“You look like you’re summoning Satan,” he mutters, holding his arm out.
“Perfect. He’s officiating,” I reply with a wink.
“You’re a menace.”
I laugh softly. “You love me, big brother.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Just for that, I’m going to trip you as you walk me up the aisle.”
“You do that, and I’ll pull you down with me.”
I gasp dramatically, holding my bouquet to my chest. “You dare.”
My eyes fall to my bouquet, and my smile softens further. It’s beautiful. Sunniva did a great job putting it together. Black Baccara roses, trailing red Amaranthus, and black Dahlias are mixed with Dusty Miller and curled ivy, then wrapped in black velvet ribbon with a silver dagger brooch pinned to it, in honor of my monster man’s love of his knife.
The doors whisper open, and gasps bounce off the stone.
My combat boots thump against the stone floor, echoing louder than heels ever could. There’s no sweet music or petals tossed by cute little cherubs. Just the haunting hum of old organ pipes and the distant rumble of a storm rolling in.
Fitting.
I’ve always like it when the sky matched my mood.
Konstantin waits at the altar, watching me like I’m the most sacred thing to ever walk the earth.
God, he’s fucking sin on legs.
All black suit with no tie. He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t blink. Just watches me with the stillness of a storm before it breaks loose. That mouth of his I’ve kissed raw so many times since our first date, those hands of his that I’ve wrapped my fingers around like vows.
When I stop in front of him, his gaze drops to my boots and that almost-smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. He reaches out and lifts my veil slowly, reverently, like he’s peeling back a layer of the universe.
“Lisichka,” he murmurs so quietly that only I can hear. “You look like pure sin.”
“Bold of you to say before I vow to legally ruin your life.”
His eyes flash with something that might be amusement. Or desire. Possibly both. “You’ve already ruined me,Lisichka.”
The priest begins speaking, but honestly, I barely hear him. My blood pounds in my ears, and the bond hums like electricity under my skin. Konstantin’s emotions bleed into mine until I can barely tell us apart.
Our vows come next. Traditional first, because even monsters have to pretend at normalcy. People see politics when the look at us, but I only see a man who has become a geography my body knows better than its own map. When the priest asks who gives me away, Kingston answers with a look that threatens murder and a nod that passes me to Konstantin with love.
“I, Cressida Blackwell, take you, Konstantin Kirovsky . . .”
The words tumble from my lips, heavy with meaning, as I slide the black band over his knuckle. And I do mean every one of them. Not because they’re romantic, or soft, or something we have to do, but because they’re promises, and I don’t break mine.
“I give you my name and the fire behind it. I won’t turn from you, even when your darkness snarls at me. I will keep your edge sharp, and I will be the hand on your throat that reminds you that you’re still human.”
Konstantin guides a black ring onto my finger as he speaks his vows in a voice made of gravel and silk. There’s a rasp to it, like each word is being dragged from somewhere deep.
“I give you my breath and the blade in it. I won’t lie to you, even when the truth will burn us down. I will stand in the doorway when the dark comes, and I will not move. I vow to protect you, even when you don’t want me to. To stand beside you, even as the world burns around us. To choose you over war, over blood, over legacy.”
But the real magic comes next as we lift the blades to our palms and glide it along our skin until blood pools.
The air shifts and the energy in the room tightens, like the cathedral itself is holding its breath.
We face each other fully now, hands clasped, lifelines overlaid and blood mixing together. There’s no script for this, no ancient priest mumbling Latin. Just us. The bloodlines, the chosen ones. Two souls the fates declared mates. It’s power. It’s achoice.
