Prince And His Mates

Sutton

I think I’ve managed to escape the Royal House.

Phew.

I left my watch, necklace, family ring, and phone behind—knowing I’d be tracked if I didn’t. I can’t risk that. And Viktor—my bodyguard—fell for my trick so easily. I didn’t think he would, but he did.

Now it’s just me, a burner phone, and a message I received thirty minutes ago.A text I’ve been waiting for.A text that made me slip and land on my *ss when I read it.

The walls are high, the trees even taller, but I made it through. I’m not someone who hits the gym every day like Seb, but I’ve managed to escape every surveillance system and guard—inside and out—without a single one catching a glimpse of me.

Ha!And they’re all supposed to be trained.

Thanks to Viktor, I learned how to disappear on my own.There’s a secret passage—one the guards rarely patrol—that leads outside the gates. Now I’m sprinting through the empty streets in my dark blue tracksuit, hood up, face concealed, black runners pounding the pavement. My heart beats in sync with my pace.

The beach is still a bit far, but I’ll make it.

It’s the middle of the night, no one’s around—not even a stray soul. Prince Sutton Hastings, running toward the beach at two in the morning because of a single text message. No one can find out. Not my brothers, and definitely not the King. He’d have my *ss for this.

My breaths come quick and sharp between my lips. I’m cutting it close—I have to be there exactly at 2:30 a.m., not a minute more.

The deposit’s ready. The rest will be paid once the job’s done.His reviews said he’s fast, precise, clean.

By the time I reach the beach, the world feels quiet—eerily so. The moon hangs full and bright above the black water, casting silver ribbons across the surface. It’s my first time here at night, and it feels unreal.

No sign of anyone. Hood still up, hands tucked deep into my pockets, I wait. Impatience gnaws at me.

If Viktor realizes I’m missing, police helicopters will be in the sky before long—and I can’t let that happen.

My phone buzzes.

Unknown: On your right, behind the first stone.

I turn fast. There it is—a boulder, big enough to hide a man. Jogging over, I hand the figure an envelope: deposit, dates, details—all there.

He can’t see my face. I can’t see his.The balaclava hides me completely.

Then—

“Who’s there?” a deep, masculine voice calls out, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

The tone—it’s both unfamiliar and painfully familiar.

Before I can move, a hand grabs my bicep from behind. My breath catches.

I don’t turn. I can’t.

I try to twist out of his hold, but f*ck—he’s strong. His grip tightens, unyielding. I groan, fighting back, but he doesn’t let go.

“Who are you? What are you doing here? And who was that?” he demands, too many questions spilling out in one breath—like he’s worried for me instead of suspicious.

“It’s none of your concern. Let me go,” I growl, muffled behind the mask.

He doesn’t.

No matter how I fight, curse, or struggle, he doesn’t release me.

“I want to know who you are,” he insists.

I stop moving. Still, he holds me. The air between us grows hot and tight.

I can’t tell him who I am.

But I remember Viktor’s training. I lift my leg and kick backward, right into his knee.

Nothing.

He doesn’t even flinch.

Soft shoes—bad idea.

I kick again. Then again.Still nothing.

Then suddenly, he lets go of my arms—only to pull me back against him. My back slams into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around me, locking me in place.

He’s tall. Taller than anyone I’ve ever met.

And I can feel everything—the rise and fall of his chest, the solid heat of his body against mine.

Curiosity burns through me.

Should I turn? Just to see?He won’t recognize me. I’m covered.But what if he’s dangerous?

What if—

While I battle my thoughts, his head lowers toward my neck. Slowly. Deliberately. His left hand slides up to my throat, his right to the back of my head.

Every motion makes my stomach flutter.I shouldn’t feel this way.

My hood falls back. His thumb brushes over my Adam’s apple, circling lightly—soft, but possessive. My breath stutters.

Who is he?

“Oh... f*ck,” I moan under my breath before I can stop myself.

His lips barely touch my skin, but the shiver that shoots down my spine nearly makes me collapse.

“Who are you?” he whispers against my neck.

I turn—slowly, deliberately. My lashes heavy, lips parted as I stare up at him.

His hands cup my face, gentle but firm, tilting my head back so I meet his gaze.

And those eyes—Glassy hazel, but with a swirl of dark red like wine catching fire.

“Titus,” I whisper, barely audible.

His throat tightens. “Prince Sutton,” he breathes, shocked.

