Page 13 of Be-Djinn At The Beginning

He had always found her beautiful—with wild hair and muddy boots and teeth that were slightly too big, but this was Bea like he never imagined. Dressed in a blush pink dress that cinched her in far too tightly, it fanned out at the hips with delicate white flowers wherever the fabric gathered. Her hair was tamed into a large bun framed with curls with a hint of rose at her lips and cheeks.

She was exquisite, untouchable… Nothing like his own Bea.

A mad thought came to Sahar, that he wanted to see her true beauty when he freed her from that gown, took down her hair, and made her blush himself so there would be no need for rouge.

It wasn’t until she had passed out of his view, with the other women fussing over her veil and gown touching the ground, that he remembered the letter. He snatched it up with hunger.

I wish that I were meeting you at the altar instead.

I will miss you.

Love, Bea

For a moment, Sahar struggled to understand why the words on the paper seemed to vibrate, until he gripped his own wrist and realized he was shaking.

She said it. Well, she wrote it, but it was near enough that he felt something inside him pulling.

For hundreds of years, he had answered the wishes of foolish men, until he hid away his talisman—the only method by which a man could bind Sahar to himself—deep beneath the barren sands of his homeland. He was happy to live selfish and idle, even after meeting this strange girl. Nothing was supposed to change.

I suppose I have some digging to do, he thought. And quickly.

Bea fought back tears as she stood with the man she was supposed to marry at the altar. She stared down at her hand inside his, pink gloves for hers and white gloves for his, trying desperately not to think about the last time a pair of gloves had touched her.

She knew she was supposed to watch the vicar as he gave a long sermon about marriage and its many virtues and pitfalls, but her eyes kept darting to the doors.

Could I run? Would anyone try to stop me? Would I be disowned by my family?

It was too late to hope for a rescue. The vicar was prompting her to repeat him.

“I, Beatrix Jane Ashwood, do this day take Bertrand Claybourn as my… as my husband, to…”

The vicar reminded her, “Honor and obey.”

Bea bit the inside of her cheek, trying to force the words out.

Honor and obey.

The church doors burst open with a bang. A roar of wind filled the room with swirls of sand and autumn leaves. After it settled, a giant man with deep purple skin and burning indigo eyes stood framed in the doorway.

“Say it again,” he boomed, ignoring the screams and scrambling of the wedding guests all around him.

Beatrix stared, mouth open, ready to run into his arms before she remembered the way he had ignored her the entire day after Halloween, only to demand she not marry with no real offer of help.

“Say what again? And excuse me, sir, but how dare you interrupt my wedding day?”

He ignored her fury and strode toward her with those glowing eyes locked on hers; Guests and ushers leapt away like frogs as he passed. When at last he was directly before her, looking down while she craned her neck all the way back to look up, he grabbed her wrist and pressed a small object into her hand.

“Hold this,” he said, voice vibrating at so thunderous a pitch it made the boards beneath her feet tremble. “And say it again. The words you wrote me.”

Bea’s fiancé tried to clear his throat and approach, but the subtlest shift of Sahar’s gaze made him leap behind the pulpit to join the terrified vicar.

Beatrix looked down at the shabby little object in her hand. It was a clay pot, small enough to fit into the cup of her palm, with a domed lid and designs painted around its surface. Squinting at it, she thought she could make out the design of a bee. A very old honey pot.

Her eyes lifted again to his. Chaos ensued all around them. Her family screamed, calling her name. People were running from the church. The vicar was paging through scripture to find anything that might banish an eight foot tall purple shimmering man who did not appear to be fully clothed—in a church, no less.

“If I do, you will only leave me again,” Bea said. Tears crept into her voice as she gave a name to her sadness and fear. “You always leave me.”

“I will not, not if you do as I ask now.” He held her cheek in the palm of his hand. “For too long I’ve lived selfishly and alone, even after knowing you, I cared only to avoid responsibility and to please myself.”