POV Avery
Father’s office at 6 AM means one of two things: someone’s dead or someone’s about to be. Given my recent track record of spectacularly failing at basic vampire capture, I’m betting on option two.
The morning light streaming through his windows makes everything look deceptively peaceful. Like we’re just a normal family having a normal conversation about normal things. Instead of a war criminal discussing how to violate diplomatic immunity with his disappointment of a daughter.
“Your deadline’s approaching,” he says without preamble, because small talk is apparently for people who don’t run murderous werewolf packs.
I slump into the chair across from his desk, trying to look appropriately chastened instead of like I spent the night having an existential crisis about enemy vampires with incredible bone structure. “Which deadline?”
“Don’t play stupid, Avery. The vampire. Your trial. Your ticket out of a Bloodfang marriage.” Each word hits like a slap. “Time’s running out.”
My stomach churns. Right. The whole “prove I’m alpha material or get traded like livestock” situation I’ve been actively avoiding while having crisis-level makeout sessions with the enemy.
The Bloodfang pack is notorious for treating their women like breeding stock with good table manners. Marcus Bloodfang himself is a walking red flag wrapped in political alliance benefits. Father’s been dangling this arranged marriage over my head since I turned eighteen, and the only thing standing between me and a lifetime of supernatural domestic hell is proving I’m worth more as an heir than as a bargaining chip.
“I’m close to a breakthrough,” I lie, because apparently I’ve decided to double down on this disaster.
“Close isn’t captured.” His eyes narrow, and I can see the exact moment his patience expires. “Close isn’t proof of loyalty.”
“Give me more time—”
“Time’s up.” He slides a scroll across the desk with enough force to make the wood creak. “Peace summit. Tomorrow night. Us and the bloodsuckers, pretending we don’t want to rip each other’s throats out.”
I stare at the official-looking document, noting the elaborate seals and formal language that basically amounts to “let’s all play nice for five minutes.” “A peace summit?”
“Political theater at its finest. Both sides sending representatives to discuss ‘mutual cooperation’ and ‘territorial respect.’” His air quotes drip sarcasm. “You’re going.”
“Me?” My voice cracks like I’m thirteen again and just got told I’m grounded for the rest of my natural life.
“You’ve had contact with their kind. You understand their weaknesses.” If only he knew exactly what kind of contact. “While everyone’s distracted by diplomatic nonsense, you’ll have access to their entire delegation.”
The pieces click into place like a trap snapping shut. “You want me to grab one during peace talks.”
“I want you to remember where your loyalties lie. And if that means turning a useless political gesture into something productive, so be it.”
My mouth goes dry. “That could start a war.”
“Wars are honest. Peace is just war with better table manners.” He stands, conversation over. “Bring me a vampire, Avery. Or start planning your wedding to Bloodfang.”
The threat hangs in the air like smoke. I nod once, grab the scroll, and get the hell out of there before I say something that’ll get me locked in the basement until my wedding day.
The summit venue looks like someone’s idea of supernatural diplomacy—ancient stone circles, flickering torches, the whole “mystical neutral ground” aesthetic. Whoever designed this place clearly had a flair for dramatic irony. Nothing says “peace talks” quite like a location that screams “ritual sacrifice site.”
I’m dressed in ceremonial black because apparently that’s the uniform for reluctant ambassadors planning elaborate betrayals. The fabric itches, the formal cut restricts my movement, and the entire outfit makes me feel like I’m wearing my own funeral shroud.
The vampires arrive like they’re walking a runway made of shadows. Synchronized movements, flowing robes, the kind of collective intimidation factor that screams “we’re beautiful and we’ll drain you dry.” Even their diplomats look like they stepped out of a gothic romance novel.
Then I see her.
Natalie emerges from their formation like she owns the entire night. Black fabric that moves like liquid darkness, hair catching torchlight, that predatory grace that makes my brain forget basic functions like breathing and thinking rationally.
I hate how stunning she looks. Hate that my heart launches into overdrive every time she’s within a fifty-foot radius. Hate that I’m supposed to be plotting her kidnapping when all I want is five minutes alone to figure out what the hell is happening between us.
The actual negotiations are mind-numbing political theater. Speeches about boundary lines and hunting protocols delivered by people who clearly view this as elaborate performance art. I deliver my prepared statements while tracking Natalie’s every movement like some kind of lovesick stalker.
She catches me staring. Multiple times. Each look feels like electricity, like a conversation we’re having without words. Her expression is unreadable—could be amusement, could be annoyance, could be the vampire equivalent of “what the actual fuck.”
“You’re being obvious,” Joanna whispers during a recess, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
“I’m being diplomatic.”
“You’re being pathetic. Stop eye-fucking the vampire.”
“That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
I’m formulating a scathing comeback when I notice Natalie heading toward the side chambers. Alone. This might be my only shot at actual conversation instead of formal diplomatic garbage.
I excuse myself and start moving in her direction, trying to look purposeful instead of desperate. My heart is hammering against my ribs, and I can’t tell if it’s anticipation or terror.
I’m maybe ten feet away when someone grabs me from behind.
Hand over my mouth, cutting off any scream. Arm around my waist, lifting me clean off the ground before I can even process what’s happening. My claws extend automatically, but whoever’s got me knows exactly how to restrain a panicking werewolf.