3. Chapter Three
My fingers brushed along the the page that once consoled me during the times I didn’t think I would make it out alive. There weren’t any emotions tied to the action now, as I glanced out of the French doors that led to the balcony from Jericho’s room. It was purely from habit at this point. Like pouring milk in my tea.
The man who wrote the words in this book had probably moved on with his life. I imagine he had children and a wife. Did he run the bookstore that had once belonged to his father? I’m sure his life was sheltered compared to mine. I hoped that it was beautiful and ordinary. Idyllic.
I prayed he was happy.
My life was the opposite. Cold, lonely. Still, I was learning to find happiness, thanks to Jericho.
He was still asleep from the night before, and we were fast approaching the time to leave for the wedding. I spun the engagement ring on my finger while holding the book to my chest.
Ryan was a distant memory. One that kept me focused on a dream while enduring pain that I hated to recall. Jericho was my present, my future.
I smiled, realizing that spinning my engagement ring brought me more peace than the book ever had. The ring was real. It had a name, a face, a person attached to it. The book gave me nothing but the mist of hope. But Jericho was solid.
I turned back to appreciate the rolling hills. I thought of letting him sleep longer. He needed it. He’d been out into the early hours of the morning hunting for the rest of the men that got away. I’d been worried sick, unable to sleep myself, but when he returned, covered in mud and smelling of sweat and the burned flesh of the man we had set fire to, I ushered him to the shower.
I cleaned him off, got him in bed, and used warm lavender oil on his sore body until he drifted off to sleep. He slept heavily, none of his demons meeting him in his nightmares. He was peaceful, his facial features soft and… young. My heart clenched, knowing when he woke again the war would continue, and I wasn’t ready for that.
Why couldn’t these quiet moments last just a little longer? Why did they always disappear like gold dust through my fingers?
I just wanted to pause the time we had and stay in bed together. So, I didn’t wake him when it was time for breakfast. I ate in here, not wanting to leave him. I was about to ask for lunch to be brought up too. I didn’t want to spend hours on my hair and makeup. I didn’t want to be away from him.
I didn’t want to host the family members that filled the halls or make small chat over soup in the kitchen while we all pretended last night didn’t happen.
It did.
I thought about even postponing the entire event.
But… did I want to? A delay would be another day I wasn’t his wife. And I very badly wanted to be all his.
The sheets rustled behind me. I turned to catch Jericho stretching his arms over his head. His eyes were still closed. He was sprawled on his back, the black sheet hanging low on his waist. He yawned, then opened his eyes, taking in his surroundings.
His eyes darted wildly around the room, as if he were looking for something he lost. When they settled on me, he let out a sigh of relief. “What time is it?” he asked.
I headed for the bed, and when I reached him, I placed my book on the nightstand. “It’s almost time to leave,” I said, crawling on top of him. I pressed my mouth against his, holding his chin while I did.
He frowned, his brows wrinkling. “You let me sleep the day away?”
“You needed the rest.”
His nose scrunched in protest. “Shouldn’t you be at the spa getting pampered?”
I shook my head, brushing my nose against his. His mouth parted, and his head lifted for a kiss, but I pulled away before our lips touched. “I didn’t want to be away from you.”
Jericho’s hands ran up the nightgown I was wearing He squeezed, pinching the flesh of my arse so tightly that I moaned. Desire pulled in my belly the way it had whenever he looked at or touched me. I had forgotten sex could be so good when you had a considerate lover.
I rolled my hips against him, my center rubbing against his morning erection, the only barrier between us the thin fabric of my thong. The tip of his shaft pushed against that sweet bundle of nerves and I moaned, sliding along him for more friction.
The heat in my stomach coiled, spreading throughout my body, coursing through my veins. We were touching in so many places—my hands held his face, my thighs wrapped around his. Still, I was desperate to get closer to him. I wanted to mark our very souls with the other’s essence, so that even when we were apart, we’d feel each other—know we belonged together.
He let out a groan. “We’re going to be late to our own wedding.”
His voice was husky from sleep, as warm and thick as the vodka he drank.
“Let them wait.” I caught his bottom lip between my teeth. “It can’t start without us.”
He chuckled, and I drank in the sound as I kissed him. I slid a hand between us, tugging my panties away, and in one swift movement, shoved his cock inside. I cried out at the sudden fullness and pressed my hands against his chest to brace myself.
I whimpered in desperation as I rode him, fast and hungry.
“Fuck, baby.” His hands rode up the sides of my body, his thumb running along the ridges of my scars. I felt the hot metal of his ring against my skin; the one I had in my keeping long before I knew it belonged to him – that I belonged to him.
I felt like the witch he always called me, hungry and wanton, riding him to my completion… or as he liked to call it, bouncing. I moaned, his hands sliding up my bare skin until he reached my breasts. He pinched a nipple, twisting it between his fingers.
