Chapter 1 #2
Quite simply, it is the fact that only blood born vampiresses, or vampiresses with noble blood, like Queen Temperance or myself, can procreate with other vampires in this way.
And there are not many blood born vampiresses of high ranking and blood left in our realm.
While vampires like my father or Wyatt Castor himself can mate with just about any species, the fruits of their seed will not survive until birth.
Only a vampiress of noble blood can seed the next generation of vampires.
Which is why it is considered treason for a queen like Temperance to carry the child of a man who is not her king or her mate.
My gaze drifts to her stomach, only for a second.
Though I had never met Wyatt or his family until this very moment, I knew enough about our rivals to know that queen Temperance had given birth three times, an anomaly among even the highest and purest of bloodlines in the realm.
And it dawns on me for the first time, in the most harshest of realities, that this is my fate.
This is why I’m being offered to Wyatt Castor—not just as a bridal pawn in an attempted truce, but as a suitable carrier for his offspring. To seed his kingdom and my own with an heir as a sign of unity and hope.
The panic hits me harder as my throat tightens along with my stomach at this delayed realization.
I’ve never even had sex before. With another person, I mean.
My father had gone into great detail to make sure my bloodlust hazes were supervised and controlled and the aids I used would not cause issue for my future mate.
I was allowed to feed—as preventing me from doing so would have been dangerous, especially during my bloodheat—and to hunt, but after I’d kissed a human I was feeding on, if there was even an inkling of arousal or desire in the air, my prey was removed and I was locked in my room with my bloodheat aids until the wave had passed.
I had never truly thought much of this, for in theory I understood the reasoning was to keep me pure for my fated mate. In the privacy of my own castle, in the solace of my own bed, I could pretend that was romantic and that such a thing would be a wonderful experience.
And maybe it was even a little arousing to think of in those hazes, whilst I was locked away.
I know I certainly fantasized about the idea of my future prince taking me to bed, all that blood and lust feeding us like starved humans.
But now, in the presence of Queen Temperance and Prince Wyatt himself, I find myself feeling rather conflicted.
My gaze drifts back to Wyatt and the images I’d once fantasized about push forth now that I know what he looks like.
For the past several years since I came into my first bloodheat—a transition which my powers can not take hold fully until I have claimed and bonded my mate—I have only fantasized about a shadow, a man without an identifiable face, save for the bright sapphire hue of his eyes.
The thoughts that brought me solace in my bloodlust were more of his touch, his body, and his inevitable fangs sinking into my skin.
The face did not matter. In fact, I think I preferred the anonymity of my fantasies.
Perhaps there was an arousing air of not knowing who this fated mate of mine would be—what he would look like, sound like.
He could have been anyone, and therefore, I could change the narrative to whatever I wished to suit my bloodheat haze.
But here, now… there is no denying Wyatt Castor; the beautiful prince who will lay claim to me in more ways than one, should this meeting go off the way my father intends.
Fate is on our side, Ivy.
At least, that is what I continue to tell myself, so I do not come undone like a thread at the idea of this fantastically gorgeous vampire sinking his teeth and cock into me like I’ve imagined in the fits of my bloodheat.
My insides twist at the very notion, and I have to push away the intrusive thought threatening to pull me under.
There will be a time and place for that. Focus on the task at hand. He hasn’t accepted you, yet. You’ve barely even looked at one another for goodness sake!
“Temperance.” My father addresses the queen with the same informality and disdain she bestowed upon him as we walked through the door.
Their tones are polite; regal and polished. But there is an edge, a judgment there that lies beneath the surface that makes me feel on edge. I’m sure to the average person, they would not detect such things and think their informality a sign of comfort. But I know better.
“I come to you today to introduce my daughter, Ivy Elara Reign.”
My father nods at the queen, and I have to remember to breathe and act accordingly. I bow, sucking in a breath as I greet her.
“Hello, Ivy.” She regards me with a politeness that is anything but warm. There is a melancholy to her voice that makes my heart ache. An understanding tone that is equally flayed with guilt and disdain.
She does not wish me to be here, and I do not blame her. How can I when I know my presence is like a slap in the face to her rule?
