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Of course, he would think that.
I snatch my hand back and square my shoulders as the driver retrieves my bags and delivers them somewhere out of view. Reluctantly, I glance up at Saint Trinity Cathedral, the gothic architecture of the old building looming over me like a dark shadow. Moonlight dances between the towers and spires, highlighting the details of the structure. I’m not religious, but I can admit it’s beautiful in a morbid sort of way–though I’m still not certain I won’t burst into flames upon entering the doors.
I knew this was where we’d be married. My sisters and I drove by the place several times out of curiosity after we received the contract from the Delacroix family that would dictate my future. It has been the same since the treaty was struck between us. The chosen Wildblood woman is dragged from her home and her life and brought to this place to perform a ceremony that makes little sense, considering the lingering hatred between our families. The Delacroixes believe it will save them from further tragedy, and the Wildbloods participate only to prevent further bloodshed at the hands of our centuries-old enemies.
The ceremonies that take place between our families aren’t marriages, despite what they may look like. They are Sacrifices.
I’m all too aware of what the night will entail. I will be claimed, first in name, then marked as property of Azrael with his brand inked into my skin. Before the night is through, he will lay claim to my body as a final mark of his ownership.
A shiver runs down my spine as I dare a glance at the enormous size of him. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I’ve remained a virgin as was decreed, but I’m not completely naïve to the act. My curiosity over the years has been sated by reading bodice rippers and, more recently, sneaking a few previews of videos online for glimpses of the real thing. I wanted to be prepared for tonight, but something in my gut tells me there was nothing that could prepare me for Azrael.
I’m not even certain he’s fully human, and as my eyes wander down between his thighs, a small moment of panic moves through me. Oh God, he’s probably going to split me in half.
He clears his throat, drawing my attention back to his face as he arches a brow at me. A flush creeps over my cheeks as he watches me as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. But he doesn’t offer me any reassurances.
Needing space, I glance around in question, wondering where I’ll get ready. Before I can ask, a woman in a professional gray dress appears, eyeing me curiously. She’s beautiful and elegant, her hair styled neatly into a chignon and her makeup simple and classic. I have no doubt she’s part of The Society.
“Miss Wildblood, I presume?”
“Yes,” I answer reluctantly.
“My name is Nina. I’ll show you to the dressing area.” Her tone is polite, but I’m not fooled into believing for one second she’s an ally. She’s been sent here to watch over me, to make sure I don’t run before the ceremony.
I don’t meet Azrael’s gaze, though I can feel his on the side of my face. Right now, I’d give anything to know what he was thinking, if the conflict I felt from him in the car was real or just my imagination. As we part ways and I follow Nina around the cathedral, a fleeting thought passes through my mind that perhaps he wanted to marry someone else.
It would make sense. He’s older than me by four years and undoubtedly has had more freedom since he wasn’t bound to the same rules of celibacy as I was. I can begrudgingly admit the man is stupidly handsome. If I didn’t know he was a Delacroix, and my heart wasn’t encased in ice, I may have been captivated by his striking features. He’s not like any man I’ve ever seen before. He’s stronger. Taller. Genetically gifted in every way.
I didn’t want to give credence to the legends, but I think perhaps there is a part of them that rings true. There’s something about Azrael that’s otherworldly. I can see how he might be mistaken for something other than a mere mortal. I can also see how a woman who wasn’t cursed to marry him might even fall into the trap of succumbing to that hypnotic gaze that challenges you to submit without saying a word. That commands your attention without even trying.
The more I consider it, the more I think it’s the only thing that makes sense. There must be someone else. Perhaps there were many before me. I’m not sure why that thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I chalk it up to the fact that I was constrained by the rules while he was free to do as he pleased.
