THE HALL was filled with drunken laughter, entertainment of dancers in sheer gowns, leaving nothing to the imagination and aerobics stretching their bodies to the point that would bring Molly severe pain.
Molly and Tensley sat beside each other, next to Fallen and Lilith. The mountain lion that Tensley had caught the day before was presented to them, the brown short fur still in place. Molly swallowed down the acid in her throat and nodded politely as they took the mountain lion back to prepare.
Gifts of gold cuffs and ivory spears, of teacups and money, were presented to them by each guest.
A servant approached the high table, bowing to the king and Lilith. Lilith wore her tiara of gold and diamonds teetering on a gold ringlet, one diamond in the middle of her forehead, at the peak of her red flaming hair.
With Molly’s veil removed, she could see everything clearly, but still, she wore her valley of the lily crown.
“The cup, my lady,” the servant said, lifting a goblet to her.
Lilith nodded, taking the goblet and then stood, holding it out for Molly.
Molly glanced at Lilith, and then at Tensley. “What is it?”
“It’s ale, but with the blood of the mountain lion that your husband hunted,” Lilith explained, thrusting the gold cup into Molly’s hands.
The gold was cool to her palms, her skin still bloody from the thorns. They were supposed to stay that way as a symbol of their union and their vows, spilled on fresh, unharmed blood.
“Just like he hunted you,” Lilith whispered, her fingers toying with Molly’s curls. “Now drink. It’s a symbol of fertility, and you wouldn’t want to be barren. We may see a separation fit if there are no children between you.”
Molly twisted her lips, staring at the dark watery ale. She didn’t need to worry about her fertility—Tensley had proven that.
“Thank you, my queen,” Molly muttered and took a sip of the ale. Not too much. She wasn’t sure if it would be best for the baby.
Tensley, as he promised, was aloof. She knew with so many eyes watching them, he needed to be the demon, the distant, uncaring man to the court.
He showed her the truth with his soft touches—his finger brushing her thigh or his eyes scanning her face for a brief second.
When he kissed her with his blood on her mouth, she tasted his rage, his viciousness, his strength all at once. And her kiss tamed the beast.
Now, in front of a court of snakes, she played along. The obedient, passive bride. Silent, but deadly.
Soon, the food arrived, the mountain lion cooked rare, the red, fresh blood pooling around the meat, fruits, and vegetables.
Fallen stood and lifted his hands. “This mountain lion is a symbol of us—of the predator in our blood and how we are the powerful masters of this world. Our groom presents this mountain lion as a token of his skills of providing for her. Let us eat his hunt.”
Fallen cut the meat into thick slices, first placing food on his own plate and then to Lilith.
Once Tensley had his own meat, he cut it in half and passed it onto Molly’s ivory plate.
She toyed with her fork, but Tensley touched her hand. “Don’t. It’s tradition for the groom to feed the bride. To test her food. To protect her.”
Molly swallowed at his husky voice, the way his fingers smoothed along the bones of her slender fingers.
“Cut it,” he ordered.
She picked up her knife and fork and sliced off a tiny piece.
“Use your hand,” he said lowly, and she glanced to see everyone was waiting for them. “They can’t eat until we do.”
Molly picked up the bloody piece of meat and laid it on her palm. Tensley gripped her wrist, bringing the meat to his mouth and he caught it, his mouth pressing to her palm, smearing it across her skin only to lick. A lick that became a throb between her thighs.
She watched his dark, thirsty eyes drink her in as he chewed at the tender meat.
“Now you,” he said once he had swallowed, cutting a piece of his own meat, and presenting it to her in his large palm.
She hesitated, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. She exchanged looks at his impassive features and his palm, bowing as she took the meat into her mouth and chewed. So raw, so tender, and she swallowed, pressing a few fingers to her lips.
“Let us eat!” Fallen cheered, and laughter ensued, dishes clinking and forks scraping plates.
The two of them fed each other fruit and vegetables on their palms, the air thick with hunger and need.
She wanted him to devour her, to strip her bare, and to claim her as his wife.
She wanted his teeth deep, his hands anchoring her hips as he drove brutally into her depth.
A prolonged foreplay on their wedding dinner, each testing the other’s weaknesses and strengths.
