This is a story about a thousand year old royal vampire and a twenty six year old human woman. They have been bound by fate, the missing half's of their souls belong to each other. Destined lovers with an ending written by the fates themselves.
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I've never been fond of the dark. Actually, I used to be terrified of it.
To me, what I couldn't see was my worst nightmare and darkness hid everything from view. Even though I knew the layout of my room wouldn't magically change, darkness had stripped my younger self of rationality. Deep down I knew there wasn't a monster in my tiny closet, but while lying in the dark, anything seemed possible.
I had imagined the monster to be ten feet tall with mangy fur and an unquenchable desire to rip my head off.
Now, as I lay in an unfamiliar bed with my head pounding and heart racing, I know the monster is nothing of the sort. The monster is beautiful with a distinct kind of mysticism, the kind that draws you to him. The monster isn't hiding in a closet, he's staring at me with gorgeous obsidian eyes as he sits in a chair beside the bed. The monster wears a frown, his brows drawn in to express worry, and doesn't look at me with saliva-dripping hunger.
This monster had kidnapped me—if, that's what you call falling asleep in a club and a stranger taking you to a place you don't know. Well, actually, I suppose that is exactly what kidnapping is, strangers and strange places.
This is not at all what I had imagined would happen when I was a kid. I thought the monster would gobble me up and have my parents for dessert, maybe my pet hamster had been the appetizer. I guess that outcome is absurd when you get kidnapped by a human monster. There's no way I would get gobbled up. Unless—he was to be a cannibal?
Oh fuck, is he a cannibal?
Oh my god. Is this how I die?
I can't die yet! I haven't married Robert Pattinson!
"It's alright Roselynn, don't panic," the monster has moved from his spot in a chair and found a new one beside me, stroking my hair gently.
My chest heaves up and down fast, restricting proper airflow. This has happened to me before. The panic is nothing new, but definitely not welcomed. I can feel it spread through my veins, with the help of the raging storm of questions inside my mind. Along with questions, there are plenty of morbid scenarios to feed the panic, all of which I die a horrible death.
Flashes of my life surface right before my eyes as well as hazy memories of last night.
"Just breathe Roselynn," the monster's deep voice washes over my panic like morphine.
That's the second time I've heard my name come from his lips, and the butterflies that erupt in my stomach terrify me a little more with each syllable.
My desperate huffs, silly attempts to get some much-needed oxygen, begin to revert back to a normal pace and the timeline of my life retreats back into the memory boxes inside my mind. He looks at me with concern, his brows pinched together and eyes open wide.
