Chapter 14 BRIDE IN CHAINS
Present: Anderson Estate, New York City
My hand shakes as I brush out my hair in the back parlor facing the rose garden.
A pale version of me reflects in the mirror—large eyes, dark circles underneath, bloodless cheeks. A simple white sheath dress I pulled from a closet—Mom’s old dress.
When I was little, I’d look through photos of my parents’ wedding. The great Linus Anderson’s arranged marriage with Joanna Milton was the social event of the year, splashed across the newspapers and covered by all media outlets.
They weren’t in love then. Dad married Mom because our family used to believe in some curse about the wife of the eldest son dying an untimely death should they fall in love.
It was ridiculous, but with a string of unfortunate deaths over the years and the superstitious lot of old-money folks, I never questioned it.
Mom died when I was a baby. Dad fell completely apart, or so I was told. They were in love then. It surprised everyone.
But it never surprised me.
I could see it when I looked at their photos.
The way Dad smiled at Mom in her stunning wedding dress with the long cathedral train, how she snuck a glance at him when they were cutting their three-tiered cake, a shy smile on her face.
Perhaps it wasn’t love at that moment, but the signs were there.
It was romantic. It was fated.
Despite the morbid and sad ending, I wanted that for myself. The once in a lifetime love.
But I never thought love wouldn’t find me. That instead, I’d take part in an arranged marriage.
Never thought I might have a morbid ending of my very own.
Yet here I am.
“Don’t do this, Lana. Please, I beg you.” Belle clasps my shoulder and looks at me through the mirror. Tears gather in her eyes.
“I have to.” My throat prickles. I look away. “There’s no other choice.”
And there isn’t, and the bastard knows. He listed my choices—going to the cops or fleeing. But he’s right. With what I know about The Association and how powerful they are, running might send us straight to our deaths. And with my siblings, my nieces and nephews, can we hide forever?
How can I guarantee their safety?
I’m turning thirty-five in a few months. I can do this for a few months. And the day I turn thirty-five and they get whatever it is they’re after, I can put this behind us.
“There is. We’ll go into hiding. Change our names,” Belle pleads. “Heck, I’ll get a bad spray tan, dye my hair blond, and wear gray contacts for the rest of my life. Don’t marry the bastard.”
An inappropriate snort tumbles out of me.
“You’d look ridiculous, Belle.” She’s half-Chinese, half-white, and her jet black hair and ivory skin are utterly gorgeous.
“We’ll think of something. I’ll call the others. All of us together—we’ll figure it out.”
I pat her hand and give it a squeeze. “Don’t. Maxwell and Rex already promised me they wouldn’t tell the others, and I need you to do the same.”
A crow caws in the distance as I turn and face her.
“They can’t change anything. Don’t make them worry.
They’re already scared enough with the vault heist and Maxwell getting shot.
Let them think it was all a misunderstanding, that criminals broke in and kidnapped me, but Elias came to our rescue. Like he did before. Many times.”
I force out my next words. “Tell them we’ve been…
in love this entire time. That this brush with death caused us to elope.
That I’m doing something I’ve never done before.
Uproot what’s expected of me to live my life.
Tell them I’m happy. You saw happy tears in my eyes.
Don’t make them worry when they can’t do anything about it. Please, Belle. Promise me.”
My good friend and sister-in-law wraps me in her arms. “You don’t deserve this.”
“No one does.” I pat her back, hating how my voice wobbles. “But I’ll survive. That asshole thinks he’s won for now, but I won’t go down easily. I’ll get out of this. This isn’t over.”
Far from it. That’s the one thought keeping me sane right now.
We’ll play pretend. Get married. Leave New York and move into his home in Chicago so he could keep his eyes on me.
Stay married until I turn thirty-five and wait for whatever’s supposed to happen.
In the meantime, I’ll dig around, find leverage, evidence, clues.
I’ll gather the troops, and when the right moment strikes, I’ll pull the rug from under the spymaster myself and shoot him in the face.
“Trust me, Belle.” Steel infusing my voice, I grab her arms and pull back. “I’ll make his life a living hell.”
Belle stares at me, the concern in her hazel eyes slowly morphing into strength. She nods.
“Go kick ass. I’m always a call away.”
