Epilogue
Six Months Later
Annie
Though Samiel and I signed the paperwork the day our ninety days were up, we didn’t have a wedding.
We wanted to wait. After our legal ceremony, we were given a binder labeled "Unholy Matrimony" with a sticky note from Mayor Vepar reading, "Congratulations!
Our wedding planners can accommodate any request, from blood fountains to human sacrifice (decorative only).
" I flipped through glossy photos of couples—some with horns, some without—exchanging rings under moonlit gazebos and dancing in ballrooms with chandeliers made of what looked suspiciously like bones.
"I want the lake," I said, pointing to a sunset ceremony where lanterns floated on dark water. "Just us, the dock, and maybe twenty people who won't ask if your tail is real."
Samiel agreed with me easily, and we planned a wedding for our families and only a handful of friends.
The night before, we hosted a dinner for our families to meet. Samiel insisted on catering. Your only job tomorrow is to show up and make me the happiest demon in existence."
My parents arrived first, Dad's pickup crunching on the gravel. Mom burst out with her arms already open, enveloping me in a hug that smelled like cinnamon, Virginia Slims, and home.
"My baby girl," she whispered, voice catching.
My brother arrived with a homemade cake wobbling precariously in his hands.
My sister followed minutes later, having driven six hours straight from Orlando, leaving behind what she affectionately called her "mini-monsters" with the in-laws just to be here for me.
Next, Samiel’s parents arrived. His mom was tall with angular features that she accentuated with a cat eye to die for.
His dad was a carbon copy of Samiel—just with salt and pepper hair.
The last to arrive was Azazel, Samiel’s older brother.
Though he had the same coloring as Samiel, he was bulkier with short-cropped hair, much smaller horns, and a full black beard.
He seemed gruff, but hugged me all the same.
Samiel had dinner set up on his deck so everyone could sit together.
I was shocked at how normal it felt. It wasn’t a rehearsal dinner—just the weirdest blend of humans and demons you could find in North America, passing paper plates and laughing at “in-law” jokes like the fate of two worlds didn’t rest on a seating chart.
If you squinted, you could pretend it was just a big family barbecue, not a peace summit for the descendants of Hell and Tampa’s most tenacious smokers.
My mom took one look at Samiel’s mother and latched on like a remora, dragging her away from the grill to compare hand creams and eye shadow tips.
They were the same kind of alpha, just with different evolutionary pressures—Mom wielded guilt as a weapon, and Samiel’s mother used withering sarcasm and a stare that could turn coal into diamonds.
Dad and Samiel’s dad, on the other hand, found a common language in trains, and both of model-train dads yammered together until Samiel’s dad went inside for a moment and came back with what looked like an HO scale freight set, and the two of them vanished to the garage, only to emerge twenty minutes later with a completed figure-eight and a blood orange IPA in each hand.
My sister and Azazel disappeared too, winding up on the roof, tipsy and howling at the moon like a pair of teenagers. Even the cat went feral, darting between bare ankles and occasionally dropping at Samiel’s feet to yowl for another piece of salmon.
It was surreal how quickly these families—mine loud and unfiltered, his dark and barely restrained—found a common, weird groove.
And it was a relief. For the first time maybe ever, I felt like a grown woman with a future I had actually chosen, surrounded by people who might not understand it, but wouldn’t leave.
I spent the whole night cycling from the kitchen to the deck to the living room, chasing the laughter, never once feeling out of place.
Samiel, meanwhile, alternated between talking to my parents and his, and fending off every attempt by my sister to get him to take a Jell-O shot.
By the end of the night, he looked weirdly relaxed—a big soft slab of demon in a linen button-down, all sharp angles sanded down by the sound of my people, our people, making themselves loud and at home.
As the sunset sunk into twilight our families headed for their hotels, leaving Samiel and me alone together.
“For the record,” he whispered, “your sister is terrifying.”
I laughed and almost snorted wine out my nose. "She could take you, easy," I said. "If you underestimate Florida girls, you do so at your peril."
