Chapter Eight — Shadows and Bloodlines
The dawn came heavy and gray.
A storm brewed on the horizon — clouds hanging low, as if the heavens themselves were undecided.
Christin hadn't slept. Her bedsheets were tangled, her hands trembling slightly as she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the faint shimmer beneath her skin. Her veins glowed softly for a moment — like threads of light pulsing through her — before fading again.
It had started after the confrontation. After Leroy had looked at her and said, You're something far more dangerous.
What did he mean by that?
When she blinked, she saw flashes of strange symbols — an ancient sigil burning behind her eyelids, and a woman's voice whispering, "The blood remembers."
Her heart pounded faster.
"Get it together, Christin," she muttered to herself, standing abruptly. She dressed simply — an emerald gown again, but unadorned. No jewels, no crown. Her rebellion was in her simplicity.
As she left her chamber, she could feel it — eyes watching, whispers trailing after her.
"That's her."
"The bastard princess."
"The one who bewitched the Vampire King."
Their words cut like knives, but she kept walking. If she stopped to fight every rumor, she'd never move forward.
At breakfast, her father looked exhausted — older, his face pale and drawn. He didn't touch his food. The servants lingered awkwardly at the corners, glancing toward the empty seat reserved for their guest.
"Where's King Donovan?" Christin asked quietly.
Her father's spoon trembled in his hand. "In the west wing. He… prefers solitude."
Christin frowned. "Or dominance."
King Frederick winced at her tone. "Christin—"
"No, Father. We can't just let him take over our castle as if it's his domain."
Her father's weary gaze met hers. "He is a king. And we are not in a position to challenge him. He's already made his intentions known."
Christin felt her anger stir. "Then I'll make mine known too."
She rose before he could stop her. The servants froze as she walked past — her emerald skirts brushing the floor like the whisper of a promise.
The West Wing
Leroy stood near a grand window, hands clasped behind his back. The sunlight hit his skin and seemed to hesitate — not quite touching him, as though even the light itself feared rejection.
Duncan entered silently, his boots clicking against the stone floor. "You haven't fed, my king."
"I don't need to," Leroy replied, eyes fixed on the storm outside. "The thirst dulls when my thoughts are occupied."
Duncan's brow furrowed. "Your thoughts — or someone in them?"
Leroy said nothing.
"The council won't wait long," Duncan continued. "They already question your decision to linger here."
"Let them question," Leroy said calmly. "It will remind them who commands them."
Duncan hesitated. "And if they defy you?"
Leroy's red eyes turned toward him, cold and steady. "Then I will remind them what obedience costs."
The air in the room thickened, as though his authority bent it. Duncan bowed slightly, uneasy. "You risk everything for a human, my lord."
Leroy's voice softened. "Not for a human. For the bond."
Duncan frowned. "The moonbond?"
Leroy nodded once. "It awakens only once every age — and this time, it has chosen her."
The Library
Christin's footsteps echoed through the empty corridors as she made her way toward the royal library. The heavy doors creaked open, releasing the scent of parchment and candle wax. She ran her fingers along the spines of ancient tomes until she found one — "The Blood of Night and Moon."
She opened it carefully, her eyes tracing the faded words.
"When the moon's child is born among men, the night will seek her.
The bond between shadow and light will awaken,
And the fates of two worlds shall entwine —
One by blood, one by choice."
Her pulse quickened. It sounded like a story — but the words throbbed in her chest like truth.
Blood and choice.
A low voice interrupted her thoughts.
"I see curiosity suits you."
Christin spun, the book nearly slipping from her grasp. Leroy leaned against a column, arms crossed, watching her. The candlelight painted his features in gold and shadow — his expression unreadable, but his eyes alive with crimson fire.
"How long have you been there?" she demanded.
"Long enough to see that you've found what you were destined to find."
She frowned. "Destiny seems to have a terrible sense of timing."
He stepped closer, slow and measured, his voice calm but heavy. "You feel it, don't you? The pull beneath your skin. The way your power wakes when I'm near."
Her heartbeat stumbled. "That doesn't mean anything."
Leroy tilted his head slightly. "It means everything. Your blood remembers mine. The first bond between our kinds was born from love — and sealed in blood. It chose us again."
Christin stared at him, anger sparking through the confusion. "You think you can hide behind riddles and call it fate? You sound like someone who's forgotten how to ask."
His lips curved faintly. "And you sound like someone who hasn't yet learned what she's worth."
Before she could respond, heavy footsteps echoed outside. Duncan entered — his expression grim.
"My king," he said sharply, handing over a sealed scroll. "A messenger arrived. It bears the crest of the Vampire Court."
Leroy took the parchment and broke the seal. The red wax gleamed faintly before dissolving into black smoke. As his eyes scanned the contents, his jaw hardened.
Christin's stomach twisted. "What is it?"
He didn't answer. Duncan did. "They've issued a decree — demanding the human king surrender you for union. If he refuses, they'll march within the week."
Christin felt the world tilt. "They what?"
Leroy's gaze stayed fixed on the letter, his expression carved from ice.
"And the decree," Duncan continued quietly, "bears your name, my king."
Christin turned sharply to him. "So this was your plan all along — intimidation through politics?"
Leroy's tone was calm, but it carried the weight of command. "I gave no such order."
"Then why aren't you furious?" she demanded.
A flicker of red passed through his eyes. "Because fury won't stop them. Power will."
"Power?" she echoed. "You mean control. You always mean control."
He stepped closer — not threateningly, but with quiet force. "You mistake restraint for cruelty. I'm not your enemy, Christin."
"Then stop acting like my master."
Something changed in his gaze — a storm breaking behind his calm. "You think I want this?" he asked softly, dangerously. "You think I chose to feel my blood burn every time you look at me?"
Her breath caught. "You're lying."
"Am I?" His voice was low, rough now. "You think your pulse doesn't echo mine? That your power doesn't respond to me?"
She opened her mouth, but the words died. He was right — she had felt it. Every time he was near, the magic beneath her skin stirred, alive and restless.
But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"I don't care what bond or prophecy says," she whispered. "You don't own me."
Leroy's jaw tightened, but his eyes softened — barely. "No," he said finally. "But I fear I'll never stop wanting to."
Before she could answer, thunder cracked outside — sharp, deafening. The storm had finally broken.
And in its shadow, two kingdoms were about to collide.