Chapter 32
Corvus
Am I happy? Yes. Am I also stressed? Very much yes.
The guests are seated in the pews, colorful light illuminating them through the stained glass, and gray marble angels look over us from the sides of the church.
Dalton outdid himself with the location choice, and my mother made it happen.
The past month has been a mixture of absolute chaos, love, and mindblowing sex, I’m glad to be here, about to marry a man I can trust. A man I cherish, who makes me laugh more than I have in years, opens me up to the world, and who’s held my hand through all the challenges of the past weeks despite how I plucked him out of his life for my selfish enjoyment.
What I’m stressed about is that he’s not here, and he’s not picking up his phone.
I try to act normal, because we’re ten minutes late now, and Uncle Karl is really big on punctuality, but I can’t help noticing the curious stares, the awkward smiles, the worried grimace on Killian’s face as he whispers into Damen’s ear.
The delay has already been noted, and I know exactly what they’re all thinking. Well, at least those who were present during my embarrassing outing via group videocall.
My chest fills with air when Mother appears at the side entrance of the church, but she doesn’t have any good news and shakes her head before shrugging.
And that’s when it sinks its teeth into me, the same doubt that had me pressing a knife to Dalton’s throat, and my body stiffens, at once cold, as if I was out in the wind, among the snow, not waiting for my groom at the altar.
Remo is one of my groomsmen, but I still flinch when he pats my back from behind. “Runaway groom? Should we get ready for a hunt?” He chuckles. He’s joking. Of course. This is just his way of trying to put me at ease, but the sickly sense of betrayal still rises in my throat.
I need to shake it off, because I trust Dalton.
I decided to and I’ll die on this fucking hill if need be.
But I need to do something, or I’m gonna explode.
Whether Dalton dropped his phone in a toilet and is wasting time trying to fish it out, or decided he must have a snack right now (because he gets like that sometimes), I will find him.
I spot my opening by the side door to the church. Aspen is looking shifty. He’s up to something. He’s looking out of the window, peeking at the door… If Dalton’s late because of a stupid plan of his, I will squeeze the truth out of him.
I know every eye in the church follows me away from the altar, so I keep my head high, acting as if nothing is amiss about my groom’s absence. When Aspen notes my approach, he attempts an escape, but I speed up and take hold of his wrist before he can flee.
When I look up, the faces turned toward us make me feel like I’m an actor giving the performance of his life, and I am not having a serious conversation with the kid in front of all these people.
“May I have a minute of your time, cousin?” I ask and drag him through the door, straight into the frost outside.
“I didn’t do anything,” he protests as soon as I close the door behind us.
“Bullshit. Where is Dalton? What’s going on? Please don’t tell me you ordered a flock of crows to be released or something equally ridiculous, and now he’s sorting out your mess.”
Aspen raises his hands in defeat, but I expect nothing good from the little smirk on his face. “Okay, okay, it’s not crows, but I do maybe possibly know what he’s doing, and there might be some holdup with that…”
There is a ‘but’ here, and I don’t like it.
“What do you want?”
Aspen grins wider, the glint in his eyes like flames straight from hell. “I just want an answer to a question, so I can settle a bet.”
“What?”
“Which of you bottoms?”
“Why are you so damn obsessed with this?” I ask, scowling, but when I look at his dumb teen face, it dawns on me that I don’t really care.
My sexuality is none of Aspen’s business, but I also don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.
Dalton and I do what brings us pleasure.
What makes us happy. And right now, Aspen is wasting my time.
“Me. There, satisfied? Will you now tell me where I can find my husband?”
Aspen’s mouth hangs open for a moment, and as he stares at me I expect a stupid comment instead of an answer I need, but it doesn’t come. Maybe he doesn’t have a death wish after all.
He clears his throat. “It’s supposed to be a surprise, so don’t tell him I told you, but I have connections with these firework people—”
Of course he does. “What’s that have to do with Dalton?”
“So we arranged a firework show for when you walk out of the church, and I think they arrived, but Dalton should have paid them, confirmed, and come back…”
“Show me where they are,” I tell him, stepping from the relative peace of the niche by the entrance and into the cold wind. It’s now completely dark, and unless we start the ceremony soon, the reception will be delayed too!
“It’s cold!” Aspen complains. “Should we get back to grab our jacke—”
“No. Let’s go.” I shove him forward and he’s finally moving.
