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 sin

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

The room falls quiet, the weight of my words settling like dust. They watch me now without pretending otherwise. “You fear losing control,” Lady Carrow says. “No,” I reply. “I do not wish to bind myself to the wrong blood. Instinct will tell who can sustain my seed.” No one dares an opinion after that. The meeting ends shortly after. It always does when the conversation reaches this point. No formal close. No victory claimed. They have learned to retreat when they realize they cannot force me without risking war within their own ranks. I leave the chamber immediately. Irritated. Pressure coiling tight behind my ribs. Damon is waiting as usual. My bloodbond. A human. But Damon is almost as old as I am. Three hundred and forty-five years. Does not look a day above thirty. He is my aide, butler, personal assistant, chief of staff, friend, brother. Chosen by instinct. Bound by ritual blood. My blood. He lives as long as I live. When I die, he dies. He is always close. My trusted

Max’s POV “Would you like us to leave?” The question is unnecessary. I already know the answer. It is plain in how uneven her breathing is, faint, erratic. I can feel her pulse beating too fast for calm. Still, I ask. Habit, perhaps. A simple human courtesy. Or the fact that I have learned, over time, that things taken without permission rarely stay where you put them. She nods. A small movement. Almost uncertain. Something in me reacts. As though a decision has been made far above my head, long before this moment. My hand settles at her waist, light but steady. I guide her through the crowd. The room shifts around us easily enough, bodies parting without anyone seeming to notice why. A residue of the power I hold. Even when not in use, humans tend to bend to my will. I have always had that effect, more so now that I am blood regent. We make our way to the exit. As expected, Damon is close by. He steps forward as we approach. “Should I inform Carl to bring the Benz?” he

Max’s POV The moment I enter her, she let's out a sharp, startled sound. It is something I recognize. That breathless sting of pain from an untouched female. The sound hits me like a blade. It shreds the last of my restraint, lodging deep and low, stirring instincts I have mastered over centuries. I still. While every fiber in me screams to move. To claim. To finish this with the raw force that defines my kind. But something holds me, deliberate, calculating. I am no fledgling, thrashing in blind hunger. I am blood regent with the power to bend reality to my will. Yet here, buried in her, I am forced to obey her body's bidding. I keep still. Her body slowly adjusts beautifully, like it is learning me by heart. I feel it all. That subtle easing of muscles, the careful breath that presses her chest to mine, fingers digging into my shoulders like I am her lifeline. Her fragile human warmth wraps me while mocking my eternal strength with its quiet resilience. If I move now I know