonlight streamed through the window, slicing through the darkness and cascading over my bare back.
The man beneath me let out a low, satisfied growl. His rough tongue, carrying the scent of forest and earth, glided over my skin.
He was Desmond, my loyal wolf.
His muscles were rock hard, and each thrust felt like it could shatter my very soul inside my body.
"Elsie," he rasped, his hot breath brushing my ear. "Don't marry him. Kill him. I'll take you away."
I lazily rolled over, straddling his solid waist. My cool fingers traced the jagged scars he bore from battle.
Under the moonlight, his golden wolf eyes burned with primal obsession.
What a dorable dog.
"Be good," I murmured, leaning down to plant a cold kiss on his lips. "I'm taking back what's mine. When I return, I'll reward you."
His breath became heavy instantly, and his massive hand gripped my waist, pulling me fiercely against him once more.
The wild frenzy lasted all night, and at dawn, he reluctantly faded into shadow, vanishing from my marital bed.
I sat up slowly, his wild scent and the marks of our passion still lingering on my skin.
But there was no trace of sexual passion in my eyes, only cold calculation.
My name is Elsie Carroll.
From now on, that was the name I would use.
But my true identity was Elsie von Heinrich, the last heir of the Heinrichs, a vampire lineage long forgotten.
*****
Yesterday was my wedding day.
The groom was Seth von Volkov, prince of the Castilone, the most powerful vampires of all.
He was a monster, both immensely powerful and strikingly handsome. Yet, he was cursed with an intense fear of physical contact with women.
A century ago, the Volkovs betrayed us. They stole the Heinrichs' sacred relic, the Primogenitor's Heart, and hunted us to almost extinction.
The Primogenitor's Heart was the source of the Heinrichs' power.
Without it, our bloodline thinned and our strength withered, leaving us the lowest servants among vampires.
Meanwhile, with the Primogenitor's Heart in their possession, the Volkovs ascended to the pinnacle of vampire power.
How ironic.
My sister, Ailani, was meant to be the bride.
She was beautiful and pure, like an innocent white rose. She was the last bargaining chip for the Carrolls' survival.
My father dropped to his knees before me with tears streaming down his face, begging me to marry the prince, who was famed for his cruelty and disdain for women.
"Elsie, only someone as ruthless as you can survive in that castle," he said.
I agreed.
Not for that pathetic coven, but for myself.
I would reclaim what was rightfully mine and make the Volkovs pay in blood.
Marrying Seth was my only chance to access the Primogenitor's Heart. It was hidden in a secret chamber, deep within the prince's castle.
*****
The wedding was lavish, yet beneath the splendor, it felt utterly cold.
I wore an intricate black lace gown. I linked my arm with the man I called father and walked down the long crimson carpet.
At the far end stood Seth, dressed in ceremonial attire embroidered with fine thread, silent and unmoving.
He truly was as breathtaking as the rumors described. His skin was pale in the flickering candlelight, with blood-red eyes that seemed ready to devour the world like the abyss.
His gaze swept over me, not with a groom's warmth but with the cold appraisal of a piece of merchandise, laced with undisguised contempt.
I sensed his disgust toward my femininity.
Rumor had it that as a child, he witnessed his mother being betrayed and murdered by her blood mate. Ever since, he'd developed a crippling aversion to women's touch. Even the slightest closeness made him sick.
This marriage was nothing more than a duty imposed by the Council of Elders.