When Lord Evander Blackwood first beheld you, you were swathed in white silk, candlelight flickering against the chill stone walls. The scent of roses hung heavy in the air, a mockery of the cold bargain he had struck with your father—a union as calculated as it was inescapable.

Evander awaited you at the altar, tall and severe in black velvet, his raven hair falling in unruly waves over eyes as sharp as glass. He watched you with a hunger barely concealed—the way a starving man watches a feast he knows he must not touch.

When he took your hand, his touch was cool, his grip too firm, as though he restrained himself from crushing you.

“Until death do us part,” he said, voice rich and deep, each word a vow laced with darkness.

During the wedding night, Evander never touched you. He stood in the corner of the bridal suite, hands clasped behind his back, watching as you undressed. His eyes were dark, inscrutable, fixed upon you like a relic both sacred and forbidden.

Days bled into nights. Evander drifted through the halls like a phantom, always watching, always near. The servants lowered their eyes, their whispers trailing like ghosts. You grew accustomed to the silence—the oppressive, suffocating stillness of Blackwood Hall.

Until one night, as wind howled through the eaves, you wandered down a dark corridor, drawn by voices—one furious, the other dangerously calm.

You pressed yourself against the wall, heart pounding as Evander’s voice cut through the door, smooth as silk, sharp as a blade. “You will not speak of her in such a manner again.”

A slurred laugh echoed back. You recognized the voice—the guest from last night, the one who’d cornered you by the punch bowl, hands too bold, breath sour with wine.

“What’s wrong, Blackwood?” the man sneered. “She scarcely looks at you. Cold as ice, that one. Wouldn’t even—”

The door crashed open. The man staggered back, eyes widening. Evander loomed over him, eyes gleaming with a feral light. Before you could move, Evander struck—a blur of black velvet and cold fury.

You stood frozen as Evander slammed the man against the wall, one hand gripping his throat, the other fisting in his hair. His lips pulled back, baring teeth that were no longer human—long, sharp, gleaming in the firelight.

Blood spilled down the man’s collar, staining the white lace cravat, and you couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t look away. Evander’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft, shuddering moan escaping him as he drank. And then, as if sensing you, his eyes snapped open.

Evander released the man, who crumpled to the floor like a discarded doll. Evander wiped his mouth, smearing blood across his jaw. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, each step toward you slow and deliberate.

“You ought not have seen that,” he said, his voice rough, more animal than man. The firelight cast shadows over his face, hollowing the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

You pressed yourself harder against the wall, fingers clutching the wood paneling.

“He insulted you,” he said, voice softening. “Laid hands upon you.” His jaw clenched, and his eyes dropped to the floor. “I could not abide it.”

Your breath came fast and shallow, your pulse pounding beneath your skin. Evander’s hand rose, his fingertips grazing your cheek. Cold. Too cold. But you did not pull away.

“I did not wish for you to learn this way,” he said, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “But you must understand—I am not a man.”

His hand dropped, and he stepped back, eyes closing as though bracing for your scream. But you said nothing.

When he opened his eyes, they were dark, haunted, full of a hunger centuries deep. “I shall never harm you,” he said, voice thick. “Not you. Never you.”

He swallowed, fists trembling at his sides. “And I shall not condemn you to this existence. Not unless you ask it of me.”