C H R I S T I E

Two weeks earlier...

A thunderstorm cracked open the sky above vampire city of Port Cressida. 

I pressed my forehead to the cold pane of my childhood bedroom, breath fogging the glass. Beyond the rain-streaked window, lightning forked across the rooftops—slick slate and steep gables glistening like black glass. The old town below unfurled in elegant rows of brownstone houses, their wrought-iron balconies gleaming slick with rain. Bay windows flickered with candlelight and chandeliers, softened behind lace curtains, while tall chimneys rose like sentinels into the storm. Lightning flared, casting the city in a flash of silver-blue, and the spires of the cathedral loomed beyond—gothic, grand, and utterly unyielding.

I couldn't do this.

I couldn't marry Rudolph.

He wasn't my mate.

He wasn't my Jacques.

I rose from the window seat, my legs stiff and cold. The heavy folds of my wedding skirt tangled around my ankles, and I kicked them aside in frustration. I needed to move. To pace. To think.

But thinking only made it worse.

I had been engaged to Prince Rudolph for two years. The arrangement had been brokered by my parents who were giddy at the prospect of marrying their daughter into royalty. I was eighteen when they told me that I would be his bride.

I tried to make peace with it. I tried to be the daughter they wanted...dutiful, composed, and grateful. But that illusion shattered at my engagement party.

I had wandered off in search of my mother and instead found Rudolph in the servants' hallway, his hands all over the kitchen maid. Her apron was hitched up. His pants were undone. Neither of them looked even remotely surprised to see me.

That was the moment I understood exactly what this marriage would be.

It would never be a love match.

Rudolph didn't want a wife. He wanted a dowry. Access to my family fortune. My parents were all to happy to hand over their wealth in exchange for a seat at court they could never earn on their own.

I was just a pawn on a board I never agreed to play.

My breath hitched. My hands shook. I paced the room, pushing damp auburn strands from my face.

Breathe, Christie. Just breathe.

The door flew open. My mother swept in, all smiles and perfume in her lemon-yellow mother-of-the-bride suit, humming like this was a summer picnic.

"The wedding car is waiting," she trilled, then paused, narrowing her eyes at me. "Have you been crying again?"

I almost laughed. I had no more tears left to cry inside me. My heart was already stone—cold and dead from every dream they'd shattered.

"I can't do this," I said—not for the first time tonight.

My mother rolled her eyes. "Yes, you can. After tonight, you'll be a duchess." Her voice was so bright it burned. "You'll be part of the royal court. Think of it, Christie."

"I'd rather sell myself in the Silver Taverns than marry that monster," I whispered, my voice cracking.

Her expression sharpened. "You're thinking about that ridiculous penniless boy again, aren't you?"

"Jacques is ten times the man Rudolph will ever be," I snapped.

"And yet he had no money," she shot back. "Honestly, Christie. A few sweet words and a crooked smile, and suddenly you forget you're engaged to a prince. Jacques has no title, no inheritance, no family worth mentioning. He's entirely unsuitable for someone of your standing."

"I love him."

She scoffed. "Love is not enough. Not in our world. Rudolph will keep you safe. He'll protect you."

"I'll never forgive you for making me marry him."

Her grip tightened around my wrist. "Do you have any idea what we sacrificed to secure this match?" she hissed.

She yanked me into the hallway, dragging me down the stairs as the train of my dress caught on every step.

"Rudolph is cousin to the King. You'll live in the palace. You'll have a life most young vampires in Port Cressida could only dream of."

My father stood waiting in the foyer, umbrella in hand, face like stone. Two large security guards flanked him, each one built like a wall in a black suit.

They didn't look at me with sympathy. Just duty.

I wasn't trusted to walk to the car on my own.

The guards stepped forward, each taking an arm. Their grip was firm—polite in a way that didn't allow protest. My gown swished uselessly around my feet as I was guided out the front door like a prisoner headed to execution.

Cold rain greeted me the moment we stepped outside. The wind snatched at my veil, and droplets pattered against my bare arms. I kept my head down, jaw clenched.

The car waited at the curb like a trap with its door yawning open.

I was ushered in and slid across the leather seat, my skirts ballooning around me. My mother climbed in after, patting her curls into place beneath her hat. My father followed, slamming the door behind him.

Silence fell like a stone.

Then my father glanced at me and sneered. "At least try to look happy. You look like you're on your way to a damn funeral."

Rain bled down the windows, turning the outside world into a blur of grey and gold. The city beyond looked soft, dreamlike, untouchable.

And I sat there between them, dressed like a bride, feeling nothing like a girl about to be married.

My mother sighed, staring out at the storm. "If this wretched weather hadn't come, the streets would be lined with people cheering for us."

I leaned my head back against the car seat, every instinct screaming at me to run.

I wish Jacques would come for me.

For a moment, my dead heart stirred.

Then the cold settled in again.

Jacques had disappeared weeks ago, just after the King told us he couldn't dissolve the engagement. I knew Jacques had wanted to stay. He had tried. But how could he watch me marry someone else?

A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it.

He'd wanted to marry me. He'd looked me in the eye and said it. And for a little while, I had believed we could make it happen. That wanting each other might be enough.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," my mother snapped, swiping at my face with a tissue. "You're ruining your mascara!"

But I couldn't stop. Not when I thought of Jacques. Of what we almost had.

The car pulled up to the cathedral steps.

The guards dragged me out, half-carrying me through the downpour. My heels slipped on the stone. My body balked, refusing to move.

