Jetmir (Legacy of Heathens #5)

Prologue

ANYA

The late afternoon sun spilled over the stone streets of Albania, warming the pale facade of the small coastal church in Vlore.

It was emptier and quieter here than I had ever imagined a wedding venue could be—no friends, no family, no voices rising in anticipation—only the hush of wind coming off the sea and the faint rustle of olive trees nearby.

But that was enough because he was with me. This place today was where I would become Mrs. Thorne.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the church carved from pale stone, its spires reaching up to touch the wispy clouds rolling overhead. It was picturesque enough to feel plucked from my wildest dreams.

Thorne opened the passenger door and I took his hand, stepping out with a bouquet trembling slightly in the other. White and red roses. Innocence and passion.

Because I planned to give my innocence to Thorne once the priest declared him my husband.

My breath caught as I looked over to him. Tall, steady, watching me with an expression that softened the moment I met his eyes. My heart raced in my chest in anticipation that soon, I would be his forever and he would be mine.

“Ready?” he asked, and I nodded. “You look so beautiful, angel.”

My dress, which I found in a local vintage shop, was simple. Its satin fabric followed my curves and came down to rest above my knees. It might have been cheap, but I’d never felt more beautiful than I did right now under this man’s gaze.

“I can’t breathe without you, Anya Santos. Always remember that I love you more than life itself. Wherever you go, I follow. Even to death.”

I gushed over his declarations of love. He embodied all the men I was guilty of swooning over in the novels I read.

Passionate. Attentive. He made my body, soul, and heart sing.

But most importantly, he wasn’t afraid to express his love.

And God knew, I loved him too. After all, I lied to my family and friends so I could be with him.

Ignoring feelings of guilt that flickered deep in the pit of my stomach, I murmured, “I love you too, Thorne.”

A flicker of concern crossed his features, but it was gone too fast and I wondered if maybe it wasn’t my eyes playing tricks.

Thorne wanted the two of us alone for the ceremony, and he refused to take my virginity until we were wed.

He was old-fashioned in that way, and I couldn’t deny how much I liked it.

He promised we'd celebrate with family and friends later. Today was just for us.

The world and all thoughts faded away as we stepped forward, making our way up the stairs and through the open doors of the church.

Inside, candlelight flickered against icons and stained glass, mixing traditions in a way that felt unexpectedly fitting.

The aisle stretched in quiet symmetry. At the front stood three figures waiting in composed stillness: a Catholic priest in white vestments, an Orthodox priest with a dark stole embroidered in gold, and a civic official in a simple, formal suit. A triad of witnesses to a single union.

They were selected to honor my family’s faith; Thorne’s, who were Russian Orthodox; and to meet any legal requirements.

Because that was who Thorne was. He thought of everything.

The sound of my heels on stone echoed faintly through the church, keeping rhythm with the steady beat of my heart. The light through stained glass painted fragments of color across the floor and up to the altar, as if the building itself was guiding me toward my future.

When I drifted past the final pew, I could barely contain the smile threatening to break across my face.

The ceremony began and the Catholic priest spoke first, offering words of unity and blessing.

The Orthodox priest followed, his voice steady as he invoked continuity and faith carried across generations.

The civic official completed the circle with the language of law, grounding what we were doing in something earthly and final.

And Thorne… he never looked away from me. Not once. Even as the words shifted between languages of spirit and state, his attention remained anchored to me.

When it came time for vows, he spoke first.

“Where you end is where I begin. I’ll always come for you, my angel. Until my dying breath, it’s you and me. I’ll never give you up,” he said simply. “No matter what. Today and forever.”

When my turn came, my voice felt light, almost giddy.

“You and me,” I echoed. “Forever.”

His hands were steady as he slid the gold band onto my finger, a small weight settling into place, a tangible promise of our vows. Because in my world, marriage was forever.

When we finished the symbolic exchange, neither of us moved. The silence was full of promises, charged with ache and desire.

“You may kiss the bride.”

His hand found my jaw with the slightest tremor in his fingers, tilting my face up to his, and then his mouth was on mine.

It was soft at first, almost reverent. Then the kiss deepened, unhurried but certain.

The warmth of his hand at my waist grounded me, as did the taste of relief on his lips and the way he smiled against my mouth.

