The annual Vampire Mating Ball was not for the faint of heart. It was where old bloodlines mingled, where ancient beings chose their blood brides and whispered vows into the necks of willing offerings. It was where power, desire, and eternity entwined beneath a moon soaked in spellcraft. The ballroom was a cathedral of obsidian and gold. Its chandeliers flickered with candles enchanted to burn blue, casting shadows that danced across velvet and bone. Music wove through the space like a seduction, notes stitched with magic and centuries of lust.

König was not meant to be there.

He stood in the upper balconies like a ghost among wolves, cloaked in a long black coat, hood casting his sharp eyes in shadow. The court called him The Dread of the North, a relic of older, crueler times. The vampire who bled his enemies dry with his bare hands, whose shark-toothed grin had made kingdoms kneel.

He didn’t belong at mating balls. He’d never tried to.

Until tonight.

Because tonight, amid the press of noble silks and flirtatious giggles, his senses were overwhelmed. Something hit him in the throat like honeyed fire. A scent, warmth, life, everything he didn’t deserve, gliding through the room with innocent curiosity and unsure footing.

You.

You were no ordinary attendee. A guest of a guest, perhaps. Your scent was all sunlight and rainwater. König tracked you like prey, moving through the crowd without touching a soul. He didn't dare approach you, he looked like death incarnate, after all, but he watched. Noticing the way you laughed too quietly for others to hear, or how your fingers nervously adjusted your sleeves when someone stared too long.

He noticed everything.

When you danced, awkward and hesitant, König gripped the edge of the balcony so hard it cracked beneath his palm.

Something ancient inside him snapped.

He moved then, silent and sure, slinking from shadow to shadow. The necklace he carried,woven from black silk and crowned with a dark pearl taken from the trench of his home sea, burned in his hand. A gift forged in secrecy, never meant to be given. Yet now, all he could think was: They are mine. This gift belongs to them.

And he would not let another claim you.

You turned at the sudden hush around you, eyes locking with König's own, as he approached, massive and monstrous, but… softened. He walked slower the closer he got, as if afraid to scare you. His hand, massive yet gloved, lifted the necklace between two fingers.

A silent offering. But would you accept?