A new resolve straightens my spine. I look out the window, taking in the overcast skies and the garden of bare thorns and twisted branches. The world is damp and gray, befitting a wedding like this.
Nature can mourn my predicament.
I won’t.
A pity party won’t change anything.
“Zip up my dress, please. Let’s get this show on the road.”
There’ll be a small film crew there. The Berishas want proof we’re getting married.
They want a wedding? I’ll give them one.
Elias, clad in his usual three-piece glory, is standing at the mouth of the hedge maze, which starts in the heart of the rose garden.
In spring, this place will come alive. Multicolored roses will bloom, their heavenly fragrance washing over me whenever I visit.
I can hear Levi’s giggles as I chase him through the maze, my siblings and friends squabbling behind me, having afternoon tea.
But now, the atmosphere in the rose garden is somber.
Belle speaks to Maxwell softly, my brother looking years older in his wheelchair by the central fountain. Rex paces in front of them, raking his fingers through his hair. A woman with a cello sits in the far corner, her eyes darting from side to side, clearly petrified.
Thank goodness Levi is at a playdate. I can hold myself together, but I’m afraid one look at his innocent eyes and I’ll crack.
An imposing man with dark hair and a square jaw, wearing all black with a white clerical collar at his neck, is speaking with Elias.
He must be Elias’s priest.
Does he know this is a farce? That I’m being forced to do this?
The priest glances up, his sharp eyes catching mine. A small frown creases his forehead, and he rolls down his shirtsleeves, covering up the swath of ink on both forearms.
Tattoos. This holy man has tattoos.
Elias whips his head in my direction.
His lips stop moving.
For a brief flash, they part. A sharp inhale. Those green eyes flare with heat. His hand flexes at his side.
The priest says something, but the enigmatic monster doesn’t appear to hear him.
His attention is one hundred percent solely riveted on me.
A strange swooping sensation appears in my stomach, followed by my quickening pulse.
Nerves. It has to be nerves. After all, arranged marriage or not, I’ve never been married before.
Someone hands me a bouquet, breaking my eye contact with him. Beautiful blood-red roses. My favorite.
I thank Agnes, who gives me a sad, sympathetic smile.
Maxwell wheels himself over. “One word from you, and I’ll shoot the bastard dead. You don’t need to do this.”
“I have to. It’s the right choice.”
My brother stares at me, his eyes softening. “We’ll get you out.”
“I know you will.” I smile, my voice thick.
He adjusts his chair, lining it next to me. I look at him in surprise.
“What? Shit show marriage or not, it’s not every day my sister gets married. With Dad not here, I’m walking—no—wheeling you down the aisle.”
A snort slips out of me, and he chuckles. We begin our trip up the makeshift aisle. It feels like walking up to a guillotine.
It’s then I hear it.
The mournful strains of the cello stop me in my tracks.
It’s not Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” or “Bridal Chorus” by Wagner. It’s not Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March” or the other usual suspects.
Instead, it’s a melody emblazoned inside my heart. Every note I’ve long memorized. A piece I stopped listening to after a certain boy disappeared from my life when I was fifteen.
Beethoven’s “Für Elise.”
Unwittingly, I clasp my hand over Kian’s emerald pendant. I put it on as a show of defiance, someone else’s gift over my heart when I’m marrying another man.
Tears spring into my eyes, the sudden wave of grief coming from nowhere. Back then, I had dreams—love, marriage, growing old and bickering over TV channels.
He stole them from me.
I grit my teeth and glance up, meeting my soon-to-be husband’s searing gaze.
I promptly lose my breath.
Elias stares at me—dark, rioting emotions clashing in his eyes. There are pain and grief, anger and frustration. He looks hauntingly alone.
But for a moment, a millisecond, I see a flash of something else.
Unbridled joy.
My heart convulses; the sharp pain has me gripping the pendant tighter. It makes no sense. Must be a trick of the daylight. Or my calamitous emotions impacting my vision.
“Lana?” Maxwell’s voice zaps me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry. Let’s do this.”
With the necklace heavy on my chest, I walk up the aisle to the lonely man standing there.
A pulse drums against his temple, his gaze never leaving mine. His attention is a brand, and I feel its invisible burn on my skin.
With every step closer to this monster, the Shadow King, my body comes alive.
