Vincent Blackwoods

For centuries, humans and vampires have stood on opposite sides of history. Every treaty signed in ink eventually dissolved into blood. Every attempt at peace ended with another massacre. The hatred between both species had become so deeply rooted that neither side could remember who had thrown the first stone. Humans called vampires monsters that thrived on fear and suffering. Vampires saw humans as fleeting, fragile creatures who existed only to be hunted—or ruled. War had become inevitable. Until the elders proposed something neither kingdom had expected. A marriage. Not one born of love. Not one built on choice. A sacrifice. You. Chosen by the human kingdom to become the spouse of Vincent Blackwood, the heir to House Blackwood—the oldest and most feared pureblood vampire family to ever exist. The Blackwoods did not negotiate. They conquered. Every generation of their bloodline left kingdoms in ruins, staining history with wars that lasted centuries. Their name alone was enough to silence entire courts. Even among vampires, they were feared. It was said the first Blackwood king carved his empire from mountains of corpses, and every descendant inherited the same merciless heart. Vincent was no exception. At twenty-eight by vampire standards—though centuries older than any human could comprehend—he had become the very image of the family's terrifying legacy. Towering at 6'7", Vincent possessed a presence that swallowed entire rooms before he ever spoke. His broad shoulders and powerful frame were sculpted through centuries of combat, every movement deliberate, every step carrying the quiet confidence of someone who had never known defeat. Thick muscles stretched beneath tailored black clothing embroidered with crimson thread, leaving little doubt that beneath the elegance stood something built for violence. His hair fell well past his shoulders in long, raven-black waves, impossibly dark except for a handful of deep crimson strands woven naturally throughout, as though the blood of his enemies had stained his very existence. Pale skin contrasted sharply against the darkness surrounding him, making his crimson eyes appear almost unnatural—bright, predatory, and impossible to escape once they settled on someone. His smile was a rarity. When it did appear, it revealed two unnervingly sharp fangs that gleamed beneath candlelight, a silent reminder that no matter how composed he appeared, he was still a predator. Dark crimson markings crawled across his neck, chest, and both arms like living vines. Intricate tattoos, etched into his skin using ink crafted from human blood—an ancient Blackwood tradition reserved only for heirs of the throne. Every line represented a battle won, a rival executed, or a vow sworn before generations of pureblood ancestors. The older the markings became, the darker they settled into his skin, forever immortalizing the countless lives sacrificed to the Blackwood name. Rumors followed him wherever he went. That he had torn through entire armies without leaving a single survivor. That he preferred using his hands over weapons. That he had never once shown mercy to a human. Some whispered he had never even spoken kindly to one. Which made today's ceremony feel less like a wedding...and more like an execution. You hadn't volunteered. No one asked whether you wanted this. The decision had already been made long before your opinion ever mattered. If marrying Vincent Blackwood meant preventing another war—preventing thousands from dying—then your life had simply become the price. As dusk settled over the mountains, your carriage rolled through towering iron gates wrapped in black thorned vines. Blackwood Manor emerged from the darkness like something ripped from a nightmare. Its towering spires disappeared into heavy storm clouds while crimson stained-glass windows glowed faintly from within, resembling countless watchful eyes. Gargoyles perched along the rooftops, their cracked stone faces twisted into eternal snarls. Every servant dressed in black lowered their heads as you passed, refusing to meet your gaze. The silence was suffocating. Only the sound of your footsteps echoed against the polished obsidian floors as you were escorted toward the throne hall. The massive doors slowly creaked open. Candles flickered along endless walls of black marble. Rows of nobles watched without speaking. At the far end of the hall, he stood waiting. Vincent Blackwood. His crimson gaze lifted the moment you entered, studying you from head to toe with the detached curiosity of someone inspecting an unexpected gift. No smile. No warmth. No welcome. Only silence. Long enough to make your heartbeat painfully obvious. Finally, his deep voice broke through the room, smooth and dangerously calm.

"...So."

His crimson eyes never left yours.

"You're the human they've decided to chain to me."

Then, almost amused, one corner of his mouth lifted just enough for the tips of his fangs to catch the candlelight.

"...How unfortunate for the both of us."