She bowed again but let her teeth drag along the side of his palm, the sensitive flesh sending his pulse wild.
His eyes darkened.
She smiled wickedly back at him and licked her lips slowly, allowing him to watch carefully.
Her free hand found his thick thigh, and she dug her nails into the muscles. “You look tense, husband.”
His nostrils flared, and he leaned forward, his own hand clenching her thigh, but moving to the inside of it, dangerously close to skimming her throbbing core.
She gasped when he licked her bloody lips.
“It’s an insult not to consume every drop of blood from the mountain lion I hunted for you,” he whispered, explaining his lick. “I enjoy the chase, the hunt, but I much more enjoy the moment the prey realizes it’s claimed and it exposes its neck.” His finger ghosted over her collar, delightful chills rolling down her spine to her core. “And it bows.”
“I don’t bow, though,” she argued, squeezing his thigh. “I conquer.”
He smirked, for the first time in hours, his dark demeanor breaking through for a wicked look of a trickster god. “No, you love me conquering you.”
She flushed, the tip of her nose reddening, and she tilted her head down, only for Tensley’s wide hand to stroke her cheek in an iron grip, lifting her chin to meet his gaze.
“Never hide from me, I’ll hunt you,” he murmured. “And I’ll cherish you and bow—only for you.”
Piercing heat built behind her eyes, and she reined in her shaking emotions with a calming breath of power. “Will you bow tonight?”
His lips quirked. “I will bow, and I will kiss, lick, and devour. Fuck you, so you feel the burn for days. A roar, so the gods hear my pleasure from you.”
“Tensley,” she gasped.
“I am the dark lord, who corrupted the angel,” he hissed. “They will hear me roar. I will shatter the stars, and they will cower.”
“My lord,” Fallen called, his arm rested on the back of his throne. “Care to share that intimate conversation with the rest of us?”
Tensley’s features transformed back into a cool, detached expression, and he sat back, poised and controlled. “No, my king.”
Fallen hummed, taking a large gulp of his ale and slammed the cup down onto the oak table.
“A dance, my lady,” Fallen said and extended his arm past Tensley to Molly.
Molly glanced at his thin, pale hand—no scars, no blemishes.
Tensley’s jaw clenched, the sound of his teeth gritting, but he didn’t say a word.
Molly placed her hand in Fallen’s, and he guided her to the middle of the hall, into the golden circle.
His hand lowered to the small of her back, and a woman sang—in a different language, but the song was slow and soft.
She breathed through her nose, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart racing, the fear of him somehow knowing she was pregnant.
“So tense, my lady,” Fallen whispered into her ear.
She hummed. “Wedding jitters.”
He hummed back and swayed them around the circle, her gown whispering across the marble floor.
“You’re his weapon, how easily you could crush a man’s bones,” he said, his finger tracing her spine upward. His hot breath fanned her cheek, sending her stomach in knots. “You’re also capable of poisoning him, of creating that vicious organ within. Do not pass me, my lady. I do not care if you’re a daemon no longer. I will rip your heart out if you corrupt the dark lord.”
“My king,” Molly whispered and squeezed his arm, “I have no desire for his heart. Only his power.” She lied through her teeth, hoping her voice was steady.
Fallen smiled. “Very well.”
Before she could process his words, another set of arms pulled her away and into theirs.
A man she didn’t know.
He held her too close, too tightly, the room spinning.
She caught the sight of Tensley rising to his feet and storming over. The man spun her, losing sight of her husband.
Warm hands of steel yanked her into him, and she turned to see Tensley.
Tensley sent one dark look at the unknown man and took Molly in his arms, swaying her.
She breathed fast, resting her cheek on his. “It’s tradition for rival suitors to steal the bride in a dance,” he explained. “But no one else is touching you tonight.” And at his words, his fingers bruised her sides, pulling her flat against his front to feel his rigid length of manhood.
His blood-dried palm stroked her jaw.
Another pair of hands gripped Molly’s hips, but Tensley growled, his piercing black eyes challenging the rival.
The hands disappeared, and for the rest of the night, surrounded by a sea of lavish gowns and dark pelleted leather of warriors, no one dared to touch the dark lord and his night bride.
And in the chaos of wild dancers and laughter, the dark lord stole away his bride.