The Hybrid Princess and the Vampire Prince

Nick’s POV   Whatever you think you know about vampires, forget it.  First of all, we can eat food. I don’t know where the stupid, antiquated myth that all we can eat is blood came from, but it’s not true. I like a good cheeseburger as much as the next person; I just prefer it, well… rare. Don’t get me wrong—nothing hits the spot like warm, fresh blood. There’s a reason Ramsay Eaton enslaved an entire kingdom’s worth of humans—to use them as blood bags to snack on whenever he felt like it. But we’re not cold-blooded killers. Only the most animalistic, heartless of us drain people dry; most of us are perfectly capable of stopping after a few sips. And, again, we can survive on real food. Blood’s like… dessert. Second of all, we’re not turned into vampires from bites. Another antiquated myth. We’re born vampires, and we die vampires. Like wolves, we live a long time—hundreds of years, if we don’t get killed first. And we are gifted with some of the things you’ve heard of—sharp teeth and supernatural strength and speed. Our skin isn’t invincible, but it’s tough—somewhere between steel and cowhide. A wolf’s teeth can break our skin, but only if they get a really good grip. Don’t even get me started on the daylight thing. It’s absurd. Anyway, enough about that. You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. I’m not in a great mood today. For the eighth year in a row, the annoyingly popular Princess Serendipity (seriously, who names their kid that?) is coming to see us, which means I have to, well, pretend to care. “Just blow it off,” whines Sabrina as I finish railing her. Guess I could have mentioned that—I’m finishing up a nice, dirty doggy-style down-and-dirty with my girl as we speak. And believe me when I tell you that doggy-style banging is as close as I care to get to anything having to do with dogs or wolves. “You know I can’t. Hold still,” I tell her as I dig my nails into the skin of her shoulder, throw my head back, and groan with the pleasure of my orgasm. I pull out of her at the end, like I always do. She tells me she’s on the pill, but frankly, the b***h has never been particularly trustworthy. Besides, I’m next in line to be king of Archon. I can’t blow it all by knocking up a middle-born, no matter how hot she is. She sighs in exasperation as she reaches for a towel, cleans herself up, then hands it to me to do the same. “I don’t know why they’re still wasting their time sending her out here. Everyone knows you’re never going to ask her to marry you.” That’s not entirely true, though I’m not about to tell Sabrina that. To be honest, I’ve nearly come to terms with the fact that I’ll eventually have to propose to Princess Half-Breed. I don’t like it any more than Sabrina does, but the fact of the matter is, the princess has Ramsay’s blood in her, and I don’t. The people of Archon want her on the throne; they have since the moment they heard about her conception. If I don’t give that to them, they won’t respect me as their leader. Not that I am their leader, yet. But good old Stepdaddy Vance isn’t doing so hot these days, and when he croaks, I’m in. I guess I must sound pretty heartless.  He’s not my father, though, and frankly, he’s a coward. Don’t get me wrong—his brother Ramsay was a scumbag, for sure. What he did to Queen Red alone was disgusting and inexcusable. I hate wolves as much as the next vampire, but if I had to pick one to respect, it’d be her. I mean, what a legend—killing Ramsay, turning into a phoenix-wolf-whatever she is, taking the throne when her father died even though it should have been her brother… Hell, props to her. But at least Ramsay was strong. Vance is just… weak. “Will I see you tonight?” Sabrina asks me, batting her long, thick, black eyelashes sweetly at me. If I’m being honest, sexy as she is, Sabrina’s charms have kind of faded for me lately. We’ve been together a long time, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about her, it’s that there’s not much more to her than the s*x appeal. And there’s only so far that can get you. “You know we can’t,” I tell her as I pull up my jeans and zip them up. “Vance would kill me.” One of Vance’s many rules regarding Ren’s annual summer visits to Archon is that any girlfriends I have make themselves scarce. It’s been Sabrina for the past few years, but there were others before her, and her again before that. (What can I say? We went to high school together, broke up, got back together again. She’s really hot.) He says it’s a “respect for the wolves” thing, but we all know it’s really a “remind her you’re available” thing. As if she needs the reminder. Ren is even less interested in me than I am in her. And why shouldn’t she feel that way? I’m the nephew (not by blood, but still) of the man who raped and impregnated her mother. Anyway, I take my leave of Sabrina at that, not in the mood to continue this boring conversation. I glance in the mirror on my way out, wishing I had remembered to change before coming to Sabrina’s. Vance will undoubtedly have things to say about my choice of jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket in the presence of good, old Crescent royalty. My best mate, Caine, is waiting for me outside the house, leaned up against his convertible. Vance always tries to convince us to meet Ren on horseback as a sign of respect for her preferred method of travel, but I tend to ignore him. It’s stupid to ride horses when we have far superior methods of transportation available to us. “You ready?” Caine asks with a sideways grin when I reach him.  I grimace and step into the passenger’s seat of his car, not answering him. Caine babbles on about things that are of little to no interest to me during the short ride to the Night Castle. He’s been my best mate for most of my life, but he’s not exactly an upstanding citizen. He cares about money, power, women, and little else. All important things, of course. But not the only things. She’s already there when we park and step out, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the princessly things that are expected of her. When I reach her, though, I stop short. I hate this part. It happens every damn time, without fail. Ren sucks—she really does. She’s a messy, scrappy, nuisance of a girl, and I want nothing to do with her. But she’s so damn beautiful, and until I see her, I always manage to forget that detail. It’s that red hair of hers, I think—the long, wavy, gleaming mane of copper, gold, amber, and garnet that seems to find the sunlight even when the cloud coverage is as thick as a blanket. Or maybe it’s those eyes—that deep, haunting scarlet unlike any other eyes that I’ve ever seen—that seem to carry secrets you can’t help but want to uncover. I don’t know what it is, but damn, is it frustrating.