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“Wait—”
I tug her along and she follows. She has no choice. When we near the man at the door, he opens it and gestures for us to enter. Another one of The Councilor’s men is waiting inside to take us where we need to be.
I haven’t been in the Tribunal building before. I’ve never needed to be and don’t really want to be now. But the Wildbloods are not members of The Society so, as ever, there is paperwork on this night of nights. I would have preferred to do this another time, but Councilor Hildebrand is not one to budge on the rules, so here we are.
We follow the man, who leads us up a wide, winding stone staircase as if we’re heading up to the tower with all the meaning that holds, especially in a place such as IVI. The Society holds its members accountable to their own rules, in their own court of law. When a member is found as guilty of some offense, they carry out their own ritualistic and often archaic punishments here, within the high walls of the Tribunal building.
Willow’s heels click on the stairs. She has to hurry to keep up, and she keeps glancing at the man behind us. As we reach the landing where Hildebrand’s office must be, her shoe catches on the dress and she trips on the final step, gasping, and instinctively reaches for me.
I catch her before she falls, and for a moment we stand on that last step, her hands on my biceps, mine around her elbows. Her face is flushed, and she’s out of breath-probably both from our pace and her near fall. My gaze moves over her hands, to my ring on her finger with its manicured nails that match the garnet. Is it strange that she reached for me when she nearly fell? No. Instinct. Like one would grab a nearby chair. This Wildblood hates me. As she should.
My gaze falls to the swell of her breasts above the bodice of her dress, and I remember how she trembled at my touch during the Tithing ceremony, how her nipple tightened. She takes a shuddering breath and draws away as if she, too, just realized she’s holding on to me. She pushes a lock of hair behind her shoulder, and I catch a glimpse of the crescent moon.
“You should have worn the dress I ordered for you,” I say, irritable as I release her and she takes a full step away from me.
“Why? So you can hide from what I am? Or maybe you want to hide it from your friends.”
I grin, walk toward her so she takes another, final step away. The wall at her back stops her. “Friends?” I ask, eyebrows rising.
She looks anxiously away and waves her arm in the direction of the courtyard. “Your little friends playing dress up out there.”
“They’re not my friends. I have no friends.”
“I’m not surprised.”
Now I’m entertained. I am close enough to feel the warmth of her, to remember the taste of her lips and how they parted for me when I kissed her at the church. I lean one hand against the wall and brush the knuckle of my other hand over the crescent moon birthmark.
“And no, it’s not to hide from what you are.” I lean toward her ear to whisper the rest, watching goosebumps rise where my breath brushes her skin. “But this little witch’s mark along with the rest of you are for my eyes only.” I inhale her scent, savoring it before I draw back to watch the flush that creeps up her neck.
Someone clears their throat, and Willow startles.
“Councilor,” I say without turning. I take my bride by the elbow and move her along toward him. “I hope we haven’t kept you waiting.” I don’t actually give a shit, but Hildebrand is powerful within The Society. There’s no need to make an enemy of him.
Councilor Hildebrand’s gaze moves disdainfully over Willow before shifting to me. He smiles, steps forward to offer his hand. “Of course not, Azrael. It’s always good to see you at the compound and on such an occasion. Congratulations to you both.”
Willow snorts.
I slide my hand under her mass of hair and grip the back of her neck in warning.
“Thank you, Councilor. If we can get this finished? I’m anxious to take my bride home,” I say, giving Willow my best cat-like grin that I can muster even as my head resumes its pounding. I hadn’t realized it had stopped briefly in a small reprieve.
“I’m sure you are, but there are protocols considering the Wildbloods are not members of our Society.”
“And I don’t need to be,” Willow says.
I squeeze a little, but I don’t mind her mouthing off to this man I don’t much like.
Hildebrand takes in her dress but addresses me when he speaks. “White is customary. I thought I’d glimpsed a proper wedding dress, actually.”
