The Vampire King's Virgin Mistake

Prologue - Author's POV

The first time the Sanguinari appeared was during the early hours of the morning. One could barely call it dawn being that most of the world still slept. It was that that time when the early morning mist had not yet lifted from the hills, and the valleys lay quiet and exposed. This was the hour that they came.

They did not ride in. They did not march. It was like they simply appeared.

The Sanguinari were silent beings. They did not shout or threaten. They did not bargain. They moved with singular purpose. Breaking down doors. Slaughtering whole families.

By the time the first scream was heard, it was already too late.

Nothing stopped them, because nothing could.

Many were drained of blood and left lying where they fell. Others were taken, young women, dragged into the mist, their cries fading as the Vampires disappeared back into the hills. By midday entire villages were gone. Families that once lived on same lands for generations were wiped out in a single morning.

One could not call this war.

There was no chance at a fight. It was simply deliberate destruction.

And it did not end there.

It became a recurring nightmare. Every full moon they came, and before long men began to fear the lunar event. People stopped sleeping through the night. Farms were abandoned. Bells rang with no one left to answer them. With the fear came the realization that they could not fight what was hunting them.

In time, five families met in secret to find a solution, a way to survive.

The Stratfords, Rivenstones, Merryweathers, Grahams and one house whose name has since been erased from history.

They gathered in a ruined barn beyond the village, far from listening ears. The air was thick with dread. Each man knew why he was there before a single word was spoken.

A Sanguinari stood before them, pale and fearsome. How he had been summoned and by whom no one could say. Only that he was there, waiting.

One by one the heads of each of these houses made their pledge.

They would give their virgin firstborn daughters to the Sanguinari.

The girls would serve as blood source and sexual companion. In return, the Sanguinari would spare their families.

It was an agreement born of terror, not honour. Men wept as they spoke their vows.

And at first it seemed to work, a small victory at best.

The attacks stopped. The Sanguinari withdrew into hidden lairs, and the villages were left alone. People began to believe that monsters could be controlled if the price was high enough.

Then the pregnancies began.

Under the full moon, the girls' bellies swelled. It was discovered that vampires could father children as mortal men did.

The vampires dared to hope.

Th That hope did not last.

When the time for birth came, nothing went right. Women screamed in pain as their bodies failed them. Every child was stillborn. Every mother died soon after.

There were no exceptions.

Until one woman lived.

A daughter of House Stratford carried her child to term and lived.

A half-blood infant male, small and perfect, was delivered.

It was discovered that before her conception, her father had committed a forbidden act. Desperate to bind his family to the Sanguinari forever, in exchange for wealth power and protection, he had drunk an elixir mixed with a single drop of elder vampire blood.

That single drop changed the Stratford bloodline.

From that day on, it became tradition. Every Stratford son, upon reaching maturity, drank the same mixture. A seal meant to last generations.

Thus, the Sancta tradition was born.

First daughters were formally named and pledged by blood oath to the vampire world. They were not given to just anyone.

In time, three powerful vampire houses rose. Matesson. Oldermann. Aldercrest. Each house sworn to by a human family.

Laws were created and enforced. No house could claim another's Sancta. No vampire could touch her unless fate bound them as mates.

Fate rarely intervened.

For a thousand years, Stratford daughters bore strong sons for House Matesson. Always one. Always male. They appeared human, but their blood carried strength and longevity. They served as heirs and protectors.

Then the daughters stopped being born.

Generation after generation passed with only sons born to House Stratford. Still, the Matessons waited. They guarded land, wealth, and power through war and disease, believing the Sancta line would return.

And then, on a cool autumn night, a daughter was born again.

The first in more than a hundred years.

She was named in a private ritual seven nights after her birth. The house was sealed. Candles burned low as the elders gathered in silence.

When the ritual began the vampire she was sworn to stood among them. He did not speak. He did not interfere. He only watched. His presence heavy in the room. His attention fixed on the child in her mother's arms.

She did not cry when he stepped closer.

The name was chosen with care.

Rosalinda for beauty, for rarity, for something precious that could survive even the harshest conditions. A reminder that value could grow where it was least expected.

Grace for the patience of House Matesson, for the hope carried through generations of waiting, for the promise of an heir long denied.

By blood and oath, her future was sealed before she could understand its cost. The bond was acknowledged. Witnessed. Accepted.

Rosalinda Grace Stratford.

The first Stratford Sancta in more than a century.

Rosalinda's POV (Present Day)...

"I will not marry him"

The words slip out quiet, almost a whisper. Breathless, really. I say it mostly out of a stubborn need to voice my reluctance to tie myself to some total stranger.

I am not sure that I have been heard but then, Father glances up from his desk, his brows knitting together in a frown. Yes, he heard. And clearly, he had not expected my refusal.

"Rosalinda" he says, in that tone reserved for when he is displeased. "We have discussed this."

The warning hangs there, sharp. Irritation too.

Mother stands behind him, her presence in the study a quiet comfort, like always. Isabella Stratford never raises her voice. She does not need to. Soft-spoken, but when she talks people listen.

