Marrying the Vampire King After Rebirth novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: The Day of the Pact
I opened my eyes, and there was no fire.
That was the first thing I understood.
The air wasn't burning my lungs, and the smoke wasn't scraping my throat.
My son wasn't crying in my arms.
My son.
I pressed my hands to my belly with a silent scream.
It was flat, firm, empty.
"Miss Mireya," a woman's voice said at my side. "Breathe. You've gone pale."
I turned my head.
It was my maid, her eyes full of worry, holding me by the elbow.
In her hand was a feather fan I had forgotten two years ago.
We were in the Hall of the Four Houses, in Alba Mayor.
There were high ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and banners of four colors hanging from the beams.
White was for humans, black for vampires, green for elves, and gray for wolves.
I was wearing a blue silk dress that I had burned with my own hands in another life.
And then I remembered everything.
The war of the four peoples, the Pact that ended it, the rule of every century.
The marriages between humans and the three races, so that a half-breed child might be born to rule over all.
The first hybrid child born in this century would be the next sovereign of the world.
It was the day of alliances.
I was twenty-two years old, and I had already died once.
They burned me alive with my son in my arms.
My sister Eugenia lit the room with lamp oil and watched from the doorway as the ceiling came down on me.
"I was left barren because of you," she told me before closing the door. "You had everything."
I remembered it so clearly that my knees trembled.
My maid fanned me.
"Would you like to step outside for a moment?"
"No."
I lifted my head.
On the other side of the hall, beside the gray table of the wolves, stood Lucan Montaraz.
Tall, broad, with tousled brown hair and that scar over his left eyebrow.
My husband from the previous life.
The one who roared before the council that I was his mate and who, every time his rut came on him, broke furniture, beds, and bones.
My body remembered him well.
Twice during our marriage, he cracked my ribs in his rut without even realizing it.
His family called it loyalty.
At my side, my maid whispered something about my sister.
I followed her gaze.
Eugenia was standing next to Lucan.
She wore a pink silk dress, her blond hair pinned up, and she was smiling like a bride.
And on the curve of her neck, half-hidden by a pearl necklace, were three purple marks shaped like teeth.
Lucan had one hand on her waist.
She rested her head on his shoulder.
Our eyes met across the hall.
And I knew she had come back too.
I knew because there was no surprise on her face.
There was cold calculation, a little sideways smile, the same one she wore at the door of the burning room.
She leaned toward Lucan, murmured something in his ear, and they both looked at me.
Two years of marriage to the wolf had taught me one thing: in his rut, nothing human remained.
Eugenia had gotten into that bed before the Pact, without knowing what he was.
Or knowing it.
I thought of the warning I never gave her.
And I realized I didn't care.
The master of ceremonies struck the floor with his staff.
"Ladies of the human houses," he announced. "It is time to choose."
We unmarried women stepped forward in a line.
In front of each table sat a black stone the size of an apple.
Whoever placed her hand on the stone accepted that house's heir.
There was no turning back.
At the elves' table stood the silver-haired prince, beautiful and empty.
At the wolves' table stood Lucan, and beside Lucan a stone that Eugenia had already touched that morning.
I stopped in front of him.
Lucan's amber eyes locked onto mine.
His pupils dilated.
He leaned forward, like a dog catching a scent on the ground.
"You," he said, barely a voice.
I don't know what was in my scent, but something reached him.
Eugenia went rigid.
"Lucan, love," she said, tugging at his arm. "She's just my sister."
He didn't look away.
"Mireya Dorante."
"Lucan Montaraz."
"Your stone is here."
I looked at the gray stone.
I thought of my son, white as snow.
I thought of his name, which was no longer his.
And I kept walking.
A gasp rippled through the hall.
I passed the wolves without hurry, my back straight.
I passed the elves.
The prince smiled at me with his perfect mouth.
I didn't stop.
The murmur swelled behind me like a wave.
At the far end of the hall, beneath the black banners, stood the vampires' table.
Almost empty.
No lady had approached.
No one ever approached.
Rumors said the lords of that house drank their wives dry.
Lord Alaric Valmont had married three times, and three times he had buried his wife.
He stood alone, in a black coat buttoned to his chin, gloved hands at his sides.
His face was pale, the pallor of someone who hadn't seen the sun in three centuries.
Black hair streaked with silver.
Dark eyes that moved toward me.
Cold.
Tired.
Someone coughed.
"Miss Dorante," a voice whispered. "You're at the wrong table."
"No, I'm not."
I stopped in front of the black stone.
The Lord looked at me without blinking.
"Do you know what you're doing?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse from disuse.
"Yes."
"My house is the worst of the four."
"My sister chose well with hers, didn't she? And look at me: I know exactly what I'm doing."
I placed my open hand on the stone.
It was freezing.
A tremor ran through the hall.
I heard Eugenia scream my name.
I heard Lucan's dull roar, a sound that had nothing human about it.
But I was only looking at Alaric.
He lowered his gaze to my hand.
Then he raised it slowly.
His eyes shifted from dark to a very faint red.
"This rite cannot be undone," he said.
"I know."
"You have seven nights to tell me the truth, Miss Dorante."
"What truth?"
"The one that made you walk toward me without fear."
He took off his right glove, just for a second.
And he took my hand.
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