The Bride To A Powerful Alpha

The war between Vampires and Werewolves began centuries ago in an eruption of savage battles that escalated into rivers of clashing, multicolored blood. It ended-at least officially-the day I met my husband for the first time. Which also happened to be my wedding day.

Not exactly the fairytale of childhood dreams, but I never dreamed of fairytales anyway. Marriage had crossed my mind only once before, back when I was a child enduring the grim monotony of punishments and a near-fatal assassination attempt. Emilia and I had plotted an escape, a wild plan that included TNT for distraction, stealing our tutor's car, and flipping off the staff in the rearview mirror.

"We'll grab a mangy shelter dog, get Slushies-cherry for me, blood for you-and vanish into Human territory," she had declared.

"They won't let me in. I'm not a Human," I'd pointed out, though that was hardly the plan's most glaring flaw. At twelve, neither of us could drive, and my existence was central to the fragile peace between species.

Emilia waved off my concerns. "I'll vouch for you."

"Will that be enough?"

Her hesitation lasted only a moment before she grinned. "I'll marry you. Then they'll believe you're Human-my Human wife."

It was as solid a proposal as any, so I'd nodded solemnly. "I accept."

That was fourteen years ago. Emilia never married me. She's long gone, and now I'm here, surrounded by an extravagant display of wedding favors meant to distract from the absence of love, compatibility, or even prior acquaintance between me and the groom.

I'd tried to meet him before the wedding. Suggested a quick coffee, lunch, or even a phone call-anything to avoid an awkward introduction in front of the officiant. My request had climbed to the Vampire council, resulting in a single dismissive phone call.

"He's a Werewolf," the council aide had said. "An Alpha. Too busy to meet."

"Busy with what?"

"His pack," came the dry response.

I'd imagined him in a gym, endlessly working on his abs, and let it go.

Now, ten days later, I still haven't met my groom. Instead, I've become a project for a team of specialists determined to make me look like the perfect bride. My nails have been filed into delicate pink ovals, my skin scrubbed to glowing perfection, and my pointed ears hidden beneath an intricate weave of blonde braids. A makeup artist has contoured my face into something sharp, almost regal.

"This is art," I'd told him, studying the angular transformation in the mirror.

He'd barely glanced at me. "I know." Then, dipping a finger into dark green pigment, he'd swiped it onto my wrists, throat, and nape.

"What's that for?"

"Customs," he'd said cryptically. "Your husband will like it."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me painted and polished like a priceless relic. I wriggled into a sleek, tailored bridal jumpsuit-though my stylist had begged me not to call it aonesie-and waited for my twin brother to escort me.

"You look stunning," Michael said flatly, eyeing me like counterfeit currency.

"It took a village."

He gestured me forward. "I hope they vaccinated you for rabies while they were at it."

The wedding was designed as a gesture of peace. My father had demanded an all-Vampire security detail. The Werewolves had refused. After weeks of tense negotiations, a compromise had been reached: Human guards-a solution nobody liked.

The venue thrummed with barely concealed hostility. Three species. Five centuries of hatred. No goodwill.

"When do you think he'll try to kill you?" Michael asked conversationally as we walked.

"Hard to say."

"Within the month, for sure."

"Agreed."

"One wonders if they'll bury your body or just eat it."

"One wonders," I echoed.

He kept up the commentary until I stopped abruptly. "Michael," I said, turning to him.

"Yes, Agony?" For a moment, the veneer of sarcasm dropped, and I saw my brother as he'd once been-the boy who'd crept into my room after nightmares to promise me safety.

"You know what happened the last time Vampires and Werewolves attempted this," he said, his voice softer now.

I did. The Nova Massacre was etched into our history: a night of bloodshed so horrific that its name had become a bitter warning. "Who would agree to a political marriage after that?"

"Me, apparently."

"You're walking into a den of wolves. Alone."

"That's the point."

Michael's jaw tightened. "This isn't a treaty. It's a death sentence. Don't do this. Say you've changed your mind-give me six weeks."

"For what?"

"I just... need time."

Before I could respond, my father's voice cut through. "Is there a problem?"

Michael recovered quickly. "Just brotherly advice."

Father took my arm, leading me forward. "Are you ready, Agony?"

I studied his face. "Does it matter?"

He didn't answer.

