7. Willow
The ride to Saint Trinity’s Cathedral in the Garden District of New Orleans is tainted with silence. After an emotional goodbye with my family, I’d been ushered into a Rolls Royce with Azrael while another driver delivered my belongings and Fiona to his house where I will live for whatever remainder of time I have left upon this earth.
Azrael sits beside me in the back seat, his presence looming almost larger than life. The car is roomy and comfortable, but it’s dwarfed by his imposing frame. He takes up so much space that it feels like his energy might suck me into an abyss I’ll never escape from.
He’s quiet, his gaze unfocused out the window, as we travel together toward our inevitable doom. I don’t know why the silence throws me off balance, but it does. In my mind, I had conjured up many different expectations of this man, but none of them could prepare me for the reality.
His strange gold eyes were the first thing to grab hold of me, like they didn’t want to let me go. The moment our gazes had clashed, I felt like I was drowning, yet I couldn’t look away. There was an ache in my chest I didn’t recognize, a sense of agony so profound it paralyzed me at that moment.
I knew without question it was his, something he carried with him. Something unsettling. The longer I watched him, the more I realized it wasn’t any of the things I’d been warned about.
His spirit is restless, his energy dark and mercurial. He’s tormented in a way I didn’t expect. I wonder if anyone else can see it or if it’s just me—something I feel, in the same way I’ve felt things long before others can see them.
Nanna always told me intuition was my gift, and I can feel it now, caressing the nape of my neck like a presence I can’t shake. If I stop to listen closely, I can hear a familiar voice whispering through my mind. It’s the same voice that has haunted my dreams and waking moments from the time I was a young girl.
A voice from the past. An ancestor I never met but whose blood still runs through my veins.
Right now, Elizabeth is telling me something about Azrael.
The chosen one.
The words rattle around my brain like an echo chamber, setting me on edge. I don’t know what she means, but I seldom do. Her words often come in riddles, forcing me to seek the answers myself. As I glance at the man beside me, I wonder what he’d think if he knew what was happening inside my head.
My mind supplies an answer readily. He’d probably wish they could still hang witches freely.
But that thought is at odds with what I feel when I look at him. Despite what I had predicted, he doesn’t seem to be savoring this moment as I was assured he would. After all, the Delacroixes are known for their sadistic enjoyment of claiming the Wildblood women. As he sits beside me like a statue, though, unnaturally still and quiet, I can’t help but feel a sense of conflict from him.
Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
The car pulls to a stop, and I swallow as I wait for him to look at me again. It takes him three full seconds, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I saw him drag in a ragged breath before he does.
“It’s time,” he utters the words without emotion as the driver opens the door for us.
I don’t reply. What is there to say? I’m about to marry my family’s sworn enemy and live beneath his rule until tragedy inevitably snatches me away. It’s the die that’s been cast for me. The history between our families has dictated as much, and there is no altering that.
Azrael unfolds his large body from the car and stands up, spine rigid as he holds his hand out for me. It isn’t a gesture of kindness. It feels more like an ingrained habit, as if he were raised to be respectful of women, which is almost laughable.
Despite the somber mood, I find myself quietly amused by the idea as I reluctantly settle my hand in his. This time, I know I’m not imagining the shock that travels through my body. My lips part in a silent gasp, and when I’m pulled from the car and our eyes meet again, his narrow on me. He’s casting an accusatory glance as if I’m responsible for this strange, chaotic energy between us. As if my witchy senses conjured it up just to trick him.
Of course, he would think that.
I snatch my hand back and square my shoulders as the driver retrieves my bags and delivers them somewhere out of view. Reluctantly, I glance up at Saint Trinity Cathedral, the gothic architecture of the old building looming over me like a dark shadow. Moonlight dances between the towers and spires, highlighting the details of the structure. I’m not religious, but I can admit it’s beautiful in a morbid sort of way–though I’m still not certain I won’t burst into flames upon entering the doors.
I knew this was where we’d be married. My sisters and I drove by the place several times out of curiosity after we received the contract from the Delacroix family that would dictate my future. It has been the same since the treaty was struck between us. The chosen Wildblood woman is dragged from her home and her life and brought to this place to perform a ceremony that makes little sense, considering the lingering hatred between our families. The Delacroixes believe it will save them from further tragedy, and the Wildbloods participate only to prevent further bloodshed at the hands of our centuries-old enemies.
