Chapter 20 Cressida
twenty
Cressida
All Hallows Eve
The past month has been a fever dream I haven’t woken up from.
Not in a bad way, but more of a what-the-actual-hell-is-my-life kind of way.
One minute, I’m living with the trauma ghost of my dead best friend, and the next, in a plot twist nobody saw coming, she’s alive and moonlighting as the Reaper, dealer of forbidden drugs and destroyer of worlds.
Out there somewhere, Giselda is playing her twisted little games and people are dying because of it. Some of them don’t even know they’re on her chessboard until the blood is already pooling under their feet.
We’ve spent the last week hunting her and stalking leads until our eyes burned, yet we’re no closer to her than before.
Each lead we chased peeled back another layer of the girl I thought I knew, revealing something darker, colder.
The city keeps bleeding under her scythe, and I keep waking up with Konstantin’s heartbeat banging against mine like a fist on a locked door.
But in between all the hunts, all the blood, is a bond that refuses to quieten.
We’ve found time to strengthen it. To carve out space for our relationship.
I’ve been going on full-blown, candlelit, stalker-vibe dates with a Bratva boss who stares at me like I’m his salvation and his ruin all at once.
Konstantin has been . . . sweet. Not in the flowers-and-rainbows kind of way.
No way in hell. That’d be too boring for either of us.
He’s been sweet in the ‘I had the head chef of a five-star restaurant flown in just to make you pumpkin ravioli and then growled at anyone who looked at you for too long’ kind of way.
Konstantin worships me and sometimes it’s so intense that I don’t know whether to cry or combust. But it’s not all romance and heated nothings whispered in my ear.
There’s still the looming weight of Giselda.
The bond that’s been brewing between Kon and I, and the way my abilities keep pulsing—sharper, stronger, like my lie detection’s starting to dig into people’s souls instead of just skimming the surface.
And still tonight, right now on All Hallows Eve, this girl who loves horror movies, and bonfires, and peeling latex scars off her face at midnight is walking into a cathedral to bind herself to a monster.
Because nothing says spooky, twisted, fated fairytale like swearing eternal loyalty in a candlelit cathedral while ghosts metaphorically scream from the pews.
My favorite holiday and my favorite bad idea all rolled into one.
What more could a girl ask for?
They say you know who you are by the time you get married.
If that’s true, then I’m vengeance in black satin, rebellion stitched in lace, and stubborn as hell in combat boots.
The cathedral is hauntingly beautiful. Stone arches with vaulted ceilings, stained glass that bleeds color across the floor like a kaleidoscope of sins, and more lit candles than you’d find at a seance.
The aisle is long and dramatic. Ridiculous really, but it’s fit for queens and monsters.
Which is perfect since I wear both labels proudly.
Konstantin insisted on the cathedral because it’s tradition for him and I insisted on the colors for my act of rebellion against it.
Black wedding dress with blood-red flowers.
I look like a gothic fairytale villain, and I love it.
Kingston stands at the closed doors, waiting to walk me down the aisle. He takes one long look at my gown, at the boots, at the ink-black veil combed into my hair, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. His eyes run over me again, his scowl sharp, but behind his eyes, I find that wicked laughter.
“You look like you’re summoning Satan,” he mutters, holding his arm out.
“Perfect. He’s officiating,” I reply with a wink.
“You’re a menace.”
I laugh softly. “You love me, big brother.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Just for that, I’m going to trip you as you walk me up the aisle.”
“You do that, and I’ll pull you down with me.”
I gasp dramatically, holding my bouquet to my chest. “You dare.”
My eyes fall to my bouquet, and my smile softens further.
It’s beautiful. Sunniva did a great job putting it together.
Black Baccara roses, trailing red Amaranthus, and black Dahlias are mixed with Dusty Miller and curled ivy, then wrapped in black velvet ribbon with a silver dagger brooch pinned to it, in honor of my monster man’s love of his knife.
The doors whisper open, and gasps bounce off the stone.
My combat boots thump against the stone floor, echoing louder than heels ever could. There’s no sweet music or petals tossed by cute little cherubs. Just the haunting hum of old organ pipes and the distant rumble of a storm rolling in.
Fitting.
I’ve always like it when the sky matched my mood.
Konstantin waits at the altar, watching me like I’m the most sacred thing to ever walk the earth.
God, he’s fucking sin on legs.
