The night was cold, but it did not touch her. She was a half-vampire, after all. Even as a half-blood, her lineage was stronger than that of an ordinary vampire.
That was why they all came—flocking like swarms to marry her. But what she couldn't understand was the prince of Brookewood. Why would he set such a trap for her? And more importantly, why had she fallen for it?
And Dante... Why did staying away from him hurt her so much? Was this what it felt like with the mountain spirit—a feeling you couldn't resist?
She fumed and leapt into the woods—thick, dark, and full of crawling mist. It was cold. It was dangerous. It was like the shadows. Like him. Everything screamed at her to retreat.
But she feared nothing.
Margaret tore the hem of her dress, revealing her pale, blemish-free legs. The gown was made entirely of silk and cotton, easy to move in.
Her boots sank into the soft ground as she crouched low. Her grip on the sword tightened, and her eyes narrowed.
She had sensed it from afar—the scent of human blood.
When she was little, she couldn't resist the smell of an injured mammal. Her mother had been worried. So had her father. That was why she drank from the palace blood bank—the blood the humans had given willingly.
A single cup was enough for a day back then. But as she grew, it wasn't enough. It became an addiction. Still, it didn't satisfy her.
She craved something more—fresh human blood. Directly from the source.
And when she was upset, her hunger always worsened.
She rarely got angry. But now, everything had changed.
Now she was starving.
Her fangs slid out as she walked slowly toward her prey. Her eyes had turned blood-red, and she was no longer herself.
The scent was too intoxicating to resist.
Then she spotted her target—a human hunter. A frail man, setting his trap at night. But what was he doing this close to the castle, at such an hour, when vampires roamed?
She gulped. The hunger took over all her senses.
And then… she leaped and growled.
The man turned, horror flashing across his face. He stumbled back and fell to the ground, seeming to beg for his life.
But before Margaret could pounce, a dark cloud of dust blasted her away.
She hit the ground hard and winced from the pain.
The hunter saw his chance—and ran.
Cough, cough…
Margaret pushed herself up. Her eyes shifted back to normal, and she looked up, her lips twitching slightly.
Then he came.
He stepped out like a creature of the dark. Dressed in black trousers and a long black coat that brushed the ground. His dark hair was slicked back, his chiseled face cold as he stared down at her.
"What are you doing, Princess?" he asked, his lips twitching as he gazed at her.
Margaret pushed herself up, now realizing what she had done. This was her weakness. Her parents had thought it had stopped, but it hadn't. And now, Dante had seen it.
She frowned, glancing down at her bare feet. "I'm sorry."
In one long stride, he reached her and grabbed her hand. His face was as hard as stone as he looked down at her. "You almost attacked a human. Do you realize what that would do to the crown?"
She nodded, lifting her gaze to him. It was dark, but she could still make out the sharp contours of his face. "I was upset. I wasn't thinking."
He didn't let go of her. Instead, he leaned in closer, and she closed her eyes, trying to block out the intoxicating scent of him. "Please, return to your room, Princess. You need rest for tomorrow."
"I don't want tomorrow to ever come," she whispered, her voice thick with pain. "I want to stay here… with you."
Dante stared at her. He didn't understand her words. He didn't understand why she kept coming toward him. Was she trying to cause him trouble?
He shook his head. She was more stubborn than he had thought.
After what had happened to Jackson, he had shut himself off—even from the other shadow vampires. But when she was born, he stayed hidden in the shadows, watching her whenever the curtains to her room parted.
He didn't understand it, but for all those nineteen years, he had simply watched her.
He knew she wandered the night when she was upset. He knew she drank the blood of living mammals—but never to kill them. Never to attack them. This, however, was the first time she had attacked a human.
But he had to stop her. There was enough blood in the palace to sustain her, so why...?
"To your room, Princess," he said.
But she yanked his hand away and started moving deeper into the woods. "I can take care of myself."
"You almost attacked a human," he said, walking slowly beside her.
"Never again," she whispered, her voice thick with self-loathing for what had happened.
Dante didn't let her go any further. In the next instant, he was standing in front of her. Before she could speak, he scooped her up and was already standing by her bed.
She blinked, her gaze sweeping toward the room.
"What are you...?"
He gently placed her on the bed, then took the sword from her grip and set it on the bedside table. "I will be watching you."
Tears began to fall down her cheeks. "I don't need you… nor anyone else."
He said nothing as he turned and walked toward the window. To her surprise, he sat down there, his eyes narrowed as he stared at her.
"What are you doing? You can't just stay there and watch me sleep."
"I'm afraid I will," he shrugged, crossing his arms. "Or you'll run again."
"I won't," she bit her lip, glaring at him. "How can I sleep comfortably knowing you'll be watching me?"
He said nothing. He leaned back against the window, watching her.
He looked like a demon—so handsome, yet so dangerous. The moonlight highlighted the beauty of his chiseled face and full lips.
She looked away, her heart beginning to pound. She knew if she tried to chase him away, he wouldn't leave. But then she realized she didn't want him to leave… she liked that he was here.
"I don't want to marry him," she whispered.
"Then don't," he said, and she glanced briefly at him.
He looked so cold—so different.
"If I don't, the crown will be insulted," she bit her lip, holding back the tears. "I can't."
He stared at her. "You'll resent him. Is that the marriage you want?"
"No," she whispered. That wasn't what she wanted. "I never thought of marriage. I wanted to rule Ravencrest without a man close to me. But if I had to… I wanted what my parents had."
He nodded.
"Dante," she whispered. He turned sharply to meet her gaze, his eyes locked on hers—eyes that seemed to burn him, though without fire.
The sound of his name on her lips stirred something in his heart—something he had never felt, something he didn't like. "Princess Margaret," he too couldn't resist the feel of her name on his lips.
She smiled through her tears, and it relieved him. "You are so different. I've never met anyone like you," she said softly.
"Then you've never met any of the shadow vampires?" he asked.
Of course, she had. But he was still so different. She wouldn't tell him that, though. Instead, she stood from the bed and walked toward him.
He stayed seated, watching her. "You should rest."
But she waved off his words and reached for him. When she took his hand, it was too cold—even for a vampire. It felt like ice on her skin, but this ice burned her instead.
It caused her whole body to shake with excitement. She held both of his hands, and he didn't stop her, which was a good thing.
She wrapped his hand around her waist and leaned closer.
He was seated with both legs in the room, making it easier for her to get this close.
"I wanted this the moment I saw you," she smiled, her gaze fixed on his. Her trembling hands ran over his face, reaching his lips. "I want to hug you."
"Princess," his voice was low, no longer cold, and she knew he had been affected.
Perhaps their feelings were buried, but not completely gone.
"Forgive me," she said softly, leaning closer. Her lips brushed his. "I can't seem to stop myself."
And then, she kissed him.
His lips were soft but stiff, and it brought tears to her eyes. She held his shoulder and leaned in closer, kissing him as if he were her world. She kissed him, even though a part of her told her she was going to regret it.
But she didn't care. Even though he didn't kiss her back, she was going to follow her heart.
His hand gripped her waist, and instead of pushing her away, he pulled her closer.
He murmured something silently, but she captured his mouth before he could say anything.
Dante didn't kiss her back. How could he when he had never done this before? And yet, how was it that he enjoyed it? He enjoyed the softness of her lips on his, the intoxicating scent of her, and unknowingly, he pulled her closer.
Without realizing that this would be his doom.
Without realizing that his heart… for the first time, skipped a beat.