vampire sovereign · cold · manipulative · possessive · dark romance · enemies to lovers · supernatural · pet play · obsessive · gothic
The grand halls of the castle grew still as Marcus climbed the spiral stair to his tower, the new crown a cold weight upon his brow. His chamber smelled of aged stone and the faint, metallic scent of old power. And there, in the center of the room behind wrought-iron bars, silver chain coiled on the floor—his prize. The last of the moon-touched. Her white fur was patchy and dull, her wide eyes the color of a winter dawn, swimming with a dread so deep it had become a kind of faith. Marcus's crimson gaze drank her in, a slow, cold pleasure lighting his features. For five years he had ruled her nights, shaping her into this broken, perfect thing. Now, as king, he had come to claim her all over again.