His panting grew with each motion of my hips, until we were both sweating and out of breath. I reached for his hand, braiding our fingers together, and slid them to where we were joined.
“I love you,” I whispered.
His velvet eyes held onto mine, speaking the words that were caught in his throat. He didn’t have to say them because I knew them to be true.
Jericho’s free hand snaked up, toward my throat. He clutched me and yanked my face toward his with that familiar firm grip holding me in place. Our mouths clashed in a dire need to be connected. I drank from his mouth, the taste of vodka still there from the night before.
Our lives together flashed through my mind. Children running through the garden. Both our children and the grandchildren Rose would be giving him. I could feel the presence of their laughter, the way my heart would cry for joy as I held them.
I saw the sprinkling of white strands on our heads until we both went white.
And then came more grandchildren. More happiness, more tears, and more memories that brought me joy. I saw a small candle shop where I could sell my oddly shaped gothic wax molds without being judged, the scent of lilacs and lavender wafting through the air, as the vision was here, now. So real and raw, and possible.
Jericho was my hope. He was the trickling of stars lighting my dark path. The reason I had the courage to kill my first husband, the reason my heart was beating.
My body tensed, the overwhelming emotions shuttering through me. I pulled my mouth from his, letting out an earth-shattering cry of pleasure while my climax took over.
Jericho wasn’t far behind, his already hard cock filling me even more with its twitching until he released deep within me. I collapsed on top of his chest, my fingers playing with the tuft of hair there.
I was sated in mind, body, and soul. My eyes grew heavy, and I refused to move even when he gently nudged me.
“We have to get ready,” he whispered against the top of my head. I groaned my displeasure and he laughed. “Come, sweet Evie. Time to start our lives together.”
I sighed but pushed myself up. Before I could climb off of him, he grasped my face between his hands, demanding my attention.
“Are you happy?” he asked. “If you don’t want this, we don’t have to go through with it.”
I took his hand from my cheek and kissed his palm.
“Among my people, we handfast. Did you know that?” I looked at his unmarred palm, where the deep lines of his life spread before me like a map. I looked at the outside of his hand, where a single line creased the edge of his hand - a single marriage line. He would only marry once. And it would be a long one. I kissed his hand, knowing that marriage was to me. “We cut a line across our palm, intended to scar to mark us as wed.”
He grunted, “Yes. A rather unpleasant surprise for me during Rose and Alastair’s wedding.”
I laughed, remembering that day. I had been dragged by my nephews to the wedding, unwilling and unhappy to see the Greens again. I was half terrified they would give me back to Eoghan, and return me to that haunted mansion on the hill. But they hadn’t.
“We can only make that vow once. We mark our skin and cannot do it again.” I kissed his palm again, hope blossoming in my chest. “It means your vows become my oaths. Your wants become my needs. Fidelity is enforced by everyone who witnesses the mark on your hand, and if you break your pledge, your spouse chooses your punishment.”
Please, do not turn me away, Jericho.
“I did not make such a pledge to Alastair,” I said, with a hint of pride. As if that lack of scarring made me… pure… at least in that sense. It gave me something unmarred that I could give to him.
“Good,” Jericho said, his face still somber. “You have a chance to make a true pledge to someone who deserves you.”
There was a sadness in his voice… as if the pledge would not be made to him. Or, like me, was he afraid that the pledge was somehow unrequited? No. I needed to make that oath to him now. I needed him to see it. To know… to feel my undying fidelity to the one light in my otherwise blackened life.
My brows furrowed.
“Please,” I brought his hand on my lips again, taking in his scent. His musk. The sheer power of his presence. “Will you make the pledge with me?”
He tilted his head and smirked. “My, my, witch. Are you trying to make an honest man out of me?”
I felt his chuckle rumble deep in his chest, but still. Sadness lingered in the air between us.
“Please,” I begged in a quiet whisper.
He took in a sharp breath. “I feel no impetus to harm you. To wound you. To draw your blood. I feel no need to mark you with anything but my kisses.”
He tried to pull his hand away, but I kept it near me. I kept it close to my mouth, and nibbled the Venus mound of his hand – one that indicated that he was a loving man, who cared much about his family.
“Please, husband,” I whispered again. I would not allow his rejection. I needed this. If not for him, for myself. “I wish to make the pledge with you.”
He stiffened. “Save it for the man you will spend your life with.”
“I am!” I protested. “I will spend my life with you.”
“Evie…”
“Jericho.” I placed my fingers against his lips. “I am your wife. Let my hand bear the mark of our union. That is my way. It is my choice to make a pledge to you that I did not make to Alastair. Let me give you more of myself than he took.”
His eyes looked pained, as he examined my face. He opened his mouth, and I knew he would say no. I knew that he would tell me that this was a bad idea, but I was beyond his protests. I would assert myself this one time. For this. He had given me a voice. Now I would use it.
