Chapter 16
RAFFAELE
The freezing cold of the chamber seeped into my skin.
The violet flames cast jagged shadows across the ancient stone, the scent of incense and blood filling the air.
The room buzzed with oppressive power. It should have grounded me, pulled me back into the focus I’d honed over years of dealing with rituals and nonsense like this.
But tonight? Tonight, I was fucking unraveling.
I stripped off without a second thought and tossed my clothes onto a nearby stone bench.
My eyes flicked to Vivian. She stood a few feet away, nervously chewing her lip, fear radiating off her.
Guilt writhed in my stomach like a parasite, unwelcome and unrelenting.
I needed to focus on the goal. I needed to remember why I was doing this.
If the marriage wasn’t made official, my deal with Altair would be null and void.
Just as I thought I would have to undress Vivian myself, one trembling hand reached for the hem of her T-shirt, and she pulled it over her head with a jerky motion.
I clenched my jaw as she shimmied out of her jeans.
My gaze traced her every movement as she reached behind her back to unsnap her bra, her fingers fumbling slightly.
It slipped off her arms, leaving her chest bare, and she hesitated only briefly before sliding her lace panties down and stepping out of them.
She was completely bare now, and I was a fucking fool for thinking I could handle this.
Even in the freezing chamber, my body betrayed me. My erection jutted into the cold air, painful and throbbing, and no amount of self-control could stop my gaze from lingering on her.
My wife.
She stood with her fists clenched, her beautiful mouth set in a hard, defiant line. When her eyes finally lifted, they locked onto mine, something sharp passing between us.
Then her gaze dropped, lingering on my erection.
Her lips parted slightly, and a soft gasp escaped her.
The sight of her nipples hardening in the cold—or was it from something else?
—only made it worse. My body screamed at me to close the distance, to touch her, to claim her.
The thought was dangerous, intoxicating, and it would have consumed me if the officiant hadn’t spoken.
“It is time to begin the binding ritual,” he said.
I tore my gaze from Vivian and forced my hands to my sides. She didn’t move, and she squeezed her eyes shut as if she were willing herself to disappear.
The officiant stepped forward, holding two bowls filled with a thick, shimmering oil that glowed faintly in the dim light. “Both participants must be fully cleansed by the other. The oil will enhance your magical auras, allowing the binding to take hold.”
Cleansed. By each other. With oil.
Fuck me.
He handed a bowl to Vivian first, and she took it with trembling hands, her wide eyes flicking to me, then back to the shimmering liquid. “You will go first,” he instructed her.
She took a stiff, cautious step toward me.
The heady mix of fear and defiance that radiated off her sparked a primal instinct in me.
She dipped her trembling fingers into the glistening, golden liquid.
Her hand hovered over my chest for a moment before she pressed her palm flat against my skin.
The oil was cold, a stark contrast to the heat that flared beneath my flesh from her touch.
She moved mechanically, her hand gliding over my shoulders and down my arms with an efficiency that told me exactly how uncomfortable she was.
For me, every touch ignited a new kind of torment. The press of her fingers, the slickness of the oil, the faint tremble in her hands—it all burned through my control like wildfire. My skin seemed to thrum under her palm, as if she were leaving more than just oil behind.
She froze when she reached my lower abdomen, her hand hovering above my erection. Her hesitation sent a fresh surge of heat through me, my pulse pounding in anticipation of her next move. I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly as I forced my voice to remain even.
“You heard the man,” I said, my tone laced with a challenge. “The oil goes everywhere.”
She ground her teeth together, the flicker of defiance in her eyes stoking the flames already consuming me.
I could see her pride battling with her obedience, the internal war playing out in the tension of her shoulders, the tight set of her mouth.
But she didn’t argue. Instead, she dipped her hand back into the oil, her fingers emerging slick and glistening.
And then she touched me.
Her hand wrapped around me, her grip light and testing.
The heat of her skin against mine, combined with the glide of the oil, sent a jolt of pleasure racing through me.
It was so intense I had to grit my teeth to keep from groaning.
My entire body tensed, my fists curling at my sides as I fought the overwhelming urge to give in to the sensation.
