Prologue

“It reeks of dogs again.” Arce muttered under her breath, wrinkling her nose as she leaned forward in her seat. Beside her, the Vampire King—her father—sat with the same serious face he always wore.

Happening right in front of them was the Bloodmoon Duel.

For centuries, vampires and werewolves have fought for dominion over the human world. This endless struggle, later known as the Clash of Fangs, drew the attention of humans, who soon prepared to wipe both races out. Forced to retreat into the underworld, the two clans had no choice but to make an agreement.

In the end, the elders agreed on one rule: only one clan could rise to the human world each year to feast, so as not to disturb the balance. Thus, the Bloodmoon Duel was born—a battle that would decide which race claimed that right.

For half a century now, the vampires had suffered nothing but defeat. Each year, each battle, each clash against the wolves ended in humiliation.

To Arce, who was born into this era of loss, triumph was a story told by elders with wistful eyes, not something she had ever witnessed herself. She had never once tasted the fabled human blood that her kind referred to as Hades's Nectar. The old ones claimed it was a gift beyond description, a flavor so exquisite it seemed as though Hades himself had blessed it.

Arce's drifting thoughts snapped back when a sharp yelp rang out from the pit.

She wasn’t expecting much from this fight—it would surely be their loss again. Werewolves lived and breathed battle, training from the moment they could walk, while vampires… well, vampires preferred to lean back on their “natural gifts,” lounging in silk sheets and drowning themselves in wine, music, and flesh.

She could only sigh as another one of their so-called champions lost to a mutt. Just as she turned to leave, a sharp, burning gaze from across the arena stopped her in her tracks, forcing her to glance back.

“What the hell is wrong with that bastard?” Arce muttered, narrowing her eyes at one of the Alphas staring at her like she was nothing more than prey to sink his teeth into.

“Language, Arce,” her father’s voice cut in as he tugged her back into her seat. “You are a princess. Act like one—and stand by your people until the end.”

Arce let out a dramatic sigh, shifting in her seat as if she could somehow drape herself in grace despite the humiliation. A graceful loser, she mocked in her head, while the crowd roared at yet another clean 3–0 win for the werewolves.

When she glanced back to search for that Alpha, hoping to meet his arrogant stare again, he was already gone.

Unlike vampires, who were ruled by a single leader—her father—the werewolves were split into dozens of packs, each led by its own Alpha. And yet, despite their divisions, they stood far more united than vampires ever could.

The thought alone burned Arce’s veins. She didn’t care about Hades's Nectar. What enraged her was the idea of werewolves claiming victory again and again. She hated them—hated their scent, their presence, everything about them.

So why, knowing this, would her father dare sell her off to one of them? All for the farce of declaring last week’s duel a “vampire win”?

“Outrageous!” Arce’s voice rang through the throne room, sharp and furious. One week after the duel, her father had summoned her, only to tell her the unthinkable—she was to be owned by an Alpha. A dog!

“Despite my reluctance, it has been far too long since vampires last tasted human blood. Unlike the werewolves, this weakness festers within us.” Her father’s voice was steady, but his eyes gleamed with something darker. “I treasure you more than anything, Arce, yet our people have learned this truth and—”

“—and they’re willing to sacrifice me for their own gain?” Arce snapped, her jaw clenching until her fangs ached. Of course they would. Vampires were selfish pricks, every last one of them—especially those desperate fools who longed to crawl back into the Human World.

“And your pride is alright with this?” she pressed. She didn’t need his answer; the hunger glittering in his eyes was more than enough. He would do anything, sell anything—even her—just for a taste of human blood.

“It is only until the next Duel,” he said calmly as he rose from his throne. His cold hand brushed her cheek, as lifeless as the heart she knew he didn’t have.

“Why? Why would an Alpha give up a win just to have me? Why would the other Alphas allow it?” Her voice dropped, but the memory of that gaze—burning into her across the arena—flashed through her mind. The Alpha’s look hadn’t been victory. It had been possession.

Her stomach twisted. That dog wanted her as nothing more than a toy. A vampire pet.

She bit her lip hard. Her father wasn’t just selling her off to an Alpha—he was handing her over to a pervert.

“The wolf who wants you is Alpha Ynovar Hyde,” her father announced, his tone carrying both weight and intrigue. “His pack breeds the strongest warriors. He is said to be the strongest of them all.”

Arce scoffed, the sound sharp and dripping with disdain. How cliché. She had heard the rumors before—stories of werewolves craving vampires, of nobles selling off their kind not for gold but for powders and drugs that promised ecstasy. But a princess? She had never imagined she would be dragged into such filth.

Her nails dug into her palms until she felt the skin break, but before her anger could spill further, her father leaned close, his whisper colder than his touch.

“But you have a chance,” he murmured. “Weaken them… or kill their Alpha—by accident, of course.” His lips curved into an eerie smile as he stepped away.

Arce froze for a moment, her fury curling into something else. She was being used, manipulated from every angle—her body, her title, her blood. Yet despite it all, a dangerous delight stirred in her chest.

Kill an Alpha?

Her lips curved into a smile that mirrored her father’s. Oh, she could do that.

She would make a werewolf pay.