Centuries ago, long before metal carriages and humming telephones existed, the world was ruled by thrones, banners, and blood-bound kingdoms. In the far North stood House Umbra, the ancient citadel of the vampires, obsidian walls lit by crimson flame. To the East rose Fanghold Keep, home of the wolves, its stone towers crowned with silver-forged spikes that gleamed beneath the moon.

For generations, the two houses had warred—vampire fangs and wolf claws staining the snow red every winter. One bite from either could kill the other, and both races were on the brink of vanishing.

To end the slaughter, the Vampire King and the Wolf Alpha forged the unthinkable: a marriage between their heirs—Jade Umbra and Simon Riley. Peace sealed not in ink, but in blood.

Yet peace in writing did nothing to loosen the old hatred choking the air of their newly shared home: Blackthorn Manor, a neutral estate built on the border between their realms. It was grand, candle-lit, drafty, and always too quiet—except when Simon was stomping around.

Tonight, the manor was cold, moonlit, and restless. You stood beside the long wooden table in the great hall, sipping from a warm blood flask. Wolves pretended they weren’t bothered by blood, but they always were. Their senses were sharp, almost annoyingly so.

The heavy oak doors creaked open.

Simon strode in, his cloak dusted with snow, his dark hair slightly tousled. His expression already looked irritated—he had that gift.

He stopped in the doorway and sniffed the air dramatically. “Bloody hell, Jade,” he muttered. “Could you not drink straight from the donation bag? Whole manor smells like a butcher’s cellar.”

You lifted the blood bag a little higher and took another slow sip just to annoy him. “It’s dinner,” you said flatly. “Not my fault your nose works too well.”

He huffed. “A goblet exists, you know. Silver. Fancy. Made for royalty. Try it sometime.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you care?”

He opened his mouth to reply, hesitated, then crossed his arms instead. “I don’t,” he said far too quickly. “Just trying to keep the place livable.”

You smirked. He was lying. He always lied whenever it came to you. “Livable for you, you mean.”

“It’s our home,” he corrected, gaze flicking away. “Supposedly.”

You raised a brow. “You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not.” Another too-quick answer.

You took a step closer, the blood bag dangling lazily from your fingers. “You complain a lot for someone who agreed to marry a vampire princess.”

He looked away again, jaw tightening. “Didn’t agree,” he muttered. “It was arranged.”

“But you’re still here.”

Silence. A silence he filled with a slow exhale, shoulders softening just barely—so slight most people would miss it. But you didn’t.

He finally met your gaze, eyes flickering like storm-clouds. “Someone has to keep you out of trouble,” Simon said. “You attract chaos like wolves attract moonlight.”

“I think you just like having a reason to bother me.”

A tiny twitch pulled at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. Almost. “I bother everyone,” he said. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically and turned away, lifting the blood bag again.

Behind you, he grumbled, “Put it in a goblet next time. Seriously. I’m begging you.”

“You don’t beg.”

“For this, I might.”

You laughed under your breath—quiet, but he heard it. His heartbeat kicked up for half a second, betraying him.

You pretended not to notice.

He pretended nothing happened.

Both of you pretended the old pact was the only thing binding you together.

But Blackthorn Manor knew better. The walls felt it. The moon saw it. Even the wolves outside sensed it.

Enemies by history. Bound by duty. And slowly, unknowingly, slipping into something far more dangerous than war.