“But I’ve got my gun in my jacket,” he whispers and I make a mental note to talk to Roger about sending Aspen to some gun safety training, because who fucking knows where his jacket is. And it has a loaded gun in it? What if a child finds it?
While it’s sweet that Dalton wanted to surprise me, I’m more stressed by the second, and even as I walk, I text Uncle Roger to make sure he has Aspen’s jacket. Do I not have enough things to worry about?
“The van’s there.” Aspen points toward a collection of old buildings in a yard adjacent to the church, where the amber glow of lamps reveals the roof of a vehicle. I can sense he’s about to bolt, but I am not letting the weasel wiggle his way out of this. Maybe he’ll learn to stop meddling.
I push him forward, so I’m behind him as we walk past a tall stone fence and walk straight into a familiar figure, who steps back, accidentally exhaling a cloud of smoke in Aspen’s face. He blinks a few times, clearly startled to see us.
Why is Simon Kemper here? As a close associate of our family, I’m not surprised to see him among the guests, but why is he out here, and not in church?
“Dalton?” I call out, seeking him in the yard.
“Hey, man,” Aspen says. “We’re looking for the groom. He might have been unloading some fireworks?"
Kemper looks at me over Aspen’s shoulder. “Hm. I’m pretty sure I did see a big guy in a burgundy suit walk off somewhere with a staff member…”
I can’t believe it. He’s raising his eyebrows at me as if trying to say I told you so’. Is he implying Dalton’s cheating on me on our wedding day? After the emotional reunion we had and the wonderful week that followed?
Kemper must be dead wrong about this, but I still take a step in the direction he’s indicated, because it would be just like Dalton to accidentally lock himself somewhere. Last Wednesday, I had to get him out of Mother’s panic room.
I pass Kemper, heading toward the two men standing by the van, because they might know more about Dalton’s whereabouts, but even in this cold, I pick up on the scent clinging to Kemper from up close. After all, I was the one to create it.
I am being rude, I know, but I’d rather explain myself later than ignore instincts learned over the course of a life forged by danger.
Kemper’s back collides with the fence as I shove him back, bringing the discreet pen-syringe I always—always—have on me dangerously close to his neck.
I speak up, my voice rough like jagged steel. “Where is my groom?”
Kemper raises his hands, looking straight at me with wide eyes.
“Wh-what? I’m just the messenger. Don’t take it out on me.
” Now that I’m closer, I can smell Dalton’s perfume on him with more clarity.
Kemper cocks his head to inch away from the needle, and I smile, because the more afraid he is, the bigger the chance he’ll spill the information I need.
“You smell of him. It’s all over you,” I growl, leaning closer and inhaling through my nose.
Kemper doesn’t blink, but with the threat of the needle, he won’t dare attack me. “Corvus. This is some kind of silly misunderstanding. Okay, I did say shit about him when it wasn’t my place to. I apologiz—”
The van rattles so abruptly my attention is on it in an instant. There’s a scream muffled by metal, and the vehicle’s back door slams open, spitting out a man with a bloodied nose.
One of the men in overalls, who so far has watched me threaten Kemper like a good boy, now steps toward his fallen comrade, eyes wide with anger.
Startled, I’m not sure if it’s worth investigating, but the raging worker takes a step back, fleeing from a firework dashing out of the van with a shrill whistle.
It collides with his back, he falls face first into the snow, and my heart skips a beat, because in that moment I know who caused this havoc.
“Dalton?”
Kemper tries to pull out of my grasp, and I make the split-second decision to sink the needle into his neck. If he really had nothing to do with this mess, I’ll send him flowers later.
“You motherfucker!” the man hit by the firework yells, rolling in the snow to extinguish the flames clinging to his thick winter outfit. He’s lucky he’s wearing this much padding.
The other guy who stood by the van looks around at the chaos, and I’m already dashing his way as he reaches under his jacket. Aspen gets to him first. I’ve completely forgotten I forced him to accompany me here, but he jumps on the worker’s back like a homicidal monkey.
I envision him bleeding out in the snow, eyes wide in a face resting at an awkward angle, but my kid cousin shoves his fingers into the bastard’s eye, as if he wants to hold onto its socket on this thrill ride.
The goon shrieks, dropping the gun as he reaches to his face in a frantic effort to save his eye.
Huh. So he’s not only good at spending the family fortune on clothing and gadgets after all.