Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate
Chapter 253: Spotlight Stealer

Chapter 253: Spotlight Stealer

Everyone was getting ready—or at least that’s how it seemed. In reality, it was just Riona. Lady Maris, Thorin, and Puck were no more than visitors. They had been ready from the start.

Riona had been concealing her true identity from everyone, so the sudden appearance of werewolves and a noblewoman naturally captured the attention of the Strays.

Donovan, as usual, had been busier than anyone since he woke up. Ever the meddling—sorry, caring—neighbor, he took it upon himself to share everything he knew (or rather, what he thought he knew) about the unfolding events.

"That girl? Oh, she’s definitely a fugitive from a vampire kingdom," Donovan announced with the authority of someone who’s never been right in his life. "I’ve heard tales of a forbidden love between a vampire and a werewolf. Yep, this is exactly that."

The crowd leaned in, their interest piqued. Nobody cared about the truth—not really. They were only here for the juicy bits. After all, in a community as tight-knit as this one, gossip wasn’t just entertainment; it was practically a sport.

Riona knew exactly what they were saying behind her back. The whispered gossip, the exaggerated stories—it was all painfully predictable.

But honestly? She couldn’t be bothered. Let them have their fun. Correcting their wild assumptions would take effort, and she had better things to do. Like, for instance, not caring.

Meanwhile, Thorin was a completely different story. His face was practically on fire as he overheard the latest twist in the tale. Sure, the ’fugitive’ bit made him wince (seriously, where did they get this stuff?), but the whole ’tragic love story’ angle? Oh, he was eating that up.

Clearing his throat with the authority of someone about to drop a royal proclamation, he strode up to the small crowd of vampires like a peacock on a mission.

"Ahem." He cleared his throat dramatically, ensuring all eyes turned to him. "Let me clear this up for you. This is not, I repeat, not, some forbidden love nonsense. It’s a blessed and mutual relationship, thank you very much."

He paused, soaking up the nonexistent applause. "We almost got married, actually. No wedding yet, though. Gotta save the world first. You know how it is—can’t exchange vows while the apocalypse is knocking at the door. But don’t worry, invitations are coming. Eventually."

The vampires stared at Thorin, their expressions ranging from amused to outright skeptical. His little speech was ridiculous, of course—but the apocalypse? That wasn’t what caught their attention. No, they were laser-focused on the juiciest part: the wedding.

Lucilla stepped forward, her eyes practically sparkling. "Will it be a grand wedding?" she asked, her voice dripping with eager anticipation. "My husband and I are very close to your fiancée. I’m sure she’ll mention us when preparing the invitations. She wouldn’t forget us. We’re practically family."

It didn’t matter that this was, at best, a questionable interpretation of reality. Lucilla believed every word with unshakable confidence.

Thorin, for his part, felt oddly proud. It was nice, he supposed, knowing that Riona was loved—or at least surrounded by people who pretended to care with great enthusiasm.

He was floating on cloud nine, and nothing was going to bring him down. His smile widened so much it was borderline uncomfortable.

"Don’t worry," he said, his voice thick with theatrical earnestness.

"I’ll personally make sure your name is on the list. If, by some impossible oversight, Riona forgets, I’ll add it myself. This is going to be the wedding of the century, after all. The grandest, most extravagant, and obscenely expensive event you’ve ever seen. Gold-dipped everything, a twelve-tier cake, maybe even a unicorn or two. You’ll love it."

The vampires stared at Thorin, their jaws practically hitting the floor. For a moment, he reveled in it—the stunned silence, the sheer awe (or maybe confusion).

A few of them even started to open their mouths, ready to bombard him with more questions, probably about the unicorns he had promised for the wedding.

But then, as if on cue, their collective gaze shifted elsewhere.

Their eyes widened even more, if that were possible, as though they’d just seen Dracula himself waltz in wearing a sleeveless shirt. Thorin, ever perceptive, noticed the abrupt change in focus.

Annoyance flared. He had been basking—basking!—in the glory of their undivided attention, practically soaking in their admiration as if he were bathing in the moonlight.

And now, someone or something had the audacity to steal his spotlight? Unforgivable. He barely suppressed the urge to click his tongue in irritation. Who dares interrupt the Thorin Show?

Thorin spun around, his brow furrowed dramatically—just in case it wasn’t already obvious how offended he was by the interruption. And then he saw him.

Standing there was a man so absurdly beautiful it was borderline offensive. Seriously, no one should look like that.

The stranger was beautiful. Too beautiful. His delicate, feminine features were perfectly balanced by his soft jawline and full, enviable lips. But what really stood out were his eyebrows—perfectly shaped, annoyingly symmetrical, and the kind of eyebrows that could launch a thousand love letters.

Raising his own eyebrow at the walking Renaissance painting, Thorin sized him up. This man wasn’t just a threat—he was a declaration of war in the realm of attractiveness.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The man moved toward him with the kind of slow, deliberate grace that suggested he was either royalty or had been trained by a flock of swans.

His long silver hair cascaded over his shoulders, flowing down to his chest in a way that screamed perfectly conditioned and deeply unfair.

When he finally spoke, even his voice was a crime. Smooth as silk, dripping with charm, it sounded like he’d spent years practicing how to weaponize his vocal cords.

"Forgive me for interrupting," he said, each word delivered with the precision of a songbird. "I’m Kaan, Emperor of the Asvaldur Empire."

Of course, he was an emperor. Thorin suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Great. A walking masterpiece who’s also royalty. Why not give him a golden halo while we’re at it?

"What’s an emperor doing here?" Thorin snapped, his tone dripping with disdain. "Among strayed vampires who don’t even belong?"

He expected some smug, lofty reply—maybe a bit of royal condescension to match the man’s polished looks. But what came next wasn’t just infuriating; it was downright explosive.

"I’m here," the emperor said smoothly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "to see my future bride. Riona."

Thorin froze, his brain short-circuiting for a moment before fury surged through him like wildfire. Future bride? He could practically feel the vein in his forehead about to pop.