HER HEART thumped so loudly Molly swore every single member of the high court heard it.
She couldn’t look up, not at anyone, not even at the man at the end of the aisle. She focused on her breathing, begging for her powers to stay hidden and managed. She couldn’t risk her eyes glowing during her own wedding in front of touchy demons of the court.
The flutes were beautiful and soft, but she barely heard them. Not over her own heart filling her eardrums.
Don’t be afraid, don’t be a damn coward, Molly.
With a slow breath, she raised her head, her eyes traveling up from the marble floors to the lines of men and women on either side of her, watching her every breath, her every movement. The golden armor of the soldiers on either side of the aisle glimmered under the crystal chandeliers lining the high cathedral ceilings.
In a court of snakes, she felt the venom in her own veins. They tried to poison her, they tried to destroy her, but she absorbed it and now wielded their power against them.
Let them watch, let them pick at every detail.
She was the daemon—all venom and claws.
She actively searched for one brave soul to catch her gaze, to stare long enough for their bones to turn to stone until they became a statue of fear.
Medusa and I wouldn't share the same fate. I'd slay them before they had the chance to behead me.
The wall length windows of stained glass decorated the floors in piercing whiteness, glowing over the guests and herself as she walked slowly toward the altar.
The altar itself was a canopy of sheer crowned with lilies of the valley cascading down its frame.
With each step, her stomach grew with tangling knots of fear and nerves—she was marrying a man, a demon, a beast—so complex, so vivid, kind and sweet, vicious and brutal.
And carefully, as she neared the altar, her eyes raised, following up his dark pant leg, past his defined thigh muscles, up his bulging torso and finally, gazed upon his rigid, angelic features.
The face of a god and a monster—sharp features that could harm anyone who dared to touch him, bruised and bleeding, but his lips were too soft for a beast.
She watched a muscle in his cheek feather as she approached, his hands fisted on either side of his powerful body. Dressed in black, head to toe, a contrast to her bridal white of purity he had devoured. A dark angel. His vicious, dark eyes devoured her again as if she were beneath him, arching and aching for his touch.
A beast only knew her cravings.
She could almost imagine his wet mouth, watering at the image of her under him, her claws digging into his flesh of steel.
Fallen sat on his throne, Lilith next to him, as he stroked his smiling bottom lip.
As Molly stood across from him, she knew they couldn’t touch until the vow. Lilith had made that clear. But all she wanted to do was touch him, grip his fingers, and feel calm.
He was right—she saw an aloof, vicious man in front of her. No tenderness, no smiles, but features drawn into an expression of steel.
Her heart raced, her chest warred against the tight corset, her breasts popping out of her dress, and she stared at the deadly edge of his jaw, clenching and unclenching.
Fallen stood, marching over to the canopied altar, standing in the middle.
“Gathered in my hallowed kingdom of our kind, a wedding of my own subject to a rare, dangerous creature,” Fallen announced. He stared at the seated crowd of guests dressed in lavish gowns of rich colors—purples and blues and greens—while the men wore plated dark leathers reminding her of worn scales of serpentine monsters, a symbol of their alliance to the male groom. A unity of the members of the court.
“Present the thorns,” Fallen called to a servant.
A bundle of thorns lay across the servant’s palms, and they bowed, lifting them up to their king.
Fallen carefully took them and placed the dark thorns into Tensley’s hands.
Tensley, without a flinch, fisted his hand, and red blood flowed down his skin, dripping from his wrist and onto her white gown of lace.
He then turned to face her, his hand opening slightly to welcome hers. His palm was torn, punctured by the sharp thorns, but he only stared back at her, waiting patiently.
Molly lifted her palm, interlinking their hands. The prick of thorns made her tense, but Tensley tightened his grip, and the thorns broke skin, her blood spilling.
She bit the inside of her mouth, holding back a gasp of pain.
She peeked up at her groom—his dark eyes examining her own expression with boldness.
Flexing her hands, she clasped his so the thorns dug deeper.
She wasn’t afraid of blood; she wasn’t afraid of pain.
She was afraid of losing the man before her.
Fallen tied a lace of ribbon around their wrists, tying their hands together.
“Mr. Knight, the dark lord,” Fallen addressed, gesturing to their hands. “Your vows.”
Molly eyed Tensley’s mouth as his tongue licked low at his bottom lip. He studied her, the darkness of his eyes consuming her every thought, every breath.
Until his husky, low voice spoke.
A rumbling of thunder and fire, cooled by icy power sent a riot of goose bumps across her fevered flesh.