He's out there somewhere, I told myself. Riding his motorcycle through the rain. Thinking of me. Maybe.

A hard shove to my spine jolted me forward. I stumbled up the steps.

At the top, my groom, Prince Rudolph waited like a statue carved from cruelty and ice—blonde hair slicked back, silver eyes cold, jaw tight.

He looked about as thrilled as I felt.

My mother squealed beside me. "Oh, just look at him! So regal."

My father chuckled nervously. "Your Highness, is something wrong?"

"There is," Rudolph snapped. "The money. Where is it? I'm not walking into that church until I see payment."

My father fumbled with his phone. "I have the transfer ready. Once the papers are signed, the dowry will go straight into your account."

"I want half now," Rudolph said coolly. "And an extra twenty percent."

My father went pale. His fingers twitched at his collar. "Your Highness, with all due respect, we had an agreement."

Rudolph sneered. "We did. Then I saw your daughter trundling up the steps and thought—if I'm marrying a wildebeest, I deserve proper compensation."

The words hit harder than any punch.

Rudolph hated my body. He hated my soft curves, my full breasts, the plushness of my skin. He wanted someone lithe and willowy.

Not me.

Never me.

My father fidgeted, trying for his best salesman smile. "While I understand my daughter isn't... conventionally attractive, her hips are well-suited for bearing sons."

Rudolph curled his lip. "Half the money now. And twenty percent extra. Anything less, I walk."

My father's Adam's apple bobbed. "Very well, Your Highness."

He tapped at his phone with shaking fingers. A moment later, Rudolph's lips twisted into a smile.

"Let's get this over with," he said, vanishing into the church.

My father stared at his screen, hands still trembling.

"This will bankrupt us," he muttered.

"Think of the connections we'll gain once she's part of the royal court," my mother whispered. "We'll rebuild. We always do."

My father nodded, then took my arm. "Come on, girl. Time to marry the prince."

I looked up at the cathedral's massive oak doors, flanked by twin marble angels. Once they opened, once the music played—there would be no escape.

I turned, one last time, scanning the empty street behind me.

No one was coming to help me.

No miracle.

No Jacques.

The organ swelled inside.

The doors opened.

My mother yanked my veil over my face. "Stop snivelling," she hissed. "You'll ruin your makeup."

My father yanked me forward, and I followed, feeling deader inside with every step. Beyond the cathedral doors, rows of pale, unreadable faces turned to watch.

I couldn't breathe.

"I can't do this," I whispered, faltering.

My father's grip tightened like a vice. He jerked me forward, and I lost my footing—crashing to my knees on the marble floor.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

"You stupid, fat cow," my father hissed, barely moving his lips.

My palms stung. My dress crumpled beneath me. My cheeks burned under a thousand judging eyes.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. My throat locked like a fist had curled around it.

Then—the lights flickered.

And went out.

A hiss of shock rippled through the congregation. Then—the lights died.

Total darkness fell like a shroud across the entire congregation.

Gasps echoed off marble. Chairs scraped. Someone cried out. My father's grip on my arm loosened.

He couldn't see as well in the dark.

But I could.

I wrenched free and panic cry escaped from his throat.

"Get back here," he hissed, grabbing my ankle.

I twisted, kicked—felt the sick crack of my heel against his wrist. He grunted and fell back.

I crawled, lungs burning, heart hammering like a trapped bird in a ribcage too tight. My hands snagged on tulle. My corset dug into my spine. Layers of satin tangled around my knees like chains.

Around me, confusion bloomed.

"Christie!" my father bellowed. "Get back here, now!"

"Get the lights back on!" Rudolph roared. "Now!"

But I was already moving. Half-scrambling, half-dragging myself through the aisle on hands and knees, shoving the dress out of the way.

Somewhere up ahead were the cathedral doors. The rain. The street. The world.

Freedom.

My skirt bunched. I fought it, yanking the poofy fabric up in both fists as I staggered upright.

Then a shape loomed in front of me.

Tall. Pale. Eyes like cold silver knives.

Rudolph.

He stepped out in front of me, blocking my exit.

"Where do you think you are going?" he growled, grabbing my wrist hard enough to bruise.

The lights blazed back on.

And a voice, dark and furious, yelled behind me.

"Let her go."

The temperature in the room dropped a degree.

Rudolph flinched like he'd been slapped. His face went bone-white. "No," he hissed. "You can't be here. The King forbade it. The girl belongs to me—"

A fist flew over my shoulder and slammed into his nose with a wet, satisfying crunch.

Rudolph reeled backward, blood gushing down his chin. He let go of me with a strangled shriek, hands clutching his face.

Red splattered across my dress like war paint.

"You shouldn't touch what doesn't belong to you," the voice said—low, lethal, calm.

I turned, breath caught in my throat.

"Jacques?" I whispered.

He was standing behind me, breathing hard. His leather jacket clung to his shoulders, rain-speckled and rumpled from the ride. His wild brown curls fell into eyes that danced with mischief and murder. A smirk tugged at his lips as he casually wiped his bloodied knuckles on his jeans, then dragged a hand through his messy hair.

Calm. Effortless. Irresistibly rogue.

Tan skin, wolfish grin, eyes that looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.

He made chaos feel like safety.

I reached up and touched his jaw, stubble scraping my fingers. Real. Solid. Mine.

"You're here," I breathed.

His smile tilted wider. He tapped my nose like he used to. "Told you I'd come."

Then his voice dropped lower, playful and dangerous.

"Now let's blow this circus."

*****