The brush of my tweed dress against my skin morphs into a caress.
The scent of wet grass and rain is a love letter to my nose.
The music…my “Für Elise,” becomes a promise whispered into my ear.
He’s my enemy. I hate him. But those words don’t land.
Instead, sultry heat unfurls from deep within me, spreading to my core, my legs, all the way to my fingertips.
Whatever strangeness is happening, it’s clearly impacting Elias as well.
A flush crawls up his neck, those gorgeous eyes becoming impossibly more vibrant and scorching. His fingers curl and unfurl, the power in his tall frame seeming to condense.
Tighter. And tighter.
Like he’s a second away from bursting out of his seams.
I close my eyes when I stand next to him, barely noticing Maxwell wheeling himself away.
I hear nothing other than the thundering of my heart.
My palms sweat and my breathing grows shallow.
The priest says words I don’t understand. I repeat them. Elias does the same.
“Do you take Lana Elise Farrah Anderson to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love her and to honor her all the days of your life?”
The garden comes back into focus.
Elias stiffens, his throat rippling as he swallows. “I do.”
I gasp, my pulse quickening. This is happening.
The priest turns to me. “Do you take Elias Kent to be your husband? Do you promise to be faithful to him in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love him and to honor him all the days of your life?”
My hands tremble as I grip my bouquet. I want to look away from his searing eyes, but they hold me captive.
“I-I do,” I whisper.
His lips part, and the tiniest exhale escapes him, like he’s been holding his breath.
The priest drones on, more words, more phrases I barely pay attention to. We exchange rings—a simple diamond band for me and a plain silver band for him.
Before I know it, we face each other, the ceremony distilling to this one irrevocable act.
Elias steps up to me, an otherworldly energy rolling off his frame. His menacing scar writhes as he works his jaw. Wordlessly, he takes off his gloves and tosses them to the ground.
His eyes never leaving mine, he slowly lifts his hand.
A hiss escapes his lips when he touches my cheek. Cradles it like a lover would.
I gasp, a thousand sensations coursing through my body, coiling and gathering between my legs.
My breasts feel heavy, my body craving something I’ve never felt before, a sudden desperation to close the remaining distance between us.
And do what?
I’ve lost my mind.
Elias’s thumb travels to my lips. The softest caress, almost like a kiss, then trails down my neck.
For a moment, his touch lingers there. His eyes darken, his finger thumbing my pulse, which is beating a traitorous dance for him.
His breath hitches, almost imperceptible, but I feel it scraping my skin.
The small crowd behind us murmurs, but I barely hear them.
Because he’s cupping my neck like he’s testing its strength, like a panther playing with its food before digging its talons in to sever the major artery.
I don’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I’m suspended between wanting him to bite down and ruin me or wanting to flee.
But then he shifts, his fingers softening, another lingering downward graze.
Until he reaches my pendant.
Kian’s pendant resting over my heart.
I flinch, suddenly realizing how wrong everything is. This wedding. This marriage. This situation we find ourselves in.
I think about the dreams of love I used to have, about the boy with blond hair and a pretty face who carved love notes into tree trunks. The boy who taught me to have patience for puzzles.
Nothing can prepare me for the puzzle of the man before me now.
Frustrated, I grab my pendant, needing it off me. It’s wrong to wear the symbol of my innocent first love on a day when love stories die.
“Leave it on.”
Elias places his hand on top of mine, clasping the pendant.
“It’s beautiful, just like you.”
My heart flips, my lips parting in surprise. For a moment, I forget this is a farce. I forget what he did to Maxwell, to me. I forget about the bloodshed.
I’m ensnared by those green eyes, the same shade that reminds me of my first love.
His gaze darkens, and taking advantage of my momentary weakness, he swoops down and captures my lips with his.
The deep, drugging kiss incinerates every atom in my body. Soft lips, the briefest graze of tongue. The sultry spice of his taste—whiskey and something more. An addictive groan rumbles from his chest.
It’s over as quickly as it begins.
He sets me back and I’m breathless, my thighs clenching, core aching, the darkest impulse to pull him back to me to continue what we started.
“May I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Elias Kent,” the priest announces.
A camera hovers by my side, knocking me back into reality.
I’m married.
Married to the monster. The Shadow King.