“With this thorn of pain and power, I say the sacred oath of court—you are the blood of my blood,” Tensley spoke, his bloody thumb stroking hers—so gently, no one would notice but Molly. The words were curses and blessings, praises to the court and crown above all. Molly grew breathless, her heart pounding as she peered up at him, his voice strong and clear, vicious and slow. A primal dominance seeped out into each sounding word that calmed every inch of her to him. “The bone of my bone.” His demanding voice was threaded in steel and velvet, and she wanted to peel it back until she saw where they connected.
“With this thorn between our palms,
Beneath the night of the gods,
Upon the eyes of the holy court of Fallen,
Plagues of my body,
Sin of my blood,
Strength of my bones,
I vow to shield you from all corruption but my own,
Kiss your wounds as a duty of your master,
And I vow with my hallowed heart of thorns, bone of steel, and blood of venom,
To wed thee
Unto the moment of our undying grace.”
AN IMAGE of a goddess—cloaked in white, veiled by lace, protected from his hungry eyes. When she stepped into the hall, her head bowed, his chest flared—his broken shards of a heart ached, and he wanted to claim her.
Her golden locks of sunlight shimmered beneath the veil, her red lips peeking through here and there, as she had moved with grace, with confidence, and beauty.
Now that the vows of the court were out of his mouth, he waited for hers. Her bottom lip had been sucked into her mouth, chewing, nipping, eyeing him from underneath her lacy veil of purity, and keeping him from devouring her completely.
Lilith would have told her the vows as Fallen had done for him. In the end, it was more an oath to the court and the crown than to their marriage.
“Ms. Darling,” Fallen said, turning his attention to her. Molly glanced at him, and then back at Tensley, blinking rapidly. “The vows…”
Molly’s hand squeezed his. “A vow of thorns,” she whispered.
Tensley frowned, feeling the trembling in her hand.
Her gentle voice shaky, edging through the vows with caution.
Her chest heaved, her breasts threatening to spill from her corset, and she spoke softly but with a sharp edge to her voice. A rose with thorns.
“With this thorn between our palms,
Beneath the night of the gods,
Upon the eyes of the holy court of Fallen,
Plagues of my body,
Sin of my blood,
Strength of my bones,
I vow to honor my lord,
My night to my dawn,
The sun to my moon,
And to kiss each bruise, each wound as a duty to my master.
I am ready to bare my body to him
—his precious temple,
his soothing warmth of night,
and bitter bite of ice.
Obedience and patience will be my oath
—carrying the inferno of his power in my womb,
And I vow
To wed thee
Unto the moment of our undying grace.”
His beauty’s eyes glowed beneath the veil, a glimmer of her power, but she blinked it back. Her voice was a sermon, a call to the danger lurking in his chest. A voice capable of destroying kingdoms and making courts bow.
“With a kiss of power,” Fallen said, cutting Tensley from his rushing thoughts. “And the lifting of the veil, she is yours.”
Tensley flexed his fingers out, breathing through his nose as he reached out, tracing the lace edge of the veil. Molly’s breaths came out soft and ragged, and as he lifted the veil, he glimpsed the full beauty of his bride.
Rosy cheeks, glowing skin, a swollen, pouty mouth he ached to taste, and her eyes, full of fear and excitement.
His chest, along with his cock, throbbed at the mere sight of her unveiled.
Freeing his shared palm, the blood dripped freely exposed, and he raised his bloody thumb, smearing it along her thick, trembling bottom lip of sin.
She fluttered her lashes wildly, and although she was silent, he could hear the racing beat of her heart. Because of him.
“A kiss of my blood, of my sin, of my essence, and my strength, and unto me, you are mine,” he uttered, his thumb lifting her chin. He dipped, his mouth claiming hers in a searing kiss of destruction and power, of affection and corruption.
The taste of her berry lips and his bitter blood warmed his tongue and his gums, sucking in the mix of sweetness and iron. He sucked the nectar into his dark, powerful body—hoping, craving to fill his bones and blood with it.
For a moment, it was just the two of them—his beauty, his dolcezza, his curse, and his blessing.
For a moment, he was a man longing for the woman’s precious heart of strength and courage.
And with that sacred kiss of blood and sweetness, he claimed his daemon as his own.
A marriage of sinners and saints—of an angel and a demon.
He’d sin for her—over and over again.
Molly battled the kiss with gentle tugs at his bottom lip, little licks at his swelling flesh, and her fingers pierced his biceps.
When he released her mouth, she panted wildly, the redness smeared, but fully claimed.
“May I present Tensley Knight and his wife, Molly Knight,” Fallen announced to the crowd.
The crowd erupted, and Tensley went back to steel and iron, calming his breathing and his raging chest.
He’d have her tonight—all of her in their final act of becoming wife and husband. Until then, he’d show the court his aloof beast.
Because a demon didn’t crave the beauty’s heart.
But he did.