The ceremonies that take place between our families aren’t marriages, despite what they may look like. They are Sacrifices.
I’m all too aware of what the night will entail. I will be claimed, first in name, then marked as property of Azrael with his brand inked into my skin. Before the night is through, he will lay claim to my body as a final mark of his ownership.
A shiver runs down my spine as I dare a glance at the enormous size of him. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I’ve remained a virgin as was decreed, but I’m not completely na?ve to the act. My curiosity over the years has been sated by reading bodice rippers and, more recently, sneaking a few previews of videos online for glimpses of the real thing. I wanted to be prepared for tonight, but something in my gut tells me there was nothing that could prepare me for Azrael.
I’m not even certain he’s fully human, and as my eyes wander down between his thighs, a small moment of panic moves through me. Oh God, he’s probably going to split me in half.
He clears his throat, drawing my attention back to his face as he arches a brow at me. A flush creeps over my cheeks as he watches me as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. But he doesn’t offer me any reassurances.
Needing space, I glance around in question, wondering where I’ll get ready. Before I can ask, a woman in a professional gray dress appears, eyeing me curiously. She’s beautiful and elegant, her hair styled neatly into a chignon and her makeup simple and classic. I have no doubt she’s part of The Society.
“Miss Wildblood, I presume?”
“Yes,” I answer reluctantly.
“My name is Nina. I’ll show you to the dressing area.” Her tone is polite, but I’m not fooled into believing for one second she’s an ally. She’s been sent here to watch over me, to make sure I don’t run before the ceremony.
I don’t meet Azrael’s gaze, though I can feel his on the side of my face. Right now, I’d give anything to know what he was thinking, if the conflict I felt from him in the car was real or just my imagination. As we part ways and I follow Nina around the cathedral, a fleeting thought passes through my mind that perhaps he wanted to marry someone else.
It would make sense. He’s older than me by four years and undoubtedly has had more freedom since he wasn’t bound to the same rules of celibacy as I was. I can begrudgingly admit the man is stupidly handsome. If I didn’t know he was a Delacroix, and my heart wasn’t encased in ice, I may have been captivated by his striking features. He’s not like any man I’ve ever seen before. He’s stronger. Taller. Genetically gifted in every way.
I didn’t want to give credence to the legends, but I think perhaps there is a part of them that rings true. There’s something about Azrael that’s otherworldly. I can see how he might be mistaken for something other than a mere mortal. I can also see how a woman who wasn’t cursed to marry him might even fall into the trap of succumbing to that hypnotic gaze that challenges you to submit without saying a word. That commands your attention without even trying.
The more I consider it, the more I think it’s the only thing that makes sense. There must be someone else. Perhaps there were many before me. I’m not sure why that thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I chalk it up to the fact that I was constrained by the rules while he was free to do as he pleased.
Nina leads me around the back of the cathedral to a smaller building, seemingly unaware of the turmoil in my mind. “This is where you’ll prepare yourself,” she explains as she opens the door and gestures me into the room.
I glance around the small space as I step inside, my eyes falling on the dress already hung and waiting for me. It’s white, of course, a mermaid cut with a sweetheart neckline. Delicate beading and floral appliques adorn the silhouette, and admittedly, it is beautiful. Probably even designer. But I have no intention of wearing it.
“You’ll need to get ready now,” Nina says. “You only have about fifteen minutes.”
Of course there’s a schedule to keep. It’s not as if any of this is even necessary. It seems like a waste to go through the motions of a church wedding, particularly when Azrael seems to believe Wildbloods are evil incarnate. But this is the way of The Society, and there is no deviating, even for perfunctory arrangements such as ours.
“Can I have some privacy, please?” I turn to Nina and force a smile.
She frowns. “But you’ll need my help getting into the dress.”
“I’ll call for you when I need you.”
She hesitates but resigns herself to the fact that I’m going to be difficult. When she steps outside and closes the door, I breathe a sigh of relief and touch the moonstone pendant around my neck. It grounds me and makes me feel close to my mother. I miss her already. I miss all of my family, but I’m also glad they aren’t here for the ceremony. They wouldn’t be able to sit quietly while I sacrifice myself to Azrael.
