The Vampire's Christmas Bride : She Was Meant to Die at Dawn—He Broke Eternity's Law to Keep Her

ARIA'S POV

The child's fever broke just as the church bells started ringing midnight.

I pressed my hand against little Thomas's forehead one more time, feeling the heat finally fade under my touch. His mother sobbed with relief beside me.

"Thank you, Miss Aria," she whispered, clutching my hand. "Thank you."

I smiled, even though exhaustion made my bones ache. "Keep him warm tonight. Give him the herbs I left. He'll be running around by morning."

The woman pressed two copper coins into my palm—probably all she had. I tried to give them back, but she closed my fingers around them. "Please. You saved my boy."

I nodded and gathered my healing supplies. Outside, snow had started falling. The walk back to my cottage would be cold, but I didn't mind. Thomas would live. That was enough.

The twelfth bell rang as I reached my door.

Pain exploded across my collarbone.

I gasped and dropped my bag, stumbling against the doorframe. It felt like someone had pressed a burning iron into my skin. My fingers flew to my throat, and I felt heat—terrible, searing heat—spreading under my dress.

"No," I whispered. "No, no, no."

But I already knew what was happening. Everyone in the village knew the stories. Every fifty years, on the winter solstice, six women were chosen. Six women received the mark.

Six women died.

My hands shook as I fumbled with the buttons of my dress, pulling the collar aside. In the mirror by my door, I saw it clearly—a crimson rose blooming across my collarbone, glowing like hot coals. The edges were sharp and perfect, as if drawn by an invisible hand.

The Mark of Selection.

I was going to die.

The room started spinning. I grabbed the table to steady myself, but my legs wouldn't hold me. I sank to the floor, staring at the mark. It pulsed with each heartbeat, burning and burning and burning.

Somewhere in the village, I heard screaming. Another woman had been marked. Then another scream. And another.

Six of us. Six sacrifices for the Winter Feast.

The smell hit me suddenly—roses and blood, thick and sweet and wrong. It filled my tiny cottage, making me gag. This was really happening. After three years of rebuilding my life, of finding purpose in healing, of finally feeling safe—it was all ending.

I thought of Marcus, my ex-fiancé, who humiliated me at our engagement party by choosing my stepsister instead. I thought of my stepmother Celeste, who stole everything my father left me. I thought of how I'd survived their cruelty, how I'd made something good out of the broken pieces.

And now vampires were taking even that away.

Tears burned my eyes, but I forced them back. I wouldn't cry. I'd survived betrayal and poverty. I could survive this too. Even if "surviving" only meant facing death with dignity.

I pulled myself up and looked at the mark again. It had stopped burning, but the rose glowed faintly in the darkness. Beautiful and terrible.

The door burst open.

I spun around, my heart jumping into my throat.

A woman stood in the doorway—tall, pale, inhumanly beautiful. She wore a black cloak that seemed to move on its own, like living shadows. Her eyes were completely black, no white at all, and when she smiled, I saw fangs.

"Aria Thornwell," she said, her voice like silk and ice. "Congratulations. You've been chosen as First Bride for Lord Sebastian Thorne. You have until dawn to say your goodbyes."

First Bride. The words echoed in my head. I'd heard that title before. The First Bride always went to the most powerful vampire lord. The one who led the ritual.

"I don't want this," I whispered.

The vampire's smile widened. "No one ever does. But the Mark doesn't lie. Your blood called to him across the realms. He's been waiting for you."

"Waiting for me? I'm nobody. I'm just—"

"You're his," she interrupted. "And at dawn, you belong to the Crimson Vale."

She turned to leave, her cloak swirling. At the doorway, she paused and looked back. Her black eyes seemed to see right through me.

"Lord Sebastian has performed the Winter Feast ritual for eight hundred years, girl. He's killed eight hundred brides. You'll be number eight hundred and one." She tilted her head. "Though I admit, you're the first one he's specifically requested by name."

My blood turned to ice.

"What?" I breathed.

But the vampire was already gone, already dissolving into shadows.

I stood frozen in my cottage, the mark burning on my collarbone, the smell of roses and blood choking the air.

He requested me by name.

But I'd never met a vampire in my life. I'd never even left my village

How did Lord Sebastian Thorne know who I was?