Isabella stood in the candlelit grand hall of Blackthorn Castle, the heavy gothic doors sealing shut behind her with a final thud.
Lord Viktor Vale, the Eternal Vampire Lord, descended the grand staircase like darkness given form, tall, powerfully built, pale skin stretched over carved muscle, silver eyes glowing with centuries of hunger.
“You are mine tonight and every night after,” Viktor purred, his voice velvet and command. He circled her slowly, claws tracing the neckline of her crimson gown. “I have chosen you as my eternal bride. No more mortal fragility. Only eternal night and my c**k claiming every inch of you.”
Isabella’s breath hitched as his cold fingers brushed her throat. “Then take your bride, my Lord. I’ve dreamed of this… your fangs in my neck while you f**k me senseles
