C2

Lyra Ashfang POV

"Don't fucking move if you want to keep your skin intact," a brutal, velvet voice growls directly into my ear.

My spine shatters into ice. A month ago, I am sneaking around the Crimson Noble Quarter, desperately trying to trade my rare Psi werewolf blood for extra pack resources to keep my vegetative mother, Omega Kaela Ashfang, tethered to this realm. Out of nowhere, a massive, bleeding shadow leaps from the dark, pinning me ruthlessly against the stone brick wall of a damp alley.

I writhe violently against his chest, my sharp claws scratching at his iron grip, but my small four-foot-five frame is completely useless against his raw brute force. His massive hand clamps down hard over my mouth, smelling heavily of copper and expensive, sweet clove tobacco.

"I said stay still," the stranger snarls, his low, dominant tone vibrating straight through my skull, activating my omega genes and paralyzing my muscles with pure shock.

Heavy, iron-shod boots clatter right outside the mouth of the alley. Bright silver lanterns flash across the wet cobblestones, casting long, terrifying shadows. The massive beast pinning me down doesn't hesitate. He lowers his head, slamming his mouth against mine in a bruising, aggressive kiss that seals my gasp right inside my throat.

The blood-hunters look directly down our path, cursing loudly when they see what looks like two feral alley-dwellers tangled together in a desperate, filthy fuck. They spit on the ground, muttering curses about dirty mutts, before turning their torches and running toward the main square of Ebonhaven.

The moment their scents fade, the suffocating stench of pure royal vampire blood fills my nose. My heart pounds a frantic, terrifying rhythm against my ribs as I realize exactly what kind of monster is holding me.

"Are you bleeding out?" I whisper, my voice shaking as he releases my lips and pulls his dark cloak back over his broad shoulders. "Are the high-vampire enforcers hunting you?"

The man doesn't give me a single goddamn answer. He fastens his dark leather tunic with swift, steady movements, his crimson eyes gleaming like fresh pools of gore in the dark. He stares down at my small, skinny body with absolute coldness. "What is your designation, wolf?"

The alley is pitch black, and I am not a fucking idiot. I slide my hood over my dark face, concealing my identity to keep the Ashfang Moon Pack out of the crosshairs of a vampire execution squad. "My name is Ella," I lie through my teeth.

The vampire lets out a dark, mocking chuckle, turning his back to me as he staggers toward the light of Ebonhaven. The silver moonlight catches his profile for a fraction of a second, revealing a flawlessly sculpted jawline and a thin, cruel mouth.

Now, standing on the blood-soaked silk of the red carpet inside the Blood Moon Covenant Hall, I stare at Prince Cassius Nightbane, my soon-to-be husband, and my entire world spins out of control. My jaw slackens as I look down at his motionless legs resting on the footrests of his heavy obsidian wheelchair.

The entire Crimson Royal Council erupts into a furious, mocking uproar as they notice me openly staring at the royal vampire's disability.

"Is the tiny little werewolf mutt blind, or did your pack alpha fail to inform you that my lower extremities are entirely dead to the world?" Cassius breaks the silence, his velvet voice cutting through the hall like a silver blade, instantly quieting the crowd.

"I am well aware, Your Highness," I stammer out, forcing my voice to remain level while my internal monologue screams in absolute terror.

Everyone in the Crimson Dominion knows the second prince of House Nightbane is a crippled monster. I am shaking inside my heavy bridal gown, trying to convince myself that I am losing my mind. The lethal predator who pinned me against the wall a month ago is perfectly healthy, agile, and terrifyingly fast. There is no fucking way he is the paralyzed prince sitting in front of me.

Besides, a royal heir of the Nightbane Crimson Dominion would never be hunted through the gutters like a rogue animal. I must be losing my mind from the stress of saving my mother.

"The blood bond is sealed," the Crimson Keeper, Agnes Blackwell, announces quickly, skipping the traditional royal vows to avoid further embarrassment for the crown. "The prince may now claim his bride's lips to finalize the treaty."

Cassius remains perfectly still in his high-backed chair. The thick satin of my ceremonial gown is so stiff and heavy that my skinny body can't even bend low enough to reach his mouth without toppling over completely. The noble vampire ladies in the gallery begin to snicker, whispering vile insults about my tiny, pathetic stature.

The blood steward steps forward to smooth over the disaster, but before he can speak, I grab the heavy layers of my crimson skirts with one hand and drop heavily onto one knee right between Cassius's leather-clad boots.

