Chapter 12 #3
He was a monster who’d destroyed her family, and she was a killer who’d infiltrated his. Who’d murdered his mother.
Any marriage between them would be built on blood and vengeance and a twisted kind of love that might destroy them both.
But then she looked into those crimson eyes and saw something that made her heart stutter. Vulnerability. Hope.
The same desperate longing that she’d been fighting in her own chest. But something more important than all of that.
Love.
“Yes,” she whispered, the word escaping before she could stop it.
The transformation in his face was immediate and overwhelming. Relief, triumph, joy, and something darker all warred for dominance in his expression. “Yes?”
“Yes,” she said more firmly, even as a voice in the back of her mind screamed that she was making a terrible mistake. “But I have conditions.”
His smile turned predatory. “Name them.”
“If we’re going to do this—if we’re really going to be married—then we do it properly. According to fae tradition, so none of them can question it. With the old words and the old ways. I don’t care how stupid you think they are.”
For a moment, she thought he might refuse. She knew vampire weddings were very different from fae ones—political contracts rather than a spiritual binding.
But then he laughed, rich and delighted. “Of course. How else would the Serpent Queen be wed?”
The title made her face go warm, but she pressed on. “I’m serious, Raziel. If you want me to consider us truly married, then you have to respect what that means to my people. What it means to me.”
“And what does it mean to you?” His hands were still framing her face, his touch impossibly gentle for someone capable of such violence.
She thought about it, about the weddings she’d learned about as a child in the depths of the Wild. The exchange of vows under the glow of the deep vines, the binding of blood that went deeper than any legal contract.
“It means choosing each other. Really choosing, with full knowledge of what we’re getting into.
It means promising to stand together against whatever comes, to be partners rather than possessions.
And it means that we die together.” She met his gaze steadily.
“Once we’re bound according to fae law, we’re bound for life. ”
Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of something that might have been fear. But also fascination. “For life?”
“For life,” she confirmed. “Not even death breaks a fae marriage bond. We’ll be bound in blood. For one of us to die, we both have to die. Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Superstition, obviously.” He smirked. “Fae magic is bunk, like that stew Ivan was sold by some charlatan when you were on death’s door.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. He was probably right. Most of what fae “magic” was, was old herbal recipes and hand-me-down tricks of the trade. But if he wanted this? He did as she said. “But that’s what marriage means here. So I’ll ask again. Are you sure?”
This wasn’t just about claiming her or proving a point. This was about commitment on a level that neither of them had ever experienced before.
Raziel was quiet for a long moment, his thumbs still stroking across her cheekbones as he studied her face. She could see him weighing the decision, calculating the risks and benefits the way he did everything else.
Finally, he smiled—not his usual predatory grin, but something softer and more genuine.
“I told you once that I loved you. That hasn’t changed, Nadi.
If anything, it’s become more true.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers.
“Yes. I want that. I want you. For life, for whatever comes after, for whatever twisted forever two monsters like us can carve out of this broken world. For however long we live, we shall live together. Or whatever stupid superstitious nonsense your race believes.”
The words sent warmth flooding through her chest, dangerous and intoxicating. This was really happening. She was really going to marry Raziel Nostrom, the man who once destroyed everyone she loved.
And somehow, impossibly, it felt right.
“Then kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss your wife-to-be. For real, this time.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips found hers with desperate hunger, pressing her back against the metal wall as his hands tangled in her hair. The kiss was everything their first one had been and more—claiming and tender, violent and gentle, full of promises and threats and love.
When they finally broke apart, she could see her own wonder reflected in his eyes.
“Tomorrow, then.” His voice rough with emotion. “Tomorrow we’ll be married. Again. Face to face, this time.”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed, even as her practical mind pointed out all the ways this could go wrong.
But for once, she didn’t want to listen to her practical mind. For once, she wanted to choose something for herself rather than for duty or revenge or survival.
She wanted to choose him.
For no other reason than it was him.
Even if it damned them both in the end.