“Hand me your dagger,” I whispered. “I know you keep one in your nightstand.”
He lifted a brow and a small smirk crossed his lips.
“Have you been snooping, witch?” He leaned over and pulled the drawer open, blindly finding the dagger there - small enough to fit into his large boots, I was sure. A last resort in case of attack.
“You told me it was our room,” I said feeling the kindling in my heart ignite into a flame. “So why wouldn’t I look in your drawers?”
I went to my own nightstand to pull out a single black hair ribbon. It wasn’t ideal. A tie, or scarf would work better. But I wouldn’t allow him space between us. I did not want him to change his mind and come to his senses.
I pulled the knife from its sheath and discarded the leather cover on the bed.
The blade glinted at me, reflecting in the sparse light from the window. I opened my left palm, and without hesitation, sliced across my hand.
He winced, as if he felt my pain.
I took his hand and did the same to him. As his skin split in two, he didn’t flinch. Not like when I had cut myself. I placed his wound over mine, our blood mingling between our hands as I rushed to bind us with the hair ribbon. Securely wrapped, I leaned down to kiss where our hands joined.
“You are blood of my blood, bone of my bone,” I said in a rush, staring at our joining. “From this day forward, I will never have another.”
I kissed our hands again, and felt a tear fall down my cheek.
“My life is yours.” I looked up at his face, to see him watching me with that sorrow written in his brow. A sorrow he would not share. “Say it back to me,” I begged.
He shut his eyes and took a deep breath.
“You are blood of my blood, bone of my bone. From this day forward, I will never have another. My life is yours.”
He leaned forward and kissed me, caressing my face, and I felt a surge of bittersweetness. The way he’d been acting since this morning, I knew something was wrong.
“I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe,” he said on a gasp, shutting his eyes. “You will want for nothing.”
“Your wants are my oaths.” I leaned forward until my chest was on his, our hands tucked between us.
“Really?” His eyes opened, searching my face for… something. I didn’t know what. “You swear?”
“I do!”
I had never meant anything as much as I did right then. I do. I will. I swear. I pledge. I am Jericho Vasiliev’s wife.
“You’ll come to regret those words, witch,” he said, quietly. It was so quiet, I barely heard it.
My heart clenched, taking in the uneasy state of his mind. I hated him thinking that he didn’t make me happy. We would have to fix that.
“My first wedding was the worst day of my life. Today is the best day of my life.” I sprinkled kisses along his jaw, his cheeks, his ears. “I am honored to call you mine.”
He stared at me in that deep assessing way of his, and I knew he was searching for the truth in my eyes. He’d find no lies here. “Your first wedding means nothing. That man was not your husband. You will never call him that again. I am the first and the only.”
I placed my hands over his on either side of my face, stroking the back of his hands. “Yes, husband. Only you.”
He grinned, satisfied with my answer, and released his hold on me.
“Join me in the shower?” I asked, climbing out of the bed. I pulled the nightgown and undergarments off, heading for the hamper in the corner of the room. He hadn’t responded, so I turned back to see if he was coming.
Jericho was sitting up now, his head dropped as he stared at something in his hands. My breath caught when I realized he was reading the note inside of my book. His body was stiff, and when he looked up at me, I may not have seen the rage inside of him, but I swore it shook the ground beneath my feet.
“Who is Ryan?” he asked, keeping his tone cool.
I shrugged. He couldn’t know, I wouldn’t allow Ryan to be hurt because of his jealousy. That was, if Ryan was even alive. Still, I wouldn’t take that risk.
Jericho snapped the book shut, then pushed off the bed. “You may be his moonlight,” he said, and I caught the slight ticking of his jaw that he hadn’t managed to hide. “But you are my queen of the night. Tell me, who the fuck he is.”
His quiet voice did little to mask the anger brewing in his heart.
I shook my head, stepping back. “Jericho, stop.”
“Is he a guard? Was he the one who helped Kira escape?”
I shook my head again, closing my eyes. I knew what he would do in order to get the answers he wanted. But this? This one I couldn’t share. Tears threatened to escape. I had spent years building up walls.
But this secret, if Jericho took it from me, would shatter me.
Jericho was a good man. A good protector. But I knew he was also jealous and possessive, and prone to violence.
I didn’t want to know what would happen if he found him, because I knew that he could. I just hoped that he trusted me enough not to go digging for the answers.
I inhaled a sharp breath, gathering my strength. When I exhaled, I pressed my head against his heart and I whispered, “Please, don’t make me.”
As quickly as it started, the rumbling beneath my feet stopped. The air around us cooled and stilled.
His arms wrapped around me, and the nausea swirling in my stomach dissipated when he whispered against my hair. “Okay.”