Forbidden Pregnancy for the Vampire Prince

I always sat in the front row during lectures so I could capture every word. Today, I chose the back. I had been feeling strange for days. It wasn’t just the nausea; it was a heavy, restless heat settling deep in my marrow. My pen hovered over my notebook, but I couldn't write. My mind kept slipping back to that room three weeks ago. I could still feel the phantom grip of cold skin against mine. I remembered his breath, visible and frost-nipped against my neck, and the way my own rut had intensified until my judgment disintegrated. My stomach did a slow, sickening flip. I caught the lecturer looking directly at me. "Pay attention, especially the heirs in the back," Professor Halloway barked. He tapped a diagram of a wolf’s reproductive system on the digital screen. "The gestation period of a pure-blood Lycan is exactly sixty-three days. Our biology is a fortress. Because our blood is high-heat and lunar-driven, it only accepts an Alpha’s seed. It is a perfect system designed to prevent outside interference." He lingered on the words "outside interference." Halloway was my father’s advisor; he knew I was being groomed to carry the next great bloodline. I was the prize mare, expected to stay pure to keep the Lycan power alive. I was Kira, the only child of the Lycan King. My father ruled with an iron fist. He had already chosen my mate: Malakai, a war general who viewed the world in terms of conquest and purity. Our bonding was set for the month after my graduation. "The fusion happens almost instantly," Halloway continued, his voice droning like a death sentence. "A wolf feels the shift in her soul within days. It is impossible to mistake. More importantly, it is impossible for our biology to be compromised by the 'leech' breed." By leeches, he meant vampires. Science and history dictated that we were incompatible. To the pack, a relationship with a vampire wasn't just a scandal; it was treason. It meant breaking a century-long peace treaty and inviting a m******e. I swallowed hard, recalling the man from the club. I could still see his storm-gray eyes. He had sat at the bar with a dangerous, effortless elegance that cut through the rowdy crowd. I had been shocked to see a vampire in a werewolf den, but even more shocked by how my wolf had reacted to him. She hadn't growled. She had purred. I forced myself to look at my empty notebook. My mind drifted again to the night my father had broken me. "You will marry Malakai. He is the strongest match," my father had stated. He sat behind his oak desk, his voice as cold as a tombstone. "I don’t want him, Father. I don't even like him," I had argued. My voice shook, but I stood my ground. "Wolves do not worry about 'likes' or 'love.' You are not a human, Kira." He stood, his Alpha pressure flooding the room until the air felt thick enough to choke me. "That weakness is for creatures with short lives. You will marry him after graduation. That is an order." He dismissed me with a wave of his hand. I wasn't his daughter; I was a political move on a chessboard. I didn't cry. I went back to my room, my blood boiling with a reckless, desperate need to reclaim a single second of my own life. When my best friend Belle called, I told her everything. "He’s treating me like a puppet," I hissed into the phone. "Has he ever treated you like anything else?" Belle asked softly. "Never." I stared out the window at the green landscape of our territory. It felt like a cage. "I’m meeting Malakai for a formal dinner tomorrow. I can’t do it. I need to get out of these walls tonight. I need to breathe." "A party?" Belle suggested. "The underground club. Do you still have the tickets?" "Kira, your father will kill you if he finds out you left the grounds," she warned. "Then make sure he doesn't find out." I hung up before she could talk me out of it. I dressed in dark leather, hiding my curls under a wig. I bypassed the security teams and navigated the blind spots of the CCTV cameras with the precision of a trained scout. My heart hammered against my ribs until I finally cleared the perimeter. When I reached the club, the bass hit me first. The air was a messy blur of pheromones, cheap alcohol, and heavy smoke. I scanned the room for Belle, but something else stopped me cold. My wolf stirred, reacting to a scent that defied the laws of nature. It was icy, metallic, and intoxicating. I looked toward the bar. A man sat there, illuminated by flickering blue neon. He was unnervingly still amidst the chaos of the dancing wolves. I stared at the back of his head, feeling a strange, magnetic pull. My phone vibrated. It was a text from Belle. I’m sorry babe, I can't make it. My parents came home early. I shoved the phone into my bag, the annoyance quickly replaced by a spike of adrenaline. What was a vampire doing in a Lycan bar? Was he looking for a m******e? I scanned the room. The crowd was mostly Betas and low-level Alphas; they didn't have the nose for it. To them, he probably smelled like expensive cologne. But I was a Lycan. To me, his scent was a jagged piece of ice in a room full of smoke and sweat. It was unmistakable. It was dangerous. My Alpha pride surged, fueled by the rush of sneaking out. I marched over and gripped his shoulder, intending to shove him. He turned with a fluid, calm grace. When his eyes locked onto mine, the impact was physical. He was beautiful in a way that felt like a warning. He had pale, flawless skin and eyes like liquid silver. He carried an aura of cold elegance that made the rowdy club vanish. My breath caught. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. My heart stuttered. "You know who I am, don't you?" he asked. His voice was deep and smooth, chilled like expensive vodka. I found myself slipping into the empty seat next to him, my body moving before my brain could stop it. He snorted softly, turning back to his drink. "I thought I would go unnoticed for longer. I didn't expect someone like you to find me so quickly." "What are you doing here?" I demanded. I tried to sound like the daughter of a King, but a slight tremor betrayed me. "Why?" he asked. He pulled his chair closer. His knee brushed against my thigh. The contact sent a shock traveling over my skin. My breath left my lungs. The heat in my cheeks was so intense I couldn't even reach for the drink the bartender set down. Up close, his scent was an addictive paradox, freezing yet magnetic. It was dulling my territorial instincts and replacing them with a primal curiosity. "You aren't supposed to be here," I said, looking away to catch my bearings. "You’re a..." "And you're saying that so slowly?" he asked.