They are my reason for existing, and I won’t allow any harm to come to them. So, I will do this on my own, and I will do it without protest. Abiding by the treaty is the only way to maintain peace between us.
I glance around the space, taking in the antique furniture and grandfather clock. The bags I brought with me are already waiting for me on a small wooden table on one side of the room. I doubt they’d have brought them at all if they knew what was in them.
I unzip the largest bag, retrieving the dress I chose myself. It’s a black floor-length gown with a corseted bodice and a layered tulle skirt. It’s not even close to a traditional wedding dress, but I like it. If there’s one thing I need Azrael to know, it’s that he won’t strip away who I am. No matter how many rules he imposes on my life as he locks me in his gilded cage, I will cling to the choices I can control. He will have to learn to pick his battles.
If I am to be married, I will do it my way.
After getting myself into the dress, which is quite the chore on my own, I glance at the clock and realize I’ve already wasted ten minutes. I’m not worried about my makeup, as it’s held up quite well, but I apply another coat of red lipstick anyway.
I’m just pulling out my red velvet heels when Nina knocks on the door and calls out, “We need to get you into your dress now.”
“Just a minute,” I grumble, slipping into my heels quickly as awareness prickles my spine.
I was feeling quite confident with my choices, but as the minutes draw nearer, I can’t help wondering what consequences my actions will have. Tonight, Azrael will claim me as his wife, and I’m starting to second-guess my decision to test his wrath by disobeying him this way. But it’s already done, and I won’t back down now.
Butterflies erupt in my belly as I examine myself in the mirror. I look different somehow, but I can’t identify the reason. I tried the dress on several times in preparation. It’s exactly as I remember it. I still love it just as much, but now the sheer material exposing the full length of my back seems less like a bold choice and more like a stupid one because I know Azrael will be touching that part of me tonight at the marking ceremony. He will have an unobstructed view and complete access to one of the most vulnerable parts of me–and he will have it in front of his witnesses.
A knock rattles the door again, jarring me from my thoughts, and this time Nina doesn’t wait for a response. She steps inside, her mouth twisting in disapproval as her eyes move over me. “That isn’t your dress,” she argues.
“Actually, it is,” I tell her. Before she can protest further, I brush past her, taking note of the time. “Are you going to escort me to the cathedral, or shall I go alone?”
“He won’t be happy,” she calls after me.
“Good,” I mutter under my breath. “I had no intentions of making him happy.”
Nina’s heels clip along behind me as I head for the entrance of the cathedral. We still have a few minutes, but I figure I may as well get it over with. I’m sure Azrael expects me to make an attempt at fleeing, or to show up late. But I very much doubt he expects me to be early.
It’s apparent the other Society members aren’t expecting it either, judging by the surprise on the doorman’s face as I approach.
“Miss.” He nearly chokes on the word. “It isn’t quite time?—”
I offer him a reassuring smile and open the door myself. It’s huge and heavy, and it nearly takes my whole body with it. But I manage, as I always do, and when I step onto the threshold, there are collective murmurs of confusion from the witnesses already sitting in the ancient pews.
The men don their black cloaks and white and black Society masks, so I can’t see their faces, but I feel all of their gazes upon me. There must be at least twenty of them.
Flickering candles illuminate the space, casting a warmth to the ceremony that I didn’t expect. I also can’t help noticing I didn’t burst into flames upon entering, so I suppose that’s a bonus.
I draw in a staggering breath as I lift my chin and meet my groom’s gaze at the end of the aisle. He’s already there, waiting for me, his eyebrow arching in challenge before his eyes coast over me. He’s in a three-piece charcoal suit with a dark shirt and red tie. He looks… handsome, admittedly.
Before I lose my nerve, I take my first step down the aisle. The organist fumbles to catch up as the witnesses glance at each other, whispering their disapproval. Ignoring them, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other for the longest walk I’ve ever taken. I feel like I’m holding it together pretty well, considering the jitters.
I wonder if Azrael can see that fear in my eyes, the tremor in my body hiding beneath my veil of armor. I want to pretend it isn’t there, but the closer I get to him, the more it sinks in.