He knows me.

I didn’t think he would. Not with the mask, the hood... but he does.

And just like that, reality crashes back.

“What are you doing here? Where’s your bodyguard? And who was that man?” he fires off, voice sharp, demanding—concern laced with fury.

He sounds angry.And worried.

His eyes narrow, the red fading. He looks... protective.

But we just met.We’ve never met.

Why does it feel like we have?

I don’t answer. I just stand there, silent, hands stuffed in my pockets, frowning.

“I’m asking, who was that man?” he repeats, his hand now pressing against my lower back. I don’t move away. I just stare.

“Why were you meeting him in the middle of the night? Where’s your car?”

I stay silent.

“Prince?”

“Stop calling me that,” I snap.

His brows knit together.

God, why am I acting like this? Like he belongs to me—or worse, like I belong to him.

He sighs, voice softer now. “Then answer me. Why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” I shoot back.

He scowls. “Sutton—”

“Why do you care?” I cut him off.

He exhales, long and heavy, then slips his hands into his trouser pockets.

I hate it.I hate that he’s not touching me anymore.

He takes a step back, and the space between us feels like punishment. My heart pounds painfully against my ribs.

I don’t understand it—why my body aches for him, why I want him close, why I feel like I could confess everything just to keep his eyes on me.

Erase that. I need him close.

He’s tall—towering in that crisp white shirt tucked into black trousers, a belt hugging his narrow waist, shoes shining in the moonlight. His shoulders strain against the fabric, and even in the dark, he looks devastating.

“Sutton?” he says again, his deep voice rumbling through the night, heavy with accents I can’t place.

God, he’s beautiful.

“I’m taking you back,” he says firmly.

“I’ll go on my own,” I answer quickly, but before he can reply, Viktor’s voice booms from a distance, calling my name.

I bolt toward it—not because I want to leave Titus, but because I don’t want him getting in trouble.

When I glance back... he’s gone.

Not hidden. Just gone.Like he never existed.

No scent. No trace.

Was I hallucinating?

Because Titus—the man I’ve dreamt of for the past four months—isn’t supposed to be real.

It all started after I saw him on TV. Before that, my dreams were of someone else—a boy, maybe thirteen, when I was four. His face always blurred.

We were running through chaos—guns, screams, smoke. He held my hand, led me into a cellar, told me to stay quiet. He promised to come back... but he was shot before he made it out.

I’d wake up sobbing. Trembling. Every single time.

The dream haunted me for five years—until therapy helped me let it go.

Then, years later, I saw Titus. And it all came back with a new vision, an obscene, illicit and erotic. Every night.

The dreams. The ache. The pull.

He’s my sexual awakening.

And I never thought I’d meet him—especially tonight.

Viktor rushes toward me, eyes scanning my body. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I mumble.

“How did you get out? What were you doing here?” he presses, guiding me toward the car.

Four guards sweep the area behind us. They won’t find anything.

“I just needed some air,” I lie smoothly. “Does the King know?”

He sighs, relief washing over his face.

I hope not.

“No. Just me and the guards,” he says, watching me through the rear-view mirror. “Please don’t do that again, Sutton. If you want to go somewhere, I’ll take you. Just tell me.”

I nod.

Viktor’s young—around twenty-six—but built like steel. Blond beard trimmed, cropped hair, tall, composed. But not like Titus. No one is.

“How did you even find me?” I ask.

“You forgot to take off your necklace.”

“Sh*t,” I mutter under my breath.

I always forget. Even when I shower or sleep.

Tomorrow... I’ll go to Titus’s company.Just to see if I was hallucinating.

Or not.

Titus

Sutton Hastings.The Prince of the United Kingdom is my mate.

“Your mate?” Peter asks, sitting in front of me in my office.

“Wait—what do you mean your mate?” Augustine sounds shocked.Because it is shocking.

I mean, I’m not complaining. I’ve been waiting for my vampire awakening for years—since I turned eighteen—but I never thought it would come from a human. Let alone a prince of this country.

It never mattered to me whether my mate would be male or female. A mate is a mate, and you can’t run from fate. Though I’ve never had a girlfriend before just boyfriends, this... this is something else entirely.

My fangs started growing the moment I was near him—aching to sink into his skin and taste his blood—but I fought the urge. I even suppressed my pheromones. The last thing I wanted was for him to smell me and go into lust.

Augustine stands, pacing before stopping mid-s