At the doors to the courtyard, a Human guard stopped us. "One moment, Councilman Richards. They're not quite ready."

Father turned to me. "You should smile," he said in the ourLanguage. "This is the happiest day of your life."

I forced a flicker of a smile. "What about the father of the bride?"

He sighed. "You've always been defiant."

And just like that, I was reminded: there was no turning back.

I don't need comforting or pep talks. I've stayed true to this commitment. I don't get panicked, scared, or change my mind at the last second. "I've done this before, remember?"

He watches me quietly for a moment before the doors open, revealing the remnants of my life.

The night is perfect for an outdoor wedding: twinkling lights, a soft breeze, stars peeking through. I take a deep breath, holding it in, and let the sound of Mendelssohn's "Wedding March" fill the air. The wedding planner-who's been sending me a stream of links I haven't opened-told me the viola player is from the Human Philharmonic, one of the top groups in the world. She was so excited, adding extra exclamation points. I admit, it sounds pretty nice, even if the guests aren't sure what to do until an overworked staff member gestures for them to stand.

It's not their fault. Weddings have always been a Human tradition. Vampires have long since moved past monogamy, and Werewolves... well, I've never met one. If I had, I wouldn't be here.

"Come on." Father gives my elbow a gentle nudge, and we start walking down the aisle.

The bride's side feels familiar, but not in a warm way. There's a sea of tall figures with lilac eyes and pointy ears, their lips hiding fangs. They look at me with pity, mixed with disgust. I recognize a few from Father's close circle-councilors I haven't seen since I was a child, powerful families, and their children, many of whom loved Michael and treated me terribly when we were young. No one here is a friend. But honestly, given that I don't have many connections, I can see why filling seats wasn't easy.

Then there's the groom's side. The Werewolves. The ones who want me gone.

Their blood moves faster, louder, with a sharp, unfamiliar scent. They're bigger, stronger, and faster than Vampires, and none of them seem happy that their Alpha is marrying someone like me. Their lips curl as they look at me with hatred, their anger thick enough to feel in the air.

I don't blame them. I don't blame anyone for not wanting to be here. I don't even mind the whispers, or the snide comments, or the fact that half of them don't realize sound carries farther than they think.

". . . She used to be the Collateral with the Humans for ten years, and now this?"

"I bet she likes the attention..."

"I give her two weeks."

"More like two hours, if those animals-"

". . . think they're actually going to be intimate tonight?"

I have no friends on the left, and enemies on the right, so I just focus straight ahead. On my future husband.

He's at the end of the aisle, his back to me, listening to someone whispering in his ear-probably his best man. I can't make out his face well, but from the photo I was given, I know what to expect: good-looking, striking, serious.

His hair is short, a rich brown buzz cut, his suit a sharp black that fits perfectly over his broad shoulders. He's the only one not wearing a tie, yet still looks impressive.

Maybe we share a stylist. A good enough start for a marriage, I guess.

"Be careful with him," Father whispers, barely moving his lips. "He's dangerous. Don't challenge him."

Great, exactly what any bride wants to hear when she's ten feet from the altar, especially when her groom already looks irritated and impatient. He doesn't even glance my way, acting like I'm unimportant. I wonder what the best man is saying to him-probably something like the warnings I got.

Agony Richards? She's no threat, so feel free to cross her. What's she gonna do? Throw a lint roller at you?

I bite back a laugh, but it's a mistake. He hears it. And finally, he turns to look at me.

My stomach drops. My step falters.

The murmurs die down.

In the photo, his eyes were blue. But as he meets my gaze, I realize I was wrong. They're a pale green, almost white. And Father's warning was right: this man is a force to be reckoned with.

He looks me over carefully, and I start to think maybe he wasn't given a photo after all. Or maybe he just didn't care to look. Either way, his displeasure is obvious. But honestly, I've spent my life letting people down, and I'm not going to start caring now. If he doesn't like what he sees, that's his problem.

I stand tall, closing the distance between us. I hold his stare. I watch as his pupils widen, his brow furrows, his nostrils flare. His expression shifts, like he's trying to make sense of me. Then he inhales deeply. Another breath, sharper, just as I reach the altar. His face tightens into something like disdain, something personal.

Tough luck, I think. I lift my chin and take another step, bringing us so close that I can feel his presence all around me.