"Rosa, mi calita" she begins with a slow sigh. "What really is the issue? You have been ready for this all your life. It is what you were raised for. Prepared for. And now you say you will not marry Alexander? This is a family legacy. It has to be honored."

"I know, Mother" I say too quickly. "But we do not even know him. I do not know him. Should he not have visited at least once? How am I to marry a man when I have no idea what he looks like? Not even a picture. Do you not find it strange?"

I have tried searching for him over the internet. I found nothing. Not a mention of his name. Not a picture. It is like I am betrothed to a ghost.

I do not mention this. Father does not know that I have access to the internet. With the things I see online, I often wonder why my life is so restricted.

I do not have friends, except Betty, my maid. It is her phone I use for browsing. She has been with us since I turned twelve. Seven years now.

Seven years of her quietly showing me glimpses of the real world.

"Those details aren't important" Father says, pulling me back. His voice controlled, as ever.

He stands abruptly, leaning forward, hands planted on the desk.

"Rosa, you have been raised to understand the responsibilities of being a Stratford first daughter," he continues. "I fail to see what your objections are really about. Meeting Alexander beforehand? It is not part of the agreement. To safeguard your virtue. That is a requirement of the contract. This union is important to the family. It protects us. It always has."

There it is again. My virtue, tossed around like a clause in some document.

The agreement demands I stay a virgin until he claims me. That was supposed to happen on my eighteenth birthday. I will be twenty in a month.

"Protection from what?" I ask. My voice trembles slightly, though irritation slips through despite my effort to hold it back.

Father says he does not understand where my temper comes from. Stratfords have always been calm, level-headed. The women in our family history were demure.

Though, to be fair, there have not been women in our family for generations. I am the first girl born in over a hundred years.

My birth was sort of this big event. A miracle, especially tied to this contract with the Matessons.

Mother steps forward then, resting a hand on Father's shoulder, like she is calming him. He exhales deeply and goes on, still dodging my question.

"Everything we have is because the Matessons have watched over our family for generations," he says. "While others lost land and wealth to wars and famine, ours stayed secure."

I shift in my seat. Same old explanation I have heard forever. The Matessons are our benefactors. We owe them everything.

Or rather, the first daughters do.

That would be me. Not just the first, but the only female in ages. The obvious choice to fulfill it all.

I am not totally against arranged marriage, I think. But something here does not add up. It feels like I am missing pages in a story.

The man I am meant to marry does not seem to exist.

My brother Christopher, though, has never had restrictions. Eight years older, always free to do what he wants.

He is away now, on some business. I do not know what kind. Father says he handles family affairs. I do not even know what those are.

We are wealthy but all my life I have seen father more at home than having to leave for work. I do not know what business my family is engaged in.

Father says it is not for me to worry about.

That is how sheltered I have been.

My sole purpose in life, it seems, is to become the wife of Alexander Matesson.

Wife. That is putting it one way. I have heard other terms used that have made me wonder about the true nature of this contract.

I have overhead conversations.

Once I heard Christopher say to father that being Alexander's mate made me superior to them and also a ticking bomb. Nothing must go wrong.

I was just ten at the time, and Christopher had just turned eighteen. He was regarded as a man and spent a lot of time with father in his study.

This was before he started taking long trips away.

Over the years, I also came to realize something.

Father fears Alexander.

I overheard a conversation he had with mother.

"We cannot afford to offend the girl, Bella," Father had said. At first, I had not known who he meant. Then he kept going. "When Chris turned fifteen and you said you had stopped your cycle, I was relieved. I thought we had escaped having a child to hand over. Then we found out you were already five months along. Doctors said evacuation was too risky."

I had been stunned. My parents had not wanted me. Had even considered aborting me.

Mother's voice came quieter. "We have no choice. You told me it is a covenant made with them and despite there being no females in your family for generations, they have kept to their end of the bargain. There seems to be no way out. Remember, they were all there during her naming. He will surely come for her."

"I have never been so afraid," Father had said. "Five of them with us. In that locked room."

Even now, that twists my stomach.

Mother replied, "I was afraid too. But Rosa was calm when he looked at her. There was something in his face that night. I knew he would never harm her. That is what gives me solace in all of it."

"He will come for her at eighteen," Father said. "They do not take kindly to mistreatment of what they consider theirs. I love Rosa, but lately she has been... defiant. What if discipline looks like cruelty? What if she tells him we were harsh?"

I never heard Mother's response. Christopher walked in right then.

That talk changed me.

On my twelfth birthday, I asked for a personal maid, insisted on choosing her. After some pushback, they agreed. I picked Betty.

Since then, I have been the picture of polite and proper. I live a pampered life. I get almost everything I ask for.

Betty helps with the rest.

"I understand, Father," I say now, though honestly, I do not. "I just... hoped to have some say in who I spend my life with."

Silence stretches. Thick. Uncomfortable.

