Page 138 of Dhampira

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The ballroom overflowed with vampires and other Noctans. Thousands of hobflies floated above the chandeliers, scattering light over the walls and floor.

Someone had replaced the windows the werewolves had shattered, and the glass reflected my image as I appeared to float down the crimson runner that bisected the ballroom. My new attendant had left my hair long and loose, the ends brushing the small of my back. In my chamber, I’d worried the style was too plain. If Rasimir thought I wasn’t taking the ceremony seriously, who knew what he would do?

But the attendant’s decision was sound. The wedding gown was striking in its severity, and the simple hairstyle complemented it. The dragonstone belt cast red shadows on the floor. Black skirts swirled around my legs, the silky material moving like smoke. My heart thumped faster as I realized it wasn’t an illusion. The lower half of the gown flowed in steady columns of black smoke. Iggleboddle had worked magic. I trailed it with every step.

Heads turned, and appreciative murmurs rippled through the crowd. Courtiers bowed as I passed. Rasimir waited at the end of the runner, the golden circlet on his head. Lorcan stepped from the crowd on the other side of the runner.

A long, black cloak trailed from his shoulders to his ankles. His long-sleeved black jacket opened over crimson robes that crisscrossed his chest before descending to just below his knees. A black sword belt circled his waist. His hair was loose. The pommel of Dark Dream pulsed red at his hip.

He marked my progress with steady eyes. Follow Lorcan’s lead, Vander had said. I could do that. With the way he looked at me, I could do anything.

I held Lorcan’s stare, letting the courtiers fade as I continued moving forward. Brides in Ghedda carried flowers or a bag of coin for good fortune. But my hands were empty, my arms loose at my sides.

Movement caught my attention. Lord Seldare stood among the crowd, his golden eyes hard in his handsome face.

Look at me, Lorcan’s deep voice said in my mind. Our eyes met, and his voice flowed again. Eyes on me, Corinthe, because no force in this world or any other could make me take mine off you.

My breath hitched. Change swept me, my steps growing more fluid. The crowd of courtiers faded. My vision narrowed to Lorcan—his dark eyes and crimson robes. His expression didn’t change, but it didn’t need to. His feelings showed in his eyes, anticipation and desire flickering in the midnight depths.

My heart slowed. My nerves quieted. The ceremony had started as something I had to do. Now, I walked to Lorcan because I wanted to, smoke sliding over and between my legs. It whispered against my skin, its caresses as subtle and personal as Lorcan’s voice in my head.

Look at me.

How could I not?

Lorcan reached for me, and I slid my hands into his.

“Corinthe,” he said out loud, but his voice also echoed in my head. “Do you give yourself to me?”

Some part of me was aware of the crowd. Of Rasimir’s attention. Of glowing hobflies and a thousand avid eyes. But none of those things mattered as I nodded.

“Yes.”

Lorcan’s lips moved as his voice filled my mind. “Then I give myself to you.”

I give myself to you.

A man swathed in black robes stepped in front of us, a shallow black bowl in his hands. The edges of the vessel were jagged and the surface shiny and grooved, as if water had rippled across it. Gray powder filled the bottom.

Releasing my hands, Lorcan pulled a dagger from his robes. It was the same material as the bowl, the blade and handle carved from one piece and the rippled surface as shiny as a mirror. The man began to chant in a low, foreign tongue. The language was quick and sibilant, the syllables making me shiver.

Give me your arm, Lorcan said in my mind. When I obeyed, he untied the laces at my cuff and pushed my sleeve to my elbow. He repeated the process on himself, then positioned his arm next to mine so our forearms touched and our palms faced the ceiling.

The robed man’s chant rose higher, filling the ballroom. Energy crackled in the air. At the edge of my vision, shadows climbed the walls.

Dark lashes lowered, Lorcan drew the tip of the dagger from the center of his palm to the crook of his elbow, raising a thick line of bright red blood.

The chanting slipped under my skin, the hissing, tripping language pumping in my veins. Lorcan pressed the tip of the dagger against my skin. Eyes locked with mine, he cut me. Fire formed in my palm and licked up my arm, but the blaze didn’t burn. It warmed, chasing away the cold.

As my blood mingled with Lorcan’s, the robed man thrust the bowl under our arms. Red hit the powder.

Ash. The word landed in my head as the fire sizzled through my veins. Lorcan’s dark eyes held mine.

I give myself to you, he murmured in my head. Then he dipped his fingers in the bloody ash and smeared it over my lips.

“I give myself to you,” he said aloud. He dipped his fingers again and coated his lips with our mingled blood. Then he kissed me. And I saw him for who he really was.