Two strangers. About to get married.

The music softens. The guests sit. My heart beats slower than usual, heavy with the weight of his gaze. He leans in, studying me like I'm something strange, his chest rising and falling like he's trying to pull me in. Then he pulls back, licks his lips, and just stares.

He stares and stares and stares.

The silence stretches. The officiant clears his throat. The courtyard fills with confused murmurs, rising into uncomfortable tension. I notice the best man has unsheathed his claws. Behind me, Velantra, my father's head guard, bares her fangs. And the Humans-well, they're reaching for their guns.

And yet, my future husband still stares.

I take a small step closer and murmur, "I don't care how much you hate this, but if you want to avoid a scene-"

His hand shoots out fast, gripping my upper arm. The heat of his skin is a shock, even through my sleeve. His pupils narrow, and something dangerous flares in his eyes. I try to pull away, but it's a mistake.

My heel catches on a stone, and I stumble. He's right there, catching me around the waist, holding me steady, then pushing me closer to him. His body presses against mine, trapping me, and he looks down at me like he's forgotten where he is. Like he wants to devour me.

"This is highly- Oh, my," the officiant says, but the groom growls at him, and behind me, I hear panic breaking out. Our language and English, people shouting, threats flying, my father snarling, the best man ready to fight. Someone's crying. This feels like the beginning of another Nova incident.

I should do something, but the groom's scent takes over.

Good blood, my instincts whisper, a thought that makes no sense. He would make such good blood.

He inhales deeply again, his chest expanding, filling his lungs. His hand moves from my arm to my throat, pressing against one of my markings. A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, weakening my knees. I know then that he's going to tear me apart. He's going to maul me, devour me-

"You," he growls, his voice low. "How the hell do you smell like this?"

Minutes later, he slips a ring onto my finger, and we swear to love each other until death do us part.

Six weeks before the ceremony, she shows up at the start-up where I work on a Thursday evening, when the sun has already dipped and the whole office is on the brink of mutiny.

They're all thinking of ways to make my life harder. I probably deserve it, but at least I get why they're so mad. That's why I don't make a big deal when I walk back to my desk after a quick meeting and spot my stapler. Yeah, it's been smeared with bird shit. No, I don't care. I work from home most of the time, and it's not like I need to print anything. It's whatever.

"Don't take it personally, Missy," James says, leaning casually against our cubicle divider. His grin is half-assed concern, half-smarmy salesman. Even his blood smells oily.

"I won't."

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's rolling with people hating me. I've been training for it my whole life, like some piano prodigy working away at a craft no one really wants to perfect.

"No need to sweat it," he continues. "And don't listen to Samson. He didn't say what you think he did."

I'm pretty sure it was "nasty bitch" and not "tasty peach" that he yelled, but whatever.

"It comes with the territory," he keeps on. "I mean, you would be mad too if someone broke through your firewall in, what, an hour? Maybe less?"

It was maybe a third of that. But I didn't mind. I spent part of the break browsing for a new hamper since Emilia's cat thinks mine is the best napping spot. I sent her a picture of the receipt, followed by You and your cat owe me sixteen dollars. And of course, no reply came. Not that I expected one.

"People will get over it," James says, sounding like he's giving me the world's best advice. "And hey, you never bring lunch, so no one's gonna spit in your Tupperware." He laughs like it's the funniest thing.

I turn back to my computer, hoping he'll get the hint and leave me alone.

Spoiler: He doesn't.

"And to be honest, it's kind of on you. If you tried to mingle more... I get the loner, mysterious vibe, but some people think you're standoffish. Like you think you're better than them. You could-"

"Agony."

I snap my head up at the sound of my real name, and for a split second, I think this might actually be over. But no, I look up and see her standing there-her.

It takes a second for my brain to catch up, but then I feel the shift in the air. The slow heartbeat. The familiar scent.

"Velantra?"

"You're hard to find," she says, her voice smooth and low like it always is.

I almost slam my head against the keyboard. Instead, I take a breath and say, "That's by design."

"I figured." She looks around like she's surveying the battlefield, then back at me.

"And yet, here I am."

James, who has clearly never seen a Vampire before in his life, suddenly snaps into creepy flirt mode. His grin turns oily, eyes practically undressing her. I can practically hear his thoughts: MILF.

