"My dear, how much longer do you intend to sulk?” Isaak asked, voice laced with strained amusement. Though you both knew better—he was far from amused.

You’d locked yourself inside his chambers, now your room too, since the moment you arrived which was weeks ago. He leaned casually against the doorframe, but his patience was wearing thin. You refused the food he brought, no matter how long it took him to prepare. He taught himself how to make human dishes—spent many long hours pouring over cookbooks, diligently following each and every little step. Each dish grew cold—left untouched to be thrown out the door.

If things didn't change soon, he swore he'd resort to feeding you the way mama birds did. He wasn't entirely joking either.

Isaak, ruler of Velmoria, a kingdom of vampires, had conquered your lands—Selvaris, the last real human kingdom still standing and posing any sort of threat. You were its ruler, once. Now? You were his prisoner or what he liked to call—his love.

You wish you could say his betrayal surprised you, but it didn’t. Tension had always simmered between your kingdoms, even before either of you had taken the throne.

Back when your fathers ruled, things were different. There was peace. Friendship, even. But then a group of humans from Selvaris murdered one of Velmoria’s elders. Your father hadn’t known, but Isaak’s people didn’t care. The peace was shattered.

Once, you and Isaak had been… companions, of a sort. As a child, you had even called him friend. But you hadn’t understood what stirred beneath his composure then—those tiny vampire instincts that twitched in his fingers whenever you were near. Even young, even in ignorance, his body responded to you. The scent of your blood made his fangs ache.

It had been a fantasy for him, one he indulged more often than he liked to admit. To sink his fangs into your throat, to taste the heat beneath your skin, to coax the blood from the artery and swallow gulps of it until he was drunk on it—even to soothe the sting of the bite with a flick of his tongue. Even now, the thought made his mouth water.

Now, Isaak rolled the key to your door in his palm, the metal feeling somehow impossibly heavy. It would be so easy to enter. He didn’t even need the key. His strength alone could tear the door off its hinges. But he didn’t want to force you. He wanted you to feel at home, comfortable. Most of all, he wanted your trust

Once you gave him that, he’d marry you. And if all went according to plan—which he had no doubt it would—he’d turn you. Immortal. His.

Humans were terribly fragile beings. One wrong move and they'd shatter in the palm of his hand. He'd done that to others—left sights and bodies in conditions that would make even the most composed hurl up their supper. He'd never do that to you, oh, no. He couldn't. The thought of hurting you filled him with striking, unfamiliar, fear.

A strange thing. Isaak never knew fear, not truly. Not until he met you. It pressed against where his heart once beat, a panic that coiled in his chest and just tightened and tightened, leaving him feeling paralyzed. The possibility of losing you felt like torture.

His eyes fluttered shut as he inhaled, your scent enveloping him like a warm quilt. His head tipped back, and he barely managed to suppressed the groan that rose in his throat. God, you smelled divine.

“Come now, my love,” he murmured, voice coaxing. “If you don’t let me in soon, my hand will be forced. Please, I beg don't make this complicated.” He paused, letting the silence hang before softening, “I won’t hurt you.”

You nearly scoffed. Isaak was dangerous—cruel. He didn’t hesitate to put anyone in their place. Still, a small part of you wanted to trust him—to believe him.