Page 78 of How to Dump a Vampire

Thorn squeezes my hand, her silent laughter shining in her eyes. We are both ready to forge a path ofour own, away from the lure of the throne and closer to the simple enchantment of our cozy life.

Gathering the last shreds of my courage, I square my shoulders and clear my throat. The room falls silent, all eyes on me—Draven, the reluctant heir with a penchant for dramatic pauses.

“Listen up,” I say, the words tumbling out in a rush, “we’ve been going about this all wrong—two sides at each other’s throats when we should be holding hands or whatever.” A snicker escapes me, but I am quick to smother it with a cough. “What I mean is, we need unity, not another round of ‘who hates whom’ more.”

A few nods, some skeptical looks. Typical.

I plow on, “I propose Anthony and Audrey as our next king and queen.”

I let that hang in the air, watching as brows furrowed and whispers take flight like startled bats in the night.

“Think about it,” I urge, feeling Thorn’s presence like a warm ember at my back. “A pureblood vampire and a turned vampire ruling side by side, it’s like… like a fairytale ending without the cheesy ballads.”

Laughter ripples through the chamber, softening the edges of the tense atmosphere. I grin, pleased with the effect.

“Audrey’s got the lineage and training, and Anthony’s got the grit. Together, they’re the perfect blend of old blood and new beginnings.” I spread my palms wide, as if offering them a neatly wrapped gift. “They’ll usher in a new era, one of peace and understanding. The whole ‘fear and loathing’ vibe is done. The prejudices we held were only a wall put up so we felt no guilt when something would happen to a turned vampire. Did no one else notice that the spell my father and brother produced only targeted turned vampires? The crowns are gone, destroyed thanks to my mate. We no longer need to hold that opinion.”

There are nods now, thoughtful expressions painting the faces of even the most hardened council members. I can sense the shift, the sway of opinion like the tide turning beneath the moon’s gentle coaxing.

“Besides,” I ad with a wink in Audrey and Anthony’s direction, “they’re both easy on the eyes. Can’t hurt the royal image, right?”

That draws outright laughter, and I feel Thorn’s amusement pouring into me, her silent chucklemingling with mine. It is a good sound, a sound full of hope and promise for a future where love isn’t just an afterthought.

“Who’s with me?” I ask, throwing down the gauntlet, challenging fate itself with a devil-may-care smile.

And just like that, the future seems a little less daunting, a bit more enchanting, as the room warms to the idea of two hearts ruling as one.

29

Thorn

The first glimmer of dawn hasn’t even kissed the sky yet, and here I am, wide awake as if sleep was last season’s fashion. A tingle of excitement zips through me like a lightning bug in a jar. Today isn’t just any day. It is The Day—the grand opening of our tea shop, a dream Draven and I have been steeping for what feels like forever.

I hop out of bed back in my cottage, my feet barely touching the cool wooden floor as I flit the wardrobe. I slide into an outfit that is basically “me” stitched into clothing—a moss-green tunic, soft as a whisper, and skirt with strategic slits in the layers that let me leap into action if needed. Little swirls of leaves, vines, and flowers are sewn along the hem of the skirt and cuffsof the tunic. And let’s not forget the boots—sturdy, comfortable, and the softest things I’ve ever worn.

“Looking sharp,” I mutter to my reflection, giving myself a cheeky wink before I bolt downstairs where the heart of our home beats—the kitchen.

“Morning, love,” Draven calls, his voice smooth as melted chocolate. There he is, my rock in human form, standing at the stove wearing an apron over his usual attire—a shirt that hugs his muscles just right and trousers that tell tales of adventure.

“Morning,” I chirp back, plopping down at the table as he pours me a cup of tea. The steam dances up to greet me, wrapping me in a warm embrace. “Smells like victory.”

“Or chamomile,” Draven corrects with a chuckle, sliding into the seat opposite me.

“Which is the scent of victory for anyone with sense,” I shoot back, the corners of my mouth betraying my attempt at sternness. We clink cups in a quiet toast to the future.

“All right, boss lady,” Draven says, eyebrow raised in that way that always makes me want to spill my secrets. “Walk me through today’s battle plan one more time.”

“Simple,” I start, ticking off on my fingers. “We charm their socks off, fill their bellies with the best tea this side of the kingdom, and make them feel at home enough to never want to leave.”

“Charm I can do,” he says with a grin that will undoubtedly have the same effect on our patrons. “But remember the part where they actually have to leave at closing time.”

“Details.” I wave him off, taking another sip of the liquid calm.

We go over the checklist—tea leaves, check; clean cups, check; mystical ambiance, double check.

“Think we’re ready?” I ask, though it is less of a question and more of a nudge for affirmation.

“Thorn,” Draven says, reaching across the table to give my hand a squeeze, “with you, I’m ready for anything.”

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