"Are you a friend of Missy's?"

"You could say that. Since she was a child."

"Oh my God. Do tell, how was baby Missy?"

Velantra's lips twitch in amusement. "She was... odd, and difficult. If often useful."

I really hope James isn't about to make this worse, but of course, he does.

"Wait-are you two related?"

"No. I'm her father's Right Hand. Head of his Guard," Velantrasays, her gaze sliding over to me. "And she's been summoned."

I sit up straighter, now really interested in what's going on.

"Where?"

"The Nest."

That hits me like a punch in the gut. Vampires don't call each other to meet at the Nest unless something huge is going down. I haven't spoken to anyone from my own kind in years. Not unless they've had to drag me into it, like when my father needs a reminder I exist. So why now?

"Why?" I hear myself ask before I can stop it.

"You'll have to come and find out." Her smile doesn't even try to warm her eyes.

James is still lingering, adding to his collection of awkward moments. "Ladies. Right hand? Summon?"

He lets out this loud, unhinged laugh that grates on my nerves. I don't even get a chance to flick him in the forehead before Velantra's attention snaps to him, and I get the clear message: Don't push her.

"You-" James sputters, his eyes darting between us, then his expression completely changes when he finally catches on. His pupils widen as he registers the very real, very visible signs of what Velantra is. Vampire.

And then, just to make it extra awkward, Velantra decides to ruin my day. She snaps her fangs at him.

I sigh. "Of course, this is happening."

James is gone faster than I can blink, sprinting past my cubicle and trampling a poor benjamin fig on his way out. "Vampire! Vampire-there's a- A Vampire is attacking us, someone call the Bureau, someone call the-"

Velantra takes out her laminated card, all cool, like she's done this a million times. The card shows the Human-Vampire Relations Bureau logo, giving her diplomatic immunity on Human soil.

But the office? Completely chaotic. People screaming. Everyone fleeing. The whole bullpen is already halfway down the emergency stairs. Even Samson, still with a strip of toilet paper stuck to his khakis, bolts out of the bathroom.

I slouch in my chair. "I actually liked this job," I say, grabbing the framed Polaroid of me and Emilia from my desk and tossing it into my bag.

"It was easy. They let me work at night, which

, you know, helped with my sleep issues."

"My apologies," Velantra says, with no hint of real regret. "Come with me."

I should tell her to screw off. But curiosity wins. I straighten the poor benjamin fig on my way out.

The Nest is still the tallest building in the North, standing out with its sleek, bloodred design, stretching both underground and up into the sky. It's not just for show; it's the heart of our Vampire community. Shops, offices, services.

Anything and everything, including a very specific selection of non urgent healthcare and blood.

I remember bringing Emilia here once. She was so shocked by how modern everything was, expecting some gothic nightmare. Instead, she found an architectural masterpiece. She'd expected velvet curtains, candelabras, and, I don't know, hanging corpses. Instead, there were flexible spaces and automated systems and plenty of convenience.

It's not what she expected, but I guess she came around to it.

"I brought you here when you were younger," I murmur to myself. "This place used to scare the hell out of me."

Velantra looks back at me, seeming oddly amused. But I don't say anything. Instead, I follow her deeper into the building.

We're flanked by two guards in full uniform, a sign that I'm still very much unwanted here.

I'm not even allowed to be comfortable. Walking past portraits of my ancestors, I notice their expressions: distant, cold, unhappy. It's a weird thing to inherit.

We stop in front of a door. Velantra gives it a soft knock. "The councilman is waiting for you."

I stare at her, trying to find the words. But I don't have them. "Is something wrong?"

Velantra raises an eyebrow. "You think he called you here for that?"

I pause, then shrug. "What else could it be? To reminisce? To ask about my feelings?"

"You've been among the Humans too long," she says softly, opening the door for me.

"I thought you meant something like him needing a kidney," I say, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

"We're Vampires, Agony. We make choices for the greater good. Or we don't make them at all," she replies, already heading out the door before I can muster the eye-roll or the "fuck off" that's been building up inside me.