I wish I could say this made me angry, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes me sad. I feel for the queen in a way I know I shouldn’t.
“This is my son, Wyatt Cornelius Castor.” She nods to Wyatt, who looks as if he’s bored out of his skull. He makes no move to address me, just grunts out a sound that I’m not quite sure can be considered language at all.
The tension in the room is thick, and so I do the only thing I can think of to keep things from sliding off course.
I step forward, focusing my gaze on the Castorian prince as I channel all my teachings and etiquette, all the years of preparation.
His gaze drifts to me slowly, settling on my face, but his expression betrays no hint of emotion. It is cold, stoic, and calculating.
“Your majesty, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” he says, his voice just as sharp as his gaze. But there is an undeniable darkness in his tone. His voice is smooth and deep, like undulating waves begging to pull you under.
His words cut me, but I must remain vigilant.
I must appeal to his better nature, perhaps his sense of blood or his primal desire.
My powers are not fully-fledged due to the fact I have not claimed and bonded a mate yet, but I’ve enough understanding and ability to call upon my power of desire.
All vampires have this ability—to portray ourselves in a way that enables our prey to trust us. To want us.
And while it isn’t something vampires usually call upon in the presence of their own, it certainly happens, it’s just not something that is commonly discussed. Because the implications are rather unsettling.
Why would a vampire need to appear or take on the illusion of someone else if they have a mate?
“Wyatt, do not be so dramatic,” the queen bites. “Show the princess the respect she deserves.”
Wyatt twists his lips, turning his cerulean gaze on me and forces the most disingenuous smile I’ve ever seen.
It’s still hotter than it should be, because fuck if this vampire isn’t sex incarnate.
I hate that I find his disposition and his bitterness arousing—that I find him arousing in a way my dreams and fantasies could not do justice.
“My apologies, Ivy. Pleasure is all mine.” He sneers as he rises from his throne.
He takes two steps toward me, and I am frozen.
My legs feel numb and my heart beats in my chest like a drum as he stalks me, circling me like prey.
There is a heavy tension in the air and I am aware my father and the queen are watching us quite intently.
“Tell me, Ivy,” he bites, “about all the ways you are perfect for me. And don’t leave out any details.” His tone is accusatory and drips with arrogance, as if he truly believes I am somehow beneath him, and I can’t help but respond to his rudeness.
“You ask as if you yourself are flawless,” I say, meeting his gaze as he continues to circle me like a shark.
He scoffs at me. “I am. Flawless.”
He snaps at me with his fangs and though I want to jump, I don’t.
It takes all my concentration to stay positively still, unmoved by his attempt to intimidate me.
I can’t deny that the sight of his fangs—long, slender and glistening with saliva—and his proximity make my insides twist with delight in a way I’ve never felt before.
I’m confused by this contrasting feeling of desire and bitterness.
It’s like my brain and my body are on two different pages of a book I’ve barely started reading.
“I entered my father’s army—against his wishes of course—when I was fourteen. I graduated at the top of my class. I have spent the last seven years honing my skills as a hunter. Educating myself on war and alliances.” He licks his lips, and I watch as he stops in front of me.
“Then you must know that is why I am here,” I say carefully. “The Reign kingdom wishes to put war aside and form an equal alliance.” I purse my lips. “There are far more enemies out there who are a threat to us, Wyatt, than the ones you seem to think are in this room.”
I hear the queen’s slight chuckle, but it is short-lived as Wyatt lurches towards me, causing me to fall back and nearly stumble. His blue eyes blaze like the darkest, hottest parts of a fire.
Fire is our one true enemy. It is the only thing that can truly kill us; turning us into ash that we can never rise from.
As I look at Wyatt, I realize he is not sex incarnate. He is fire in its most vicious form.
“And why should I align with you?” The disdain and judgment in his voice is prevalent. Panic laces through me as I try to grasp onto the moment, but the way he is looking at me, sneering at me, I can not find it in myself to be polite and placate his bruised ego.
And so I say what I shouldn’t. I respond in a way that goes against my very upbringing.
I respond to his fire and not his title.
“Because your kingdom needs me. Your mother’s rule is tenuous at best, until she gives birth.
