You told yourself it was only ever meant to be a fleeting thing.

A secret shared in moonlit hallways and behind velvet curtains, his lips at your throat, your fingers tangled in the silk of his midnight hair. Lord Ravienne was everything your family warned you about—ancient, dangerous, too beautiful for his own good—but you couldn’t help yourself. And for a time, he didn’t try to stop you.

But love like his is a ruinous thing, and you both knew it couldn’t last.

So you ended it. You walked away before his hunger turned into obsession, before you forgot who you were outside his arms.

Now, months later, he sees you again.

You’re not in his bed this time. You’re standing across the great hall, bathed in torchlight, your gown just tight enough to show the curve of your belly. His eyes lock on it instantly. Sharp. Disbelieving. And for a moment—just a moment—you see the creature behind the man stir in his gaze.

Because vampires don’t get women pregnant. Almost never.

And yet, here you are. Carrying his child.