Her touch grew firmer as she worked the oil over my length, her movements quick but thorough, as if she were determined to finish this as fast as possible.
I closed my eyes, clamping down on the wave of arousal.
The heat of her hand, the smooth glide of her fingers, was fucking unbearable.
If she kept going for even a second longer, I’d lose every shred of control and come all over her hand like a damn teenager.
Each breath I took was a fight to keep my composure. My shadows stirred restlessly, responding to the heat between us, but I forced them back. This wasn’t the time or the place for anything more than what the ritual demanded. But fuck, it was hard. Harder than it had any right to be.
She finished the rest of my body quickly, her hands pulling away from me like she couldn’t bear to touch me for another second.
Stepping back, she thrust the bowl toward the officiant, desperate to rid herself of the task.
Her face was flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
Her eyes darted to mine before she quickly looked away.
My body ached with unspent need, tension coiling in my core. I swallowed hard, forcing it all down. I couldn’t afford to lose control—not now, not here.
I took the bowl from the officiant and dipped my hands into the oil, the cool liquid pooling around my fingers as I prepared for my turn. If Vivian thought her part was over, she was in for a surprise. I wasn’t going to rush this, wasn’t going to let her escape the intimacy of the moment.
No. If I had to endure the torment, then so would she. Every inch of her was mine to claim, if only for the sake of the ritual. And I was going to make damn sure she felt it.
I started at her neck, my thumbs brushing over the skin just below her jaw. Her pulse thrummed unsteadily under my touch. I moved to her shoulders and down her arms, taking my time. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help myself. She was too perfect, too fucking captivating.
When I reached her breasts, she sucked in a breath. She didn’t say anything, but the sound sent a bolt of electricity through me. Her nipples pebbled beneath my palm, and I lingered there longer than I should have before forcing myself to move on.
“Turn around,” I said, my voice low.
She swallowed hard, but she obeyed. I dipped my hands back into the oil and ran them down her back, her skin soft and warm beneath my touch. When I touched her ass, she jerked slightly.
“It burns,” she said suddenly.
The officiant glanced up from his scrolls. “It is because she is human. The oil was not crafted with mortal skin in mind. However, the cleansing must be completed.”
I clenched my jaw as I made quick work of the rest of her body.
She was trying to be brave, but I could see the unease creeping into her posture, the way she shifted slightly as the oil did its work.
By the time I finished, her shoulders were trembling, and I could feel her discomfort like a tangible weight in the air.
“This is only the beginning,” the officiant said, his voice devoid of sympathy. “Steel yourselves. The ritual requires endurance.”
Endurance.
I stole a glance at Vivian, her fists still clenched at her sides, her eyes fixed on a point just beyond me. For all her fear, she was holding it together.
The officiant’s voice carried a calm authority that felt almost mocking against the tension in the room. “Now the ritual can begin. Face each other.”
I stepped forward. Vivian hesitated, her body stiff, her fear written in every line of her posture. She didn’t want this—I could see it in her wide eyes, the tremor in her fingers—but she obeyed, her chin tilting up with a flicker of defiance.
“Raffaele,” the officiant intoned, “you know what to do.”
Of course, I did. I’d memorized every step of this ritual years ago, though I’d hoped I’d never have to perform it. I had sworn I would never willingly bind myself to anyone—to anything. And yet, here we were.
I met her gaze, softening my voice just enough to temper her fear. “My shadows are going to touch you.”
Her brows furrowed, confusion mingling with apprehension. “What does that mean?”
I let out a slow breath, steadying myself. “They are an extension of my will. They’ll act as conduits for the magic, tracing the oil on your skin and searching for a connection point in your aura. It’s necessary for the bond to form.”
She looked like she wanted to argue, but thought better of it. She gave a jerky nod and took a deep breath.
“Stand still,” I said, my tone firmer now.
I extended my hand, summoning the shadows with a thought. They obeyed instantly, swirling out from the edges of the chamber, drawn to me like moths to a flame. The tendrils of darkness coiled and writhed as they brushed against her bare skin with a whispering touch that seemed almost sentient.