"Forgive my lack of grace, Prince Cassius," I say, tilting my dark face up to meet his intense, bleeding stare. "The bone-heels are too high for my stance. This is the only way I can reach you."

A strange, dark fire flashes across Cassius’s crimson eyes. Before I can process his movement, his massive hand shoots out, grabbing my upper arm in an iron grip. With a single, effortless tug, he hoists my entire weight into the air, pulling me straight onto his lap. My skinny thighs press hard against his thick, muscular lap.

"From this night onward, you will call me master, or you will call me husband," he growls directly against my ear, his breath hot and smelling faintly of that familiar clove tobacco.

"Your legs," I gasp, my hands pressing against his broad, solid chest as I panic. "I am going to hurt you."

"Do not flatter yourself, little wolf. My flesh hasn't felt a single prick of pain or pleasure in ten winters."

The low, vibrating rumble of his voice hits my ears, sending a sickening jolt of recognition straight down my spine. Before my mind can connect the dots, his cold, firm lips slam down onto mine, consuming my mouth in a deep, dominant kiss that tastes heavily of blood-wine and smoke. He doesn't just kiss me; his tongue slides past my teeth, marking me with his scent in front of the entire council.

The moment he pulls back, he doesn't let my body leave his lap. His muscular arms wrap around my waist like iron bands, locking me against his chest as he turns his glare to the royal blood steward. "Terminate the rest of the blood feast. We are returning to the citadel."

Without waiting for a response, he rolls his obsidian chair forward, carrying my small frame right out of the Covenant Hall.

The master bedroom inside the Nightbane Crimson Citadel is massive, cold, and completely devoid of any festive decorations. It feels less like a bridal suite and more like a high-security prison cell meant to keep a dangerous beast contained.

Cassius dumps me onto the velvet mattress, his expression turning completely unreadable. "Do not move an inch from that spot," he commands coldly before rolling his chair out of the room.

A few minutes later, the heavy iron doors creak open again. Cassius returns, a black wooden box filled with pungent moon-herbs and healing salves resting across his lap.

"What is the meaning of this?" I ask, my voice trembling as I pull my legs back nervously.

"Remove the silk bindings from your ankles," Cassius orders, flipping the latch on the medicine chest without looking at me. "Are you going to make me ask twice, or are you going to admit your left joint is severely sprained?"

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat as I stare at him. I spent the entire ceremony hiding the agonizing pain in my left foot, making sure my long dress covered my uneven stride so the vampires wouldn't see any weakness. I had no idea he noticed my slight limp.

He cancelled the royal banquet, defied his royal parents, and brought me straight to his private quarters just because he realized I injured my ankle during the procession.

A heavy wave of confusion washes over me. The rumors across the territory claim Prince Cassius is a psychotic, temperamental butcher who hates everything born of werewolf blood. I expected to be whipped or thrown into the dungeons the moment we arrived at the citadel.

"Do you require my personal assistance to strip those garments off your feet, wolf?" Cassius's voice drops to a dangerously sharp pitch, his dark brows furrowing as his gloved fingers tighten around a jar of soothing paste.

"No, I can manage perfectly fine on my own," I blurt out, my face burning as I quickly unbuckle the heavy leather straps of the high heels.

This is the first time in my twenty winters that my feet have been forced into such ridiculous, restrictive footwear. I carefully rub the cool, minty salve over my swollen dark skin, the throbbing pain instantly subsiding under the powerful magic of the herbs.

"Apply the rest of the cream before you sleep," Cassius says, his expression turning incredibly dark and gloomy as he stares at the wall behind me. "There is a fresh wardrobe of wolf-silk inside the cedar chest, tailored exactly to your small proportions. Wash the filth of the road off your skin in the bath, and ensure you are down in the dining hall before the blood moon reaches its peak."

Before I can even utter a word of thanks, he turns his chair around and glides out of the chamber, slamming the heavy oak door shut behind him.

I limp over to the large cedar closet, pulling the heavy doors open. Row after row of exquisite, dark silk gowns fill the racks, and every single one of them is specifically cut for a slim, four-foot-five female framework.

My heart beats wildly against my ribs as I touch the soft fabric. It makes no fucking sense. Either the vampire house possesses an eerie, terrifying level of intelligence on their prisoners, or my new husband is hiding a much larger secret beneath his paralyzed legs.