Author's Note:

So the characters and the basic storyline of this are based off the tumblr ask-blog ask - theundeadhusbands. Check 'em out!

Prologue

Renate had been a silly young maid: frivolous and foolish and tripping over her words as if she had forgotten how to use them. Her heather blue eyes would bat incessantly at any gentleman with the bollocks to approach her properly (as any suitor should approach a lady), but her palm would only perspire for one suitor in particular – him. Arthur Kirkland, a wealthy bachelor who lived in seclusion up the hill, was Renate's target and had been for some time. His hair, soft and billowing in the breeze like fresh wheat, bore a healthy glow and shone as brilliantly as the sun. It was always tied back smartly in a handsome ponytail. His eyes either resembled two emeralds in the pocket of a sorrowful peddler or two crisp leaves from a baby oak, trapped in a layer of vines beneath a pale, broken fence. Renate had not decided yet, and alas her poetry had not subdued the burning desire trapped just beneath her bosom. He truly was a handsome man, and she had been told many times that she was a handsome woman. He was wealthy and she was a butcher's daughter eagerly seeking romance. It was a match made in heaven, she thought.

She had been easy prey, just a midnight walk through the dozing fields and into the forest and their engagement could be sealed. Hell on earth, Arthur had very little to do in terms of persuasion – the girl's mind bent freely. She was even easier to seduce. Eyes blazing with hunger, unnoticed by the poor lass naturally, Arthur bent low and began to peck lightly at her neck, then took to sucking eagerly until the pale skin was littered with bruises, and finally had her all but disrobing in his cool grasp. He glanced upwards when he bit her, watching every semblance of control leave her, feeling her writhe beneath his fingers, and finally releasing all inhibitions as her eyes, as blue as the surrounding flowers, faded into a sightless stare. The entire situation was rather…poetic, if Arthur did say so himself.

The vampire had all but shattered her porcelain throat when the woods became suddenly restless – trembling as if a pack of stallions traversed them back and forth. Judging by the overwhelming stink, Arthur deduced that the beasts could not be stallions. The air was soiled with sweat and oak, very unlike the light, grassy aroma that usually followed horses. His nose wrinkled in distaste, but he dipped his head for another taste. He could not let a perfectly sublime neck go to waste because of a few unwanted visitors. The growth would conceal him and Renate well enough for the moment, and if worse came to worse he would gladly rip into whatever creature dared disrupt his meal. Said creature was roaming closer as it were, and eventually Arthur could taste what could only be described as wet dog in the midst of his gorging. Revolting.

He sighed before smirking to himself, laying the cold corpse down in the grass before licking her blood imperiously off his long, pale fingers. The beast, a werewolf for certain, had tracked him down and had since hidden itself in the shrubbery behind him – fairly close, if the heat radiating off of its form was any indication. Arthur had to suppress the urge to lean into it; its blood had to have been so warm. And smelly and gross, but warm all the same. Still, the werewolf was nearing closer, too close for comfort, and Arthur was feeling sprightly. He would be putting his own life at risk, but some good exhilarating banter between a vampire and a werewolf would surely awaken his sleeping nerves. The hunt did tend to lull one into a stupor. "Yes, yes. I hear you, beast. I've finished my meal, so I suppose you can have the leftovers," he gestured freely over his shoulder, turning his back and making it appear as though he was walking away.

There was some slight shuffling behind him, and when he turned to glance over his shoulder the werewolf had already gathered Renate in his arms. He didn't look particularly pained. His eyes, which were also remarkably blue (like the heather, Arthur noted) did not grow wide with pain or soften with recognition. In fact, Arthur deduced that this werewolf was bereft of all sympathy for the poor girl. He may have been a bloodsucker, but at least he carried some reservations when he killed. The man, nay, the boy pressed two fingers to her shredded throat – searching for a pulse, perhaps? When he felt nothing he shrugged and lowered her back to the ground.

"Couldn't even wait till I left?" Arthur's mouth twitched into an eerie smile. An unpleasant smile. The wind howled around them and the tree branches retched and groaned above.

"Don't want your trash," the boy sniffed, staring disdainfully down at the girl's corpse. He blinked once, gaze traveling back up to meet Arthur's. Despite his attempt at appearing nonchalant, Arthur could almost see the fur prickling beneath his flesh – could almost feel the rippling of those hidden muscles. This boy wanted to rip him apart, and he wouldn't deny that he wished to do the same in turn. It was their nature to be this way, to be natural enemies. Vampires and werewolves had been fighting for centuries. Although, it had been a long time since Arthur had tasted werewolf blood…with good reason, too. Werewolf blood was putrid.

"Werewolves really have no manners," Arthur sneered, shivering as the air grew even tenser, and yet it was also electric with energy. They were practically itching to fight. Alfred's nostrils flared and he grinned, lowering himself to the ground. It wasn't a friendly grin, Arthur noted.

"And vampires are cowards. Couldn't put in the effort to pick a more difficult target? Have to prey on little girls?" He shook his head back and forth as his neck became suddenly rigid, dark fur sprouting from his pores. The boy snarled then, his eyes glimmering in the night with unadulterated disgust. "I'll show you manners, bloodsucker!"

And he lunged.