My Blood for His Mistress Was His Demand

Julian dragged his human mistress, Chloe, into my room. Using my pack’s border guards as leverage, he demanded I drain my pure wolf blood at tonight's Blood Moon ritual to grant her immortality. He had no idea I had been reborn. I refused to be their sacrificial blood bag again. Slicing my palm, I drew a forbidden rune to awaken Lucius, the sealed Original Vampire. The price for this Primeval Covenant was absolute: I must permanently abandon my wolf homeland and remain trapped in the treacherous Vampire Court as its Matriarch. Julian confidently awaited the Origin Blood Stone test, oblivious that Chloe had already secretly polluted his veins with dark potions. As the castle floor violently trembled, abyssal black eyes opened in the deep darkness below. Julian’s voice was a blade of ice in the warmth of my chambers. "Seraphina, Chloe is feeling… delicate. The mortal coil is so very fragile, don't you agree?" He stood by the hearth, one hand resting possessively on the shoulder of the woman huddled in the velvet armchair. Chloe, a porcelain doll with a viper’s soul, looked up at me through a curtain of flaxen hair, her blue eyes swimming with calculated vulnerability. She was a masterpiece of feigned innocence, a role she had perfected over the last two years. My fiancé, the Crown Prince of the Night Court, didn't wait for my answer. He never did. "The Blood Moon is tonight," he continued, his tone shifting from mock concern to the hard, unyielding command of a ruler. "The elders have agreed. A pure-blooded Lycan offering, willingly given, is the only way to ensure her transition is flawless. It will make her strong. As strong as one of us." His words struck me not like a hammer, but like the hollow, echoing chime of a funeral bell I had heard a lifetime ago. I stared blankly at the scene before me: the arrogant vampire prince, so sure of his power, and the trembling human girl who had him wrapped around her finger. Chloe tugged at Julian’s sleeve, a perfect picture of selfless consideration. "Julian, please, don't speak to Princess Seraphina like that. If she doesn't wish it, then… then we mustn't force her. I have lived my years. A few more, a few less… it is of no consequence." Her voice was a soft, melodic lie, but her smile was more painful than any open wound. It was the smile of a victor. Julian’s face hardened. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly before his gaze, cold as a crypt, pinned me in place. When I remained silent, his patience, always a shallow reservoir, evaporated. "Seraphina, what game are you playing now? Do you intend to run to your father and whine about treaties? If Chloe suffers a painful transition because of your petty jealousy, I will not let it pass. The thirty guards on your northern border will pay the price for your hesitation. One by one." He let the threat hang in the air, a poison that had worked so flawlessly before. "When will you learn to curb this possessive streak? I am merely ensuring Chloe's survival. It's not as if I am calling off our wedding. What is this pathetic display of envy?" He paused, expecting tears, pleading, or a furious outburst. "If you continue to play the mute statue, I will take it as your consent. But do not dare make a scene at the altar tonight." His warning, the exact words from a decade-old nightmare, finally snapped me back to my senses. He opened his mouth to say more, but I cut him off. "Fine." The word, quiet and clear, hung in the air between us. Julian froze. Chloe’s pitiful expression faltered for a fraction of a second. They watched in stunned silence as I walked to my armoire, not to weep, but to pull out the ceremonial silver basin and the obsidian chalice used for blood rites. Something in their expressions shifted, a flicker of unease replacing their smug certainty. In my last life, just the mention of Chloe's name was enough to send me into a rage. We would have fought, a terrible, gut-wrenching argument that would have ended with me locked in this very room, listening to the screams of my pack’s guards being executed on the castle walls. But now, as Julian demanded my lifeblood for his lover, I was calmly preparing the instruments of my own supposed sacrifice. His crimson eyes narrowed, studying me. Then, his gaze dropped to the faint, silvery scars that latticed my arms—remnants of a battle fought for his sake, a border skirmish I’d ended to protect *his* territory. He suddenly seemed to understand, and a cruel, mocking laugh escaped his lips. "Losing half your personal guard last winter finally taught you some sense, has it? At least you’re no longer a whining child." He leaned against the mantelpiece, his tone dripping with scorn. Chloe’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her face radiated a saintly innocence. "Princess Seraphina, please don't be upset. Prince Julian only wants this because he… he feels for my plight. If you are truly against it, you must not force yourself. I can face the moon alone." She reached for the silver basin in my hand, her touch meant to be a gesture of peace. "Truly, Princess. You don't need to prepare any—" The basin crashed to the stone floor with a deafening clang. My hand trembled, not from fear, but from the searing, vivid certainty that washed over me. Looking at the young woman before me, her face a mask of false grievance, I knew without a doubt that I had been reborn. I had been sent back to the very night of the Blood Moon, the night Chloe was meant to become immortal. In my last life, on this exact day, I had refused. I had fought, forcing him to keep me imprisoned while he sought other, less perfect means for Chloe’s transformation. My defiance had cost my father political standing and my people their lives. So, he had locked me away. Chloe, in a desperate bid, had undergone a flawed ritual using a lesser creature’s blood. The transition had failed catastrophically, turning her into a mindless, shrieking ghoul. When Julian had heard the news, he hadn’t mourned. He had merely remarked, "So the vessel is broken. A pity. That trash wasn't worth the trouble anyway." After that, he had stopped resisting our arranged marriage. He had started paying attention to me. I thought it was because he finally saw my worth. But once our treaty was solidified and my pack's magic was tethered to his bloodline through our union, he had bound me with silver chains and bled me slowly, for centuries, using my pure blood to fuel his dark experiments. He tortured me until my wolf spirit shattered and I faded into nothingness. It was only then, in the final moments of my agony, that I realized he had always blamed me for Chloe’s fate. He had hated me all along. My defiance hadn't saved anyone; it had only prolonged my own suffering and signed my death warrant in the slowest ink imaginable.