When we finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine and whispered, “Hi, wife.”

I laughed, breathless, and pressed my palm to his chest where I could feel his heart racing as hard as mine. “Hi, husband.”

“This concludes the ceremony.” The civic official broke the moment, offering the final formality and bringing us back to the present.

The priests offered blessings in their respective traditions, voices overlapping softly, echoing one another rather than competing. When they finished, Thorne turned slightly toward them.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone carrying an unspoken dismissal.

One by one, the men stepped away. Their footsteps faded down the aisle until the church was still again.

And then it was only us.

“Does everyone always follow your orders?” I asked softly, half in disbelief.

A faint smile touched his mouth. “Everyone but you.”

He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb lightly along my cheek, gentle and unhurried, as if the world could wait as long as it needed to.

I looked up at him, suddenly hyperaware of what came next. I’d lie if I didn’t say I couldn’t wait to feel Thorne touch me and kiss me everywhere. Just the thought of it had my nipples tighten behind the soft material of my dress.

The echo of our vows still hung in the air and the feeling of irrevocability settled between us as he leaned in and brushed kisses along my nose, my eyes, my temple. I felt my entire being sing.

“We’re alone now,” I whispered.

His gaze softened.

“Let God bear witness how I set this world ablaze if anyone tries to take you away from me,” he rasped, his voice full of emotions that made my heart tremble. “From this day forward, you’re my prayer and I’m your sinner. I’ll deliver your heart’s desires, Anya.”

Jetmir

Her breath caught and I watched the blush creep up her neck and spill onto her pale cheeks. Fuck, how I loved seeing her blush.

“You’re the only thing I want,” she murmured, her lips still swollen from my kiss.

If her family or mine knew about us, they’d put a stop to it.

But I didn’t give a fuck about them, nor about any of the wrongs I had committed.

All that mattered was that Anya was my wife.

My forever. And I would revel in every minute of it.

“Just give yourself over to me, Thorne. Your body, soul, and your heart.”

“It’s already yours, angel.”

Heat simmered the air, and her heels clattered onto the marble floor as I picked her up. I kissed her as I walked us over to the altar. Her lips were mine to devour, and the way she yielded to me drove me mad with desire.

As I lowered her on the centuries-old stone altar, she exhaled a shaky breath but never pulled away. I moved my mouth harder against her soft lips, demanding everything. She licked me, tasted my tongue, and breathed me in like I was her damnation.

God, she was so beautiful. Her almost-white hair cascading all around her and giving her a halo that even angels would be jealous of.

She deserved a lot better than a devil like me, but I made a silent vow, in front of every statue and ghost of mankind that had walked this establishment, that I’d make her happy.

I pulled back and set my hands on a chartered path, stroking around her breasts and hips. It was impossible to stop touching her now that I finally had her as mine.

“Lie back,” I ordered, my hand already behind her head to help ease her onto the hard stone. She immediately obeyed, arranging her petite frame under the gaze of the carved roof angels, ready for my taking.

I trailed one hand along her body, then slowly started peeling off her dress. The delicate white material was discarded on the church floor, and soon her underwear joined the pile.

Anya lay spread before me like a willing virginal sacrifice.

I traced the tip of my nose along her jaw, moving excruciatingly slow down her body, savoring the way she arched into me and tilted herself greedily toward my touch.

I could smell her arousal, and it was intoxicating.

For the past few weeks, it had become almost unbearable to resist her undeniable hunger.

I thought I might die if I didn’t get to taste her. Love her. Fuck her.

But now… there would be no stopping us.

I bit at the soft flesh of her thighs, inhaling deeply, my mouth watering. I dragged my teeth over her pussy, then I circled every inch of her with my tongue.

My rough fingers were greedy, exploring her everywhere. I nibbled at the dip of her navel and sucked on each nipple until she was writhing on the altar and moaning my name like a prayer.

“Thorne… Oh, Thorne…” I slid my fingers in her drenched pussy, relishing the sensation of the slickness coating my fingertips.

She was clawing at my belt, clumsily ripping my dress shirt before focusing her attention on my pants. Soon, I was just as naked as my wife and watching her watch me was enough to bring me to my knees.