Halfblooded Princess
Description
Sloane Imler is a halfblood in a world that doesn't forgive mixed blood. Blackmoor Academy was supposed to be a fresh start - a place to prove she's more than her brother's dirty secret and her father's quiet shame. Instead she's a target from day one. Too human for the wolves. Too wolf for the vampires. Unwanted by everyone. Especially Rhys Vance. Vampire heir. Her brother's greatest rival. Cruel, beautiful, and determined to make her life hell. But cruelty has cracks. And the things Sloane starts noticing about the vampire prince don't match the monster he pretends to be. Something doesn't add up - his words say one thing, his actions say another, and the dangerous pull between them is getting harder to ignore. At Blackmoor, the wrong bloodline can get you shunned. The wrong secret can get you killed. And wanting the wrong person? That can do both.
Chapter 1
Feb 19, 2026
Sloanne’s POV
"I can drive you."
My father's keys are already in his hand, along with that careful look on his face—the one he gets when he's trying to be present without acknowledging why presence matters.
"I'll take the bus."
"Sloane…"
"I need to do this alone." My fingers tighten on my bag strap until the leather bites into my palm.
What I mean is: I need to prove I can survive somewhere without you smoothing the path ahead of me.
What I also mean is: stop looking at me like I'm already failing.
He sets the keys down. Nods once and doesn't argue further.
He never actually argues. Not about my brother Grayson. Not about the way the pack whispers behind my back. Not about anything that might require him to actually fight for his halfblood daughter.
He just lets go. So I go.
The bus smells like diesel and someone's leftover breakfast. I press my forehead against the window and watch the suburbs thin into forest, ordinary giving way to ancient in forty-five minutes flat.
The orientation packet sits open on my lap—four faculties, four species groups, mine being Vampires and Werewolves. Most humans will never know Blackmoor exists. You only learn about it if you're born supernatural, married into it, or, in my mother's case, stumble into the arms of a werewolf and produce a halfblood daughter the pack would rather forget.
The iron gates of Blackmoor Academy swing open like they've been waiting for me, which they haven't. Nobody here has been waiting for me, and I prefer it that way.
The campus sprawls before me in Gothic grandeur—stone buildings draped in ivy, gargoyles perched on every corner like they're personally offended by my outfit choices.
A group of students crosses the main quad, their movements too fluid, too precise. Werewolves, obviously. I can tell by the way they walk in formation, a pack even when they're just heading to class.
I check my orientation packet for the third time. Every building looks like it could be the main tower, and left has become a concept I no longer trust.
"You look lost."
The voice comes from behind me—low, smooth, carrying just enough amusement to make my spine straighten.
I turn around and my lungs forget their entire purpose.
Dark hair falling across his forehead, stunning gray eyes that catch the light and hold it hostage. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass, cheekbones sharper. The kind of face that makes you understand why people write terrible poetry.
"I'm not lost." The lie is so obvious it barely qualifies as speech. "I'm just… spatially challenged at the moment."
His mouth curves. Not quite a smile, but close enough that my fingers tighten on the orientation packet. "Spatially challenged. That's a new one."
"I'm very creative with my denial."
Now he does smile—full and real and directed entirely at me. Something low in my stomach clenches.
"You're new," he says. Not a question.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You're holding your map upside down."
I glance at the packet. He's right. Heat crawls up my neck, but he's already stepping closer. Close enough that I catch his scent—something cold and expensive, like winter nights in places I've never been.
"Registration is this way." He tilts his head toward a stone building. "I'll walk you."
"You don't have to—"
"I know." His eyes drop to my face. My lips. The curve of my neck. "I want to."
We fall into step together, passing a massive stadium that dominates the eastern edge of campus. Through the open gates, I glimpse the field—goalposts gleaming, banners in gold and silver hanging from the walls.
"You play?" I nod toward the stadium.
"Quarterback for the Fangs." He says it casually, like being quarterback of a supernatural vampire football team is the same as mentioning a hobby. "Season opener is next week. Wolves versus Fangs."