Tonight, I will be his wife.
I swallow as the aisle inevitably runs out, and I’m forced to stop before him. His gaze lingers on my face for a long moment before drifting down my body. He doesn’t say a word. He shows no hint of emotion one way or the other, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. But I can see the way his eyes darken momentarily before returning to mine.
There isn’t time to consider what that might mean because the priest directs us to sit in the chairs on the platform as he opens up the ceremony. I hear very little of it and understand even less. I’m not Catholic, but I know enough to realize he’s reading passages from the Old Testament and the New.
It’s entirely too long, and I find that the only thing I can do is stare at Azrael. I wait with bated breath, thinking about things I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about in a holy place. It isn’t just his frame that’s massive. His hands are too. I think he could crush my throat with just a few fingers, should he really want to.
But that isn’t really what’s lingering in my distracted mind. It’s the question of where I will feel those hands on my body tonight. If he’ll make me shiver with every touch, the way he did when he brushed my nipple. My gaze roams over his gold cufflinks, noting that they appear to be antiques before my attention catches on the strange ring on his finger.
I’m in the middle of trying to examine the details of it when he moves to stand, and I blink up at him in confusion when annoyance flickers across his face. It’s obvious I haven’t been paying attention, and he knows it. He extends the hand I was just hyper-focused on and escorts me to the altar, where we join both hands.
Now comes the vow ceremony, and this time, I do pay attention. Because I understand the importance of these words. The weight of them. They are promises that can’t be broken. Promises that can’t be undone. We are bound together by these words, and I feel the stranglehold of that reality with every phrase I repeat.
Unlike me, Azrael doesn’t falter in his promises. He repeats them assuredly, as if he might actually mean them. But even though his voice remains steady and calm, I catch a glimpse of something in his eyes again–something that feels like remorse, or even deception. And I can’t help the foreboding feeling that creeps over my skin as I consider what that might mean for me.
There isn’t time to dwell on it. The vow ceremony ends as the priest directs us to exchange rings, and it’s only once the band is on my finger that I realize how much I like it. I didn’t expect to. I was quite certain it would feel like a noose around my neck. But the garnet surrounded by a halo of diamonds suits me more than I ever would have anticipated.
Red, like half of my wardrobe. Red like my hair. A deep, rich burgundy like the very shoes on my feet. I wonder if it was intentional on his part, like, somehow, he knew. But how could he?
My eyes move over his face in question just as the priest pronounces us man and wife. The room spins around me, and before I can process that reality, he tells Azrael to kiss his bride. It still feels almost like a dream, everything blurring at the edges when he steps closer and tilts my chin up.
I suck in a sharp breath, but it doesn’t help. I’m convinced all the oxygen has disappeared from the room as he bends to meet me at my level, his thumb skating over my jaw as his lips brush against mine.
The contact sends a shockwave through my body, more intense than the first two I’ve already felt from him. It isn’t at all what I expected. There’s nothing cruel or rough about it, and as that sinks in, I find myself leaning into him. I don’t know how it happens that my hands come to rest on his arms and he’s steadying me, or worse, that my lips seem to have developed a mind of their own as they part for him. The smallest sound of satisfaction echoes between us, and I can’t decipher if it came from me or him. But I know I’m not imagining it when his thumb drifts to my pulse, and he inhales the air I breathe into his lungs.
Goosebumps break out along my flesh, and I feel slightly drunk as he pulls away with a strange expression on his face. Again, it feels like a silent accusation, as if I’m tricking him somehow. As if I cast a spell on him that made him kiss me that way at a wedding neither of us wanted.
He doesn’t give voice to his thoughts, and I’m grateful for the interruption when the witnesses come to greet Azrael. I stay silent at his side, observing as they regard him with respect and admiration. Strangely enough, it feels as though he’s on display, too, right now. It’s like the sight of him here is such a rare occurrence, they aren’t quite sure what to make of it. It only leaves me with more questions as the priest finally dismisses us with a final nuptial blessing and sends us on our way.
The night is far from over. When I sneak a glance at my new husband and the dark hunger pooling in the depths of his eyes, I know it’s only just beginning.