And if that child is not your father’s, your lineage and your throne will be questioned.
With all due respect, your highness,” I sneer back at him.
“You will have no throne to sit on if you do not accept my offer.”
Wyatt regards me with a steely gaze, a vicious smirk lacing his lips. His fangs glint in the low light and he appraises me as if I am an entertaining jester and not a princess here to help him and his kingdom.
“So she has teeth, after all.” He laughs, then pouts at me like I am a child.
“Pity you think so little of me, princess, when you are the one that needs me.” His gaze roves over my body, settling on my breasts before he meets my gaze.
“Or rather my cock, seeing as your kingdom lacks a male heir despite the fact your father has fucked half the bloody realm.”
Wyatt’s gaze drifts to my father and my cheeks heat with equal embarrassment and anger. I turn in angst to see my father who looks nonplussed.
“Your bloodline isn’t as strong as you think, your majesty.” He scoffs.
My father breathes a heavy sigh, but does not respond.
“Wyatt! Watch your tone—” the queen bites but Wyatt growls at her.
He advances on me once more, but this time I don’t stumble. I move forward an inch, meeting his gaze.
“It is you, Ivy, that needs me. Not the other way around. I do not need anyone. I am a prince. I am the sole heir to the Castorian throne, and I do not need a cunt to ensure my reign.” His breath is warm on my skin, his lips barely inches from mine.
“Are you rejecting me?” I ask, my voice shaky. “Are you really going to stand here and condemn your mother and your kingdom because of your pride, Wyatt?”
He grunts, his hand rushing out to grab my throat. But I do not relent, I can’t. For Wyatt Castor brings out something inside of me that I’ve never known existed.
A monster.
“Or is your cock just that inadequate that you’d rather fuck your fist for the rest of your life rather than a mate who can give you the heir your kingdom needs to sustain itself?”
His grip tightens as he spits in my face.
“I don’t need your cunt, Ivy. I don’t need you, or anyone, to rule this kingdom.
I will do it myself.”
He presses tightly against my throat, and I struggle to breathe. My mind is a mess as I try to gasp for air, as my thighs become slick and my fangs ache to bite him.
“Wyatt, do not be stupid!” the queen bites. “You can not do this on your own, you can’t—”
Wyatt throws me like I am nothing—like I am a sack of flour and not a person.
I fall to the ground, catching my breath, expecting my father to come to my aid, but he doesn’t. He remains ever still.
“I have had enough of your reign,” he sneers at his mother. “It ends here. Now.”
“Wyatt, you do not know what you are doing. Your rejection will condemn us.”
Wyatt steps toward me as I grasp my throat, coughing as I regain my senses. I look up at him with fury. How dare he treat me like this. How dare he reject me.
I’ve heard plenty of tales of rejection in my life.
Tales of fate shunned. In most cases, the rejected would find themselves incapacitated by grief and shame; the air of rejection a sting that cuts so deep into oneself, that coming back from said darkness is like scaling a mountain without equipment.
Rejection can kill a vampire if it is deep enough of a cut.
But when I look at Wyatt Castor, standing above me with that wicked sneer on his face, as if he is above me in all aspects, as if I am truly nothing to him but a hole to fill and an object standing in his way.
I do not feel sadness or even guilt at his rejection, though I am sure I will feel it later.
But right now, all I feel is anger and shame mixed with fury and anxiety.
Because I know without a doubt he is rejecting me. And though he hasn’t said the words yet, I know they are coming, and once they are uttered, there is no going back. Our kingdoms will suffer all because of him. Because of his selfishness.
“If your child was truly my father’s, you would not need my bonding to keep you safe,” he says coldly.
“And if this was truly about alliance, Ivy—” He looks down at me where I sit.
“You’d be in tears right now, shaking from the idea that I don’t desire you because that is all you’re really offering me.
You have nothing to offer me other than your bloody cunt.
I am a prince. Not a fucking stud to breed. ”
Wyatt looks at me with that unsettling, beautiful wickedness that makes my insides and my fangs ache.
“I reject you, Ivy Elara Reigh. I reject your cunt, your kingdom, and your alliance.”