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There isn’t time to dwell on it. The vow ceremony ends as the priest directs us to exchange rings, and it’s only once the band is on my finger that I realize how much I like it. I didn’t expect to. I was quite certain it would feel like a noose around my neck. But the garnet surrounded by a halo of diamonds suits me more than I ever would have anticipated.
Red, like half of my wardrobe. Red like my hair. A deep, rich burgundy like the very shoes on my feet. I wonder if it was intentional on his part, like, somehow, he knew. But how could he?
My eyes move over his face in question just as the priest pronounces us man and wife. The room spins around me, and before I can process that reality, he tells Azrael to kiss his bride. It still feels almost like a dream, everything blurring at the edges when he steps closer and tilts my chin up.
I suck in a sharp breath, but it doesn’t help. I’m convinced all the oxygen has disappeared from the room as he bends to meet me at my level, his thumb skating over my jaw as his lips brush against mine.
The contact sends a shockwave through my body, more intense than the first two I’ve already felt from him. It isn’t at all what I expected. There’s nothing cruel or rough about it, and as that sinks in, I find myself leaning into him. I don’t know how it happens that my hands come to rest on his arms and he’s steadying me, or worse, that my lips seem to have developed a mind of their own as they part for him. The smallest sound of satisfaction echoes between us, and I can’t decipher if it came from me or him. But I know I’m not imagining it when his thumb drifts to my pulse, and he inhales the air I breathe into his lungs.
Goosebumps break out along my flesh, and I feel slightly drunk as he pulls away with a strange expression on his face. Again, it feels like a silent accusation, as if I’m tricking him somehow. As if I cast a spell on him that made him kiss me that way at a wedding neither of us wanted.
He doesn’t give voice to his thoughts, and I’m grateful for the interruption when the witnesses come to greet Azrael. I stay silent at his side, observing as they regard him with respect and admiration. Strangely enough, it feels as though he’s on display, too, right now. It’s like the sight of him here is such a rare occurrence, they aren’t quite sure what to make of it. It only leaves me with more questions as the priest finally dismisses us with a final nuptial blessing and sends us on our way.
The night is far from over. When I sneak a glance at my new husband and the dark hunger pooling in the depths of his eyes, I know it’s only just beginning.
8
AZRAEL
One of Councilor Hildebrand’s men greets us as we exit the Rolls Royce at the compound gates of The Society’s headquarters in New Orleans.
“This way, sir,” he says.
I nod, and we follow him. The wide expanse of the courtyard is nearly empty, only a few of the staff working to prepare for the marking ceremony. The men who will stand witness have not yet arrived.
Willow slows her step as she takes in the courtyard. Her gaze moves over the fountain with its gently spilling water to the lampposts and flickering candles that light the way to the ivy and rose draped canopy. Abruptly, she comes to a stop and gasps.
I follow her gaze to the man at the firepit as he sets the iron inside it.
“Let’s go. You’ll see it soon enough,” I tell her.
She glances up at me, wide eyes searching mine, but her gaze is inevitably drawn back to that fire. The iron.
“What is that?” she asks, and for the first time tonight, I tighten my grip on her hand as she tries to pull free. She looks up at me again, and I see her trying to muster her courage.
“Branding iron,” I tell her, my head pounding. “Let’s go.” I shift my hold to her arm and turn her toward the building where Hildebrand’s man waits impatiently. It’s the Tribunal building, which houses The Councilor’s office.
“Wait. What?” Willow digs her heels in.
I close my eyes, press my fingers into my temple to try to ease the pain of this monstrous headache—not that it does anything. Two cloaked, masked men walk in through the gates.
“The witnesses are arriving. Let’s go.”
“Branding?” She shakes her head. “Branding… me?”
“I will only use it if you force my hand,” I tell her, irritation clear in my tone as more members of IVI enter, their curious gazes falling on us. “Let’s go.”
