A thousand years ago, a witch carved a blood curse into the lineage of the vampire royal family: All those they love would become the blade that destroys their kind. She is a descendant of that witch, carrying memories passed down through generations. A human king slaughtered her parents and raised her within his palace, keeping her as a future sacrifice meant for the vampire royals. She grew up in the home of her enemy, and all she wanted was to kill him. He is the King of Vampires, who despises “fated mates” above all else. His parents died because of that very curse—his father, along with much of his clan, fell to stray arrows from human soldiers, while his mother was burned at the stake. The elders forced him onto the throne and warned: “If you fall in love, the entire clan will perish.” When the human king sent her to stand before him, he didn’t even spare her a glance. What he didn’t know was this—her blood made him addicted, her presence drove him mad. The more he resisted, the deeper he fell. Her marriage to him was nothing more than a transaction. She needed no love from him—only an identity, a way back, and the opportunity to kill her enemy with her own hands. What she hadn’t anticipated was that his blood would become just as intoxicating to her. Finally, the day came. The blade pressed against the human king’s throat—and he stood between them, catching the blade with his bare hand. “If he dies here, I won’t be able to protect you or my people.” She lifted her head and saw the bloodshot veins in his eyes, saw the blade cutting into his palm, saw him standing there, using his own blood to stop her. In that moment, she suddenly understood—the one she was never meant to love… was him. A centuries-old blood feud between witches and vampires. A thousand-year curse. They were never chosen by fate. It was they who chose each other.