All black suit with no tie. He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t blink. Just watches me with the stillness of a storm before it breaks loose. That mouth of his I’ve kissed raw so many times since our first date, those hands of his that I’ve wrapped my fingers around like vows.
When I stop in front of him, his gaze drops to my boots and that almost-smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. He reaches out and lifts my veil slowly, reverently, like he’s peeling back a layer of the universe.
“Lisichka,” he murmurs so quietly that only I can hear. “You look like pure sin.”
“Bold of you to say before I vow to legally ruin your life.”
His eyes flash with something that might be amusement. Or desire. Possibly both. “You’ve already ruined me, Lisichka.”
The priest begins speaking, but honestly, I barely hear him. My blood pounds in my ears, and the bond hums like electricity under my skin. Konstantin’s emotions bleed into mine until I can barely tell us apart.
Our vows come next. Traditional first, because even monsters have to pretend at normalcy.
People see politics when the look at us, but I only see a man who has become a geography my body knows better than its own map.
When the priest asks who gives me away, Kingston answers with a look that threatens murder and a nod that passes me to Konstantin with love.
“I, Cressida Blackwell, take you, Konstantin Kirovsky . . .”
The words tumble from my lips, heavy with meaning, as I slide the black band over his knuckle. And I do mean every one of them. Not because they’re romantic, or soft, or something we have to do, but because they’re promises, and I don’t break mine.
“I give you my name and the fire behind it. I won’t turn from you, even when your darkness snarls at me. I will keep your edge sharp, and I will be the hand on your throat that reminds you that you’re still human.”
Konstantin guides a black ring onto my finger as he speaks his vows in a voice made of gravel and silk. There’s a rasp to it, like each word is being dragged from somewhere deep.
“I give you my breath and the blade in it. I won’t lie to you, even when the truth will burn us down.
I will stand in the doorway when the dark comes, and I will not move.
I vow to protect you, even when you don’t want me to.
To stand beside you, even as the world burns around us.
To choose you over war, over blood, over legacy. ”
But the real magic comes next as we lift the blades to our palms and glide it along our skin until blood pools.
The air shifts and the energy in the room tightens, like the cathedral itself is holding its breath.
We face each other fully now, hands clasped, lifelines overlaid and blood mixing together. There’s no script for this, no ancient priest mumbling Latin. Just us. The bloodlines, the chosen ones. Two souls the fates declared mates. It’s power. It’s a choice.
We speak in sync, as if the words are already etched into our bones.
“I am yours. In truth. In blood. In shadow. In flame. Where you walk, I follow. Where you fall, I rise. Our souls, one flame. Our lives, one name. Bound until the end and beyond it. We accept the bond. We choose to lock it. To seal our fate to one another. Not because we must, but because we will. Now. Always. Even in death.”
Silence falls as our last words fade and then the world tilts.
It feels like a lock finding its home after a lifetime of hanging open.
A padlock’s tongue catching, a click so quiet I hear it in my bones.
The tether surges between us. A cord of light, of heat, of truth, invisible, but undeniable.
It burns through every lie we’ve told ourselves, binds every broken piece, and fuses them together with something old and wild.
It’s soul deep.
It’s eternal.
I gasp and Konstantin grits his teeth as if he’s holding back a roar. Then the power surges and slams through us.
The candles bow and a ripple breaks the air from altar to the last pew. Somewhere a baby cries once and falls silent as if soothed by something no one can name.
Konstantin looks like he just tasted a god.
I stagger, catching myself on his arms as light bursts behind my eyes.
My senses spike, sharper, clearer. I can feel the thoughts before they form in his head.
Can sense the pulse of his power like a second heartbeat.
The cathedral groans right before a stained-glass window shatters at the top sending the shards raining down in a kaleidoscope of colorful fury.
Soldiers flinch, people let out cries of fear, and my big brother swears loudly from the front pew.
The power settles eventually, like a dust storm dying down.
I glance around at the destruction and chuckle. It’s as if the universe just said, “Yep, these two should strap the fuck in.”
Konstantin’s staring at me like I just cracked the sky open with my bare hands. “Well,” he says, voice rough. “Guess we’re really married now.”
I toss my head back as laughter rips from me. “You sure you’re ready for this much wife, monster man?”
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “I was born ready to survive with you.”
I’m his.
He’s mine.
And the world will have to burn around us before we ever break this bond.