He kissed the top of my head, then reached down to the cat, who rolled onto her back and presented her belly.
"I'll never underestimate any of you again," he said softly, and I got the sense this was the kind of vow he meant to keep.
When the last of the goodbyes had been said and the night was finally ours, he took my hand and tugged me upstairs—we’d both agreed we weren’t spending the night before our wedding apart just because of “tradition.” We brushed our teeth together and climbed into bed, arranging me as the little spoon and him as the big spoon.
Sleep arrived quickly and my last thought before I lost consciousness was, How did I get this lucky?
Samiel
The morning of the wedding, I was a bundle of nerves.
I shouldn’t have been—Annie and I had already signed the legal paperwork the minute our ninety days were up, so we’d been legally married for more than a few months.
I tried to pin down the anxiety, and it was really just my hope that Annie got everything she wanted out of the day.
I was easy. I wanted to see her in her the dress she’d insisted on keeping hidden, celebrate with our family and friends without anyone getting into a fistfight, and then spend time with her. Since we kept it small, she also said more casual. I was in a black suit, open at the neck, no tie.
I wondered what she would show up in. I doubted sincerely that she’d show up in a traditional all-white wedding dress—that just didn’t seem like Annie.
Before I knew it, I was standing at the end of the dock, with Mayor Vepar, who was presiding, waiting for Annie to walk down the aisle.
When Annie approached the dock, the chatter died away.
Everything in me stilled. She walked toward me in a sheer, deep purple, off-the-shoulder lace dress, with a cream underlayer that made my heart nearly stop.
Her eyes never left mine as she approached, that familiar, determined stride carrying her down the aisle alone.
The sight of her fierce smile—the one I'd fallen for months ago—made my throat tight.
This wasn't just the woman I loved; this was Annie choosing to be mine forever.
I forgot how to breathe. She seemed to float down the aisle, eyes locked on mine as if no one else existed.
Walking herself down the aisle—answering to no one—in a move so unmistakably Annie.
My Annie: strong, independent, and now coming straight to me with absolute certainty.
This strange and perfect mix of elegance and shadow was exactly how forever should look.
Our vows were simple promises to cherish and protect each other—equals in all things.
When the mayor pronounced us married, I took Annie's hands in mine, careful not to catch her lace sleeves with my claws.
I kissed her with all the tenderness I'd been saving since the moment I first saw her walking down that aisle.
Her lips tasted like cherry lip balm and promises.
When we finally parted, Annie's eyes were shining with tears that matched my own, her fingers reaching up to brush one from my cheek as our guests erupted in joyful applause.
The rest of the night was a blur of champagne, food, and dancing.
My mother insisted we perform the traditional Flame Blessing, where Annie and I held hands over a small blue fire that burned without consuming our joined fingers.
When Annie's laugh bubbled up as the flames tickled her palm, I felt my heart swell impossibly larger.
It was well after midnight by the time everyone left, the moon hanging like a silver pendant above our new home. Azazel gave me one last pat on the back, his eyes softening as he watched Annie kick off her shoes by the door.
"You found a good one," he whispered, something wistful in his voice I'd never heard before.
When I closed the door behind our last guest, Annie padded across the floor in her bare feet and purple dress. "Hey, husband," she said softly, reaching up to straighten my collar with gentle fingers. "You know, you clean up real nice." Her smile was so tender, it made my chest ache.
My voice came out rougher than intended.
"You're breathtaking," I growled, though I'd told her repeatedly all night.
The purple lace clung to curves that made my claws itch to tear fabric.
Heat pooled low in my body as the demon part of me stirred—the urge to claim, to possess, to devour.
I traced one talon down her bare arm, watching goosebumps rise in its wake.
“Tell me something,” I murmured against her ear, letting my fangs graze the sensitive skin beneath it. "How much would you miss this dress if it didn't survive the night?"
She grinned and bit her lip, leaning close enough that her breath was wine-sweet and reckless. “Rip it,” she said, voice low and dangerous. “See if I can outrun you before you do.”
Holy shit. I felt my heart, real and metaphorical, seize up with want.