I sigh, glance at the stone-faced guards she left behind, and step into my father's office. The first thing I notice are the two massive walls of windows. It's all part of Father's image. Every Human I've ever spoken to thinks Vampires are all about the shadows, that we're allergic to daylight, but they're wrong. The sun may be a constant threat to us-poisonous and deadly if overexposed-but that's why we crave it. Windows like these are a status symbol, a display of obscene wealth and power. They're made with expensive materials that filter out everything dangerous to us. Large windows? Even better.

Beyond them stretches the river that divides the City-north and south, Vampires and Humans. The border with Werewolf territory is just a few hundred feet away, but the area is heavily guarded, with towers, checkpoints, and a constant presence. The only bridge across is so closely watched that I don't think any vehicle has crossed it in my lifetime. Beyond that lies an endless oak forest, stretching southward for miles. I've always thought it was smart not to build civilian settlements close to a border that's seen so much bloodshed.

When Michael and I were children, before I was sent away, Father walked in on us discussing why the Vampire headquarters was so close to one of our deadliest enemies.

"To remember," he said. "And to remind."

I still think that's messed up.

"Agony."

Father finishes tapping at the screen and stands from behind his polished mahogany desk. He's not smiling, but he's not cold either.

"It's good to see you again," he says, his voice smooth but distant.

"Sure, something like that," I reply, eyeing him.

It's clear the years have been kind to Samuel Richards. I study his tall, sharp frame, his chiseled features, and the familiar wide-set eyes. He's aged, his once golden hair now flecked with silver, but still slicked back perfectly as always. I've never seen him look any other way-always impeccably put together. Even now, though the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, they're done so with precision, as if there was never an ounce of casualness in the gesture. I can't tell if he's trying to make this feel less formal or if he's trying to trick me into thinking it's a casual chat. Either way, it doesn't work.

When he motions to the leather chair across from him, I just lean back against the door.

"Velantra says you're not dying."

I aim for sharp, maybe a bit rude, but it probably comes out sounding more curious than I intended.

"I trust you're in good health too?"

He gives me a faint smile, then surveys me with his cool gaze.

"How have the past seven years treated you?"

I glance at the vintage clock behind him, watching the second hand tick off a few seconds.

"Peachy," I mutter, then glance back at him.

"Really?" He sizes me up with a keen eye. "Better remove those."

He gestures at my brown contacts. I considered taking them out before I walked in, but what's the point? There are plenty of other signs that I've spent time living among Humans-like the fangs I carefully file to dull points every week, for example.

"I was at work," I answer.

"Of course," he says, and his voice softens just slightly. "And how's your little friend? Safe, I trust?"

My jaw tightens. "How do you-"

"Oh, Agony." He cuts me off, his voice dismissive. "Did you honestly think your communications with Michael went unnoticed?"

I grit my teeth behind my back, fighting the urge to slam the door and walk right out. But there's a reason I'm here, and I need to know what it is. So I pull my phone from my pocket, setting it down on the desk face-up. I tap the timer app and set it for exactly ten minutes, turning the phone toward him before leaning back in the chair.

"Why am I here?"

He presses his lips together as if thinking over his next words.

"It's been years since I've seen my only daughter. Shouldn't that be reason enough?"

"Eight minutes and fifty-four seconds left."

His face twitches, and for the briefest moment, I see genuine regret flash in his eyes. Then he speaks, his tone softening.

"There is to be a wedding."

I blink, taken aback. "A wedding? You mean like... a Human wedding?"

"A marriage ceremony, yes. Like the Vampires used to have."

I stare at him, disbelieving. The idea is laughable. Weddings? Those are long out of style. For centuries, Vampires have avoided long-term commitments, what with our species' issues around reproduction. Besides, Vampires have never been known for romance. It's always been about survival.

"Whose?" I ask.

Father lets out a slow sigh. "It's yet to be decided."

I don't know why, but something about it doesn't sit right with me, though I can't pinpoint exactly why.

Before I can question further, he shifts his focus.

"Since you chose to live among the Humans, I assume you've been keeping up with the news?"

"Some of it," I lie, keeping my voice neutral. I could be oblivious to everything happening in the world, and right now, I wouldn't care. I've been too busy with other things-searching, scouring.

"Recently, the Humans had an election."

"An election?" I ask, forcing myself to sound interested.

"Yes. Marcus Portland was not re-elected."

I raise an eyebrow. "Governor Portland? Really?

That's a surprise."