"You do," he says finally, glancing at Mother. "We sent word to Alexander that you wanted to wait until twenty-one. Original agreement was eighteen."

But?

There is always a but.

"But?" I prompt.

Mother steps closer, brushing Father's arm. "Colin. She needs to know."

"The Matessons have sent word," he says. "Alexander is returning."

Rosalinda's POV

"Alexander is returning. He has been abroad and will be in the country before your birthday."

Why does this feel like there is more?

"But he agreed to wait until I am twenty-one, right?"

I can see Father's face pale.

"Not exactly. There was no initial response. But in his last message, he said he has waited this long to give you time, but he can no longer wait."

My stomach drops. From fear or excitement, I do not know which.

"So that is it," I say. "He decides to appear now, and suddenly the waiting is over?"

"He has waited long enough," Father replies. "His family has waited long enough."

"I have a say indeed." The words slip out before I can stop them. "But I am not ready Father."

"We cannot afford to offend them. When he arrives, he will claim you," Father says, voice firm. Final. "The ceremony will take place shortly after your birthday. We cannot put it off further."

Claim.

The word lands wrong. Heavy. Possessive. Like I am an object that has been misplaced and finally retrieved.

I stand. My legs feel oddly steady for someone whose world just tilted.

I should be happy that I get to meet him finally. Though there is a part of me that wishes he never comes at all. But I doubt that would release me or give me freedom to do as I will.

"So I do not get a choice," I say.

"You get dignity," he answers "You get protection. You get to honor your obligation with grace, and become the Matriarch to a powerful dynasty."

I nod, because arguing feels useless now.

"May I be excused?" I ask.

Father hesitates then nods once.

I leave the study with my spine straight, hands calm at my sides. It is how I have been trained. Always to maintain poise. To fit into the Matesson world, whoever they are.

Betty is waiting in front of my room. She follows me in and closes the door.

I pace.

Once. Twice. Again.

"Miss," Betty says, worry lacing her voice. "Is everything okay?"

I pause at the foot of my bed. I start hyperventilating. Alexander will be here next month. Alexander is coming to claim me.

The walls feel too close. The bed too neatly made. My eyes shift to my dresser. Alexander is a very generous man. And obviously very wealthy. I get gifts from him every year on my birthdays, special holidays, gifts for no reason. Clothes. Bags. Shoes. Jewelry. Everything a girl could dream of.

Everything of the highest quality and obviously the latest trends. Items I never use or wear because I never go anywhere. But I have the best etiquette and finishing teachers, who come in to teach me how to conduct myself in polite society.

I am so polished, you would think I have lived in a different era.

I need to get out. I need air. I need to breathe.

"Betty," I say suddenly. "I am going clubbing. Help me get ready."

"What!"

"I said I am going..."

"I heard you, Miss, but I cannot help you. It is too risky. A club is no place for someone like you. You are too pure. There are bad things out there."

I burst into laughter. "Betty... what do you mean, bad things? Oh God, you sound like Father." My shoulders shake with mirth.

"No, Miss," she goes on, trying to dissuade me. "There really are horrible things and people out there. It's nothing like what you se online."

I am already searching through my wardrobe for something appropriate, telling her to check online for the nearest club. Something classy.

I pull out a short black, body-hugging A-line dress. I look at the daring deep V-neckline and ask myself how I even have such an outfit. Everything I own comes from Alexander, and from what I know, I doubt he would have approved of something like this. But hey-good thing I have something to wear to the club.

I change without thinking anymore about it. I turn so Betty can help me with the zipper.

"Miss, please don't go out," Betty says as she zips me up. "I have a bad feeling about this."

I grab a pair of gold heels and sit on the edge of my bed.

Betty kneels in front of me to buckle the straps.

"You worry too much. I need to clear my head... away from all this. Maybe a little fun before I move from one cag to another. Alex is coming next month. I do not have time."

I can see worry and fear etched on her face. Though she is four years older Betty is the closest thing I have to a friend and a sister.

I pull my strawberry-blond hair loose allowing it fall t my shoulders in waves. Its unusual color and the shimmer of my gown set a sharp contrast against my pale skin.

I turn to Betty, stretching out my hand for her phone. She hands it over, and I check the coordinates of the club she has picked ou?¡The Zone.

Hmm.

I grab a coat to cover up with. We then slip quietly through the service corridors. A side door near the kitchens opens out onto the lower gardens.

Outside, the night is crisp and sharp, cold and I welcome it.

We follow the narrow path that leads to the delivery gate at the edge of the property. Betty says it is never locked, and as expected, it isn't.

Beyond it lies the tarred road leading from our estate. We walk until the house is gone. Just around the corner is the cab Betty booked; she quickly checks to make sure.

Whenever I am done, she is to meet me here with the trench coat. She has a small phone she got a while back, which we use to communicate.

I take off the coat and hand it over to her. With a quick hug, she whispers in my ear, "Please be safe, Miss."

With that, I slip into the cab.

"Somewhere loud," I tell the driver when he asks.

He laughs, like he understands exactly what that means.