the vampire prince and I

chapter 8

You can let her go now," the Prince remarked, waving a casual hand toward the bishop. His tone was smooth, almost indifferent, but there was an undeniable authority in his voice that made obedience instinctual.

The bishop hesitated, glancing at Jessica with a wary eye. His grip on her wrist relaxed slightly, though he didn't release her completely. Jessica could feel the tension still lingering in his bony fingers, as if he was trying to gauge whether she would attempt to flee. She considered it. Every instinct screamed at her to run. Yet something in the air—or perhaps something in the Prince—kept her frozen in place.

The Prince turned to the bishop with a smile that was calm, confident, and almost kind. "Don't worry," he said. "I've got her. She is not going to flee."

Jessica's head tilted slightly. What did he mean by that? His tone was gentle, even affectionate, but it was threaded with something far more chilling: certainty. That certainty unsettled her deeply. She wasn’t convinced, and yet... neither was she moving. That, apparently, was enough for the bishop. With a soft grunt, he let go of her wrist and retreated beneath the wilted canopy of dead, blackened flowers overhead.

Jessica immediately sensed this as her chance to escape. Her eyes darted to the distant cemetery gates, their iron bars just barely visible through the creeping mist. She willed her feet to move. Just one step. Just one—

Nothing.

Her body refused to respond. Panic surged in her chest. Why couldn't she move? Her legs, her arms—everything was locked in place, as though invisible chains had coiled around her limbs. Her breathing quickened.

"Look at me if you're afraid, my love," the Prince said softly, his voice like silk draped over a blade.

**My love?** Did he just say **love** to me? Jessica's thoughts scrambled, teetering between fear and disbelief. Should she be hard and defiant—or soft, submissive? What was happening to her?

She tried to tear her gaze away, but when she looked up at him, everything else disappeared. The Prince stepped beneath the archway and into the pale moonlight. He was, in a word, devastating. A figure carved from dreams and nightmares, equally. Every detail of him seemed too perfect to be real—his angular jaw, the slight smirk that played at the corners of his mouth, the confident grace with which he moved. He had the presence of a predator cloaked in nobility.

But it was his eyes that trapped her. Two pools of brown-gold, glowing like molten amber in the night. They shimmered as though alive, pulling her in, making it hard to remember why she’d ever wanted to run in the first place.

"You look lovely," he said, offering a smile that was disarmingly warm.

Before she could react, he reached out and gently took her hands in his. His touch was warm—too warm. With a reverence that felt like worship, he lifted her hands to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. Jessica's mouth parted slightly, her breath catching in her throat.

Her thoughts began to dissolve into fog. **Was I trying to get away? Or kiss him?**

The mist thickened around them like a shroud, isolating them from the crowd. The murmuring congregation faded into nothing. Even the bishop’s constant, strange chanting melted away. In this moment, there was only Jessica and him.

A strange pressure coiled around her will—something unseen, unspoken, yet undeniably present. She felt herself being pulled into him, drawn by more than just attraction. Her inner voice screamed **fight it**, but her body leaned toward surrender.

She shifted uncomfortably, trying to wrench her hands free, but his grip tightened—firm, possessive, inescapable.

Then, a voice echoed through her thoughts. **"Don't argue with me."**

Jessica gasped. Her eyes widened. Had she imagined it? Was that his voice—**in her mind?**

She tilted her head, unsure if she was hallucinating. His gaze sparkled with uncanny intelligence, as if he could see straight through her. She fought the urge to cry. **If you can hear me, let me go**, she thought desperately.

In response, he gently squeezed her hands. Her stomach turned with dread.

**"I vow to make you happy,"** the voice whispered inside her again.

She was trapped.

Utterly and completely trapped.

A loud throat-clearing cut through the silence like a knife. The bishop stepped forward, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched his book. "Do you intend to marry this woman?" he asked, voice tight.

The Prince didn’t even look away. "I do," he said softly.

He turned back to her, eyes boring into hers. **"Now you're mine, and I'm yours,"** he whispered—not with his mouth, but within the private space of her mind.

Jessica’s pulse spiked. Her voice suddenly surged back to her. “No way am I marrying a madman!” she blurted.

To her horror, he smiled. Not with anger—but with delight. It was as if he *enjoyed* her resistance.

**GET OUT OF MY MIND!** she shouted internally.

**"Dear baby, please don’t be like this. You’re disturbing yourself,"** he said, with mock affection.

The bishop slammed his book shut. "You may now kiss the bride," he said curtly.

Applause erupted from the shadows. Jessica spun around—but the faces clapping were blurry, indistinct, like specters. Who were these people? Were they even alive?

She turned back toward the Prince, her new "husband," and saw him gazing at her with something between hunger and devotion.

**"You’ll never be alone,"** he said in her mind again. **"And I’ll cherish you for the rest of your life."**

He drew her against him. Jessica’s skin buzzed where their bodies met. She wanted to resist, to scream—but something within her betrayed her. Her hands reached for him, felt the hard contours beneath his shirt, the unnatural heat of his skin.

He touched her chin and tilted her face up.

“Forgive me,” he said.

His lips brushed against hers—soft at first, almost innocent. Then, his head lowered to her neck.

She felt the touch of his breath on her skin. His arms tightened around her waist, constricting, inescapable. Like a serpent coiling tighter.

"Please forgive me," he murmured again, lips pressing into the side of her neck.

Jessica opened her mouth to ask *why*, but no words came. Pain did.

A white-hot bolt of agony ripped through her neck as his teeth tore into her flesh. Her scream was swallowed by the night.