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“All right?” I ask because what I see in her eyes makes me forget what happened before. Forget the words she spoke before the ceremony.
Her eyes narrow, all those emotions sharpening, turning to shards of ice. “Fuck you.”
I draw a deep breath in then exhale slowly, feeling weary. My own gaze narrows on her, and I force one corner of my mouth upward. “I suppose I forgot myself.”
“I suppose you did.”
“You know what comes next. You have one last choice to make.”
She leans backward on her heels as I straighten to stand, her eyes never leaving mine. The witnesses come to look at the mark, commenting on this or that. Not a single one of them touches her. They know better.
All the while, my bride and I hold the lock of our gazes.
When the witnesses move away and it’s time, I know she won’t do it. She won’t say the words she must, as required for every bride of The Society.
Dominus et Deus.
My Lord and my God.
Silence descends.
I give her a full minute, but I am tired. Exhausted. So I move behind her once more, covering the tattoo gently. Without another word, I raise her to her feet and lead her out of the compound to take her home.
10
WILLOW
The thirty-minute drive to Eden’s Crossing is yet again filled with silence. The dominant side of Azrael, which made an appearance in front of his Society brethren, has seemingly gone dormant again, but I know it won’t be long before it resurfaces.
As I watch him in the darkness, his jaw clenched and his thoughts elsewhere, I can’t help but wonder if he’s actually enjoying this or if it’s merely what has to be done. Right now, it feels like I’m just something on a checklist he has to complete before he can go on with his life.
Warmth throbs beneath my freshly inked skin as if to remind me it doesn’t matter how he feels. I’m his now until death parts us.
I choose to remain silent, too, allowing it to swallow the space between us until the car finally rolls to a stop.
It’s dark outside, the moon barely peeking out from behind the clouds to illuminate the Delacroix chateau. From my window, I can see that it looms large over the estate. The gothic-style mansion with what appears to be a wing on each side is imposing, with a hint of classic New Orleans style, but unique in its own way.
Though it’s my first instinct to want to explore the property, it’s late, and I know that’s not even an option right now.
The driver opens the door as Azrael comes around to join me. He’s still quiet as he glances down, watching me take in my new surroundings. I wonder if he wants me to like them—if he’s searching for approval in my eyes, or worse, disdain.
“Come.” He settles his palm against my lower back. “James will bring the rest of your bags.”
Heat licks along my skin just from the warmth of his fingers pressing into my spine, and as much as I don’t want to like it, I have to admit I don’t hate it.
I’ve spent enough time with Azrael tonight to understand three things about him. He’s an asshole, albeit a hot one. It’s his sense of duty to his family that’s driving him, not his own desires. And as much as he’s trying to hide it, he’s in an enormous amount of pain.
I’ve noticed it off and on throughout the evening, the way his jaw tenses, his spine goes rigid, and the vein in his temple throbs like an angry beast. If I had to guess, I’d say he suffers from migraines, along with an unfortunate personality and bloodline.
I shouldn’t care one way or the other, but admittedly, it’s always been my weakness. Despite the armor I’ve crafted so carefully to protect my emotions, I’m an empath at heart. I hate to see anyone suffering, and it’s in my nature to try to fix it somehow.
This is the part of me that tends to get me in trouble. I failed to trust my intuition before, and it didn’t end well for me. I didn’t set boundaries when I should have. My intentions, however pure, can’t protect me from the evils in this world. It’s up to me to do that, which is a lesson I’ve learned the hard way.
I try to keep that in mind as Azrael leads me inside the house, but any thoughts of protecting myself are quickly swept away as a sense of unease creeps over my skin. It’s just a hint of something amiss at first. But as we enter the double doors and I take in my surroundings, it settles over me like a suffocating cloud of smoke.
The first thing I notice is the light and shadows dancing across the hardwood floor in the form of the Delacroix family crest. It takes me a moment to realize it’s being cast from the window above the entryway, the light of the moon illuminating the mosaic glass so that it shines directly on the floor. It would be beautiful if it didn’t feel like a noose around my neck that I can’t escape from.
