Urian took a deep breath as he waited in the small Apollite temple for Phoebe. Dressed in a kilt with his long hair worn loose about his shoulders, he felt so ridiculous. He even had what was tantamount to a furry purse hanging over his junk, and making him nervous as hell that it was going to accidentally pop him too hard and put him out of commission. But this was what Phoebe wanted him to wear for their wedding. So here he was.

Looking like an idiot to make her happy.

Gah, what part of you’re marrying a Greek Daimon and not a Scottish Highlander did you miss, woman?

If he ever met her sister Cassandra he was going to beat the holy hell out of her for her sick romance novel fetish that had put this idea in Phoebe’s head.

But as the doors opened slowly to show Phoebe on the other side dressed in a shimmering gown of flowing white silk that hugged her lithe body to perfection, all complaints scattered. Mostly because all the blood drained from his brain and pooled to the center of his body.

Um, yeah. For her, he’d set himself on fire.

Especially when her gaze met his over the single white rose wrapped in red and white ribbons that she carried, and she gave him that sweet, shy smile.

His heart pounded as she headed toward him with Braden at her side to be her sponsor for their union. How weird that after all the times he’d been married, he was actually nervous.

Phoebe couldn’t believe her eyes as she stared at the sexiest man alive. He was completely gorgeous. Tall, lethal.

He was hers.

The only thing that could make the day better would be to have her family with her. For a moment, her eyes teared, but she refused to be sad. Not tonight.

She wouldn’t regret what she’d lost. For weeks now, she’d been crying. There was nothing to be done about that. It still burned and hurt and ached. Worse, was knowing that her father and Cassandra were still alive, and that they both thought her dead. But the truth that she was a Daimon would be even more cruel.

So she was learning to live her new life.

With Urian.

And tonight, they would be united.

With a ragged breath, she took his hand. Braden pulled the ribbons from her rose and wrapped them around their combined hands to join them together. Then he moved to stand in front of them to act as their officiant for the ceremony.

Phoebe licked her dry lips as she stared up at her gorgeous Daimon.

His blue eyes glowed with warmth and love as Braden began their ceremony. “It is through the light that we are born and through the night that we travel. The light is the love of our parents who greet us and welcome us into this world, and it is with the love of our partner that we leave it.

“Urian and Phoebe have chosen to be with each other, to ease their remaining journey and to comfort one another in the coming nights. And when the final night is upon us, we vow to stand together and ease the one who travels first.

“Soul to soul we have breathed. Flesh to flesh we have touched. And it is alone that we must leave this existence, until the night comes that the Fates decree we are reunited in Ouranlie.”

Ouranlie was the highest point of Katateros where only the purest of souls could reach. It was considered the highest point of Atlantean heaven. Reserved for saints, heroes, and soul mates.

Braden moved to the sacred font where they kept an elaborate gold cup housed. Engraved with an image of the three Fates, it was reserved for weddings and special feasts. He took it to Phoebe first.

Urian held the cup while Braden pulled out a small knife and cut a tiny incision on her wrist so that he could place some of her blood in the cup. Then he did the same with Urian.

Once they had an equal amount of blood in the cup, Braden swirled it around three times clockwise and then counterclockwise. He whispered a prayer beneath his breath.

Braden handed the cup to Phoebe for the first drink, and then she handed it to Urian, who drank from the same spot she did. He handed the cup to Braden, and as was their custom, Urian leaned down to kiss his wife and mingle their blood while it was still on his lips.

Braden returned the cup to the pedestal, then came back to stand in front of them. “Now we present, Phoebe Jane Peters. She is unique in this world. Her beauty, grace, and charms are the legacy of those who have come before her and will be gifted to those who are born through her.

“This man who has chosen to unite with her, Urian Thánatago, on the other hand, stands before us a product of honor and integrity. A paragon of his parents, he sheds his house to unite with his wife and become Urian Peters. It is your similarities that brought you together and your differences that add variety and spark to your life. May the gods bless and protect your union and may you be blessed with fertility and happiness. And may the two of you enjoy every minute left to you.”

With those words spoken, Braden tied the ribbons into a double knot. Hopefully, the ribbons would last for seven days. At the end of which, they’d be cut and buried for luck.

“Congratulations.” Braden clapped Urian on the arm before he left them alone.

It was only then Phoebe realized how alone they were. “I’m sorry, Urian.”

“For what?”

“That you don’t have any of your family here.”

He shrugged. “It’s all good. I have you and that’s all that matters to me. Besides, I’m grateful that none of my family are here to see me dressed like this. My father would shit his pants.”

She laughed. “You’re terrible! And I don’t want to hear it. Especially since it’s not like you didn’t wear a toga back in the day.”

Sputtering, he clutched at his chest. “Ah! You wound me. It was a chiton, woman! Hello? Not a Roman.”

“Oh whatever, like anyone knows the difference or cares!”

“I care!”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Only you would.”

Suddenly, Urian had a strange feeling.

“Something wrong?”

He glanced around the room as his skin crawled. “You feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“Like we’re being spied on.”

Phoebe shook her head. “You’re being paranoid. How could they?”

Maybe, but it was tangible. His flesh literally shivered with it. Unmistakable.

Something wicked danced on his spine. Like Acheron on steroids.

Unmistakable. And malevolent as hell.