"Let me guess—ancient rivalry, blood feuds, dramatic halftime shows where someone definitely gets maimed?"
"You catch on fast." That smile again and my pulse does something stupid. "So which side are you cheering for?"
"I haven't decided yet. Convince me."
He stops walking, turning to face me fully, and the weight of his attention presses against my skin like something physical.
"The Wolves are good. Disciplined. They win because they follow orders." He steps closer. "The Fangs win because we're better."
"Humble too."
"Confidence isn't arrogance when you can back it up." His voice drops. "Stick with the right team, and you won't regret it."
"And by right team, you mean..."
"Obviously the Fangs." His gray eyes hold mine. "We take care of our own."
The words land somewhere behind my ribs. Take care of our own.
I've never been anyone's own. Never been taken care of by anyone except my father, and even that comes wrapped in guilt and avoidance.
"I'm Sloane by the way," I hear myself say.
"Rhys." He extends his hand. "Rhys Vance."
His fingers close around mine—cool skin against my warmth—and the contact shivers up my arm. Neither of us lets go as we're standing in front of the Registration Hall and I can't make myself move toward the entrance.
Then a shadow falls over us both. "Sloane."
My brother's voice slices through the moment and I pull my hand back too fast.
Grayson stands three feet away, golden and perfect in his Wolves jersey. He crosses to me in two strides, his arm wrapping around my shoulders in a gesture that looks protective from a distance.
His fingers dig into my collarbone hard enough that I have to lock my jaw to keep from wincing.
"Thanks for showing her around, Vance." Grayson's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I'll take it from here. Sister just arrived—need to get her settled."
Rhys's expression shifts and the warmth drains out of his face like someone pulled a plug. His gaze moves from Grayson to me, and something clicks behind those gray eyes.
"Imler," he says slowly. "I didn't realize."
"Why would you?" Grayson's grip tightens. "She's been homeschooled. Kept away from pack business. You know how it is with the... delicate ones."
The pause before delicate is deliberate.
So is the way Rhys's jaw tightens.
"Welcome to Blackmoor." Rhys looks at me one more time. Whatever he saw before—the interest, the spark, the possibility—is gone.
His face is stone as he turns and walks away without looking back. Grayson steers me around the corner and the moment we're out of sight, his grip turns vicious.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"Talking to someone." My voice comes out smaller than I want. "Is that not allowed either? Am I too halfblood to have a conversation with a handsome guy who was nice to me?"
"Do you have any idea who that is?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Rhys Vance. Captain of the Fangs. I'm captain of the Wolves. We've been at each other's throats since freshman year, and you've been here five minutes already flirting with him where anyone could see!"
"I wasn't flirting…"
"Do you even know how this looks?"
He releases me with a shove that sends me stumbling backward. My bag slips off my shoulder and hits the ground.
"I've spent years building my reputation here. Years, Sloane. And my halfblood sister shows up and immediately starts cozying up to the enemy."
The word halfblood lands like a slap. He's never said it quite like that before—like it tastes rotten in his mouth. Halfblood sister.
Half human. Half werewolf.
The dirty secret our family pretends doesn't exist. "Grayson, I didn't know…"
"That's the fucking problem."
He straightens his jersey, composing himself back into the golden son everyone expects.
"You don't know anything about how this place works. So here's how it's going to go. You find your dorm, you stay there until I come to explain the rules, and you don't talk to anyone without checking with me first."
His golden eyes bore into mine as leans closer and I feel myself even smaller.
"Especially vampires. Especially him."
"I'm not a child…"
"You're a liability." There's nothing brotherly in his voice. "Are we clear?"
I don't answer and he doesn't wait for one. Grayson turns and strides away, already pulling out his phone, already moving on to more important things than the sister who keeps making his life complicated by existing.
My arm throbs where he gripped me. I'll have bruises tomorrow—I always do, always have, probably always will. I bend down to pick up my bag, and my hands are shaking.
I think about Rhys's smile. The way it vanished the moment he learned my name. I don't know if his coldness was about my bloodline or my brother.
I don't know which answer would hurt more.
Halfblooded Princess
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