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There are too many faces in the crowd that can gaze upon her. Her beauty. Her innocence and corruption.
Too. Fucking. Many.
And I want to kill every last one that doesn’t belong in this house.
In the quick span of the afternoon, Sofiy worked her magic and transformed the house into a wedding wonderland—that’s what Mila says, anyway—with seating for a hundred.
I wanted small.
The family and the Georgia Brotherhood. That was all.
Anton explained that this was a way to ensure loyalties and mend any fences that might have been broken. I don’t give a fuck about anyone but Liliya.
“Dez, my love”—she cups my cheek, drawing my attention away from calculating a possible body count before someone takes me out—“they don’t matter.” Her body presses into mine, forcing me to relax so I can wrap my arms around her waist and hold her close.
“Did you have your own vows?” the priest asks. I snarl when his eyes glance questioningly at Liliya.
“Yes,” she giggles when I don’t let her go.
“Please, miss, go ahead.” His attention on her warrants my deadly stare.
“Dez,” the wistful tone draws me from him. “I was so alone in the biggest crowd until you found me. From the time our eyes met, the first nick of your blade, the first kiss, the first drop of blood, I knew I was meant to be yours. I didn’t believe I could love until you showed me what it meant to belong to someone else. Nobody will ever understand me the way you do. Love me the way you do. I am so happy to become your wife.”
I glower as guests murmur due to her vows…the revelations she voiced so freely. Unashamed of our fucked-up love.
“Very, uh,” the priest clears his throat, looking a little pale. “Very nice. Sir, when you’re ready.”
“Malen’ka ptshashka, from the first night I snuck into your bed while you were sleeping to the day I bought you, I knew I never deserved you. I still don’t.” She frowns at my words, hating that I truly believe what I’m saying. Slipping my blade through my coat sleeve, I grab her arm and hold it up, pushing the gown’s sleeve down to expose her creamy skin. My mouth waters for a taste of her.
“From the first draw of blood”—I gently slice down her arm, squeezing until tiny beads of crimson dot across the flesh and dribble daintily down her arm—“to this taste.” Licking up the offering, my breath quickens at the way she sighs and sways into me. Ignoring the shocked gasps from the crowd and the clergy, I continue, “And every one after, I will be yours.”
Slamming my mouth across hers, the room goes silent as I devour her. My heart pounding for her, my lungs expanding for her.
Vaguely, I hear Vasyl instruct the priest to pronounce us because he knows I’m not coming up for air. As soon as I feel his hand on my back, I pick Liliya up and cradle her in my arms, ignoring everyone around us as I continue my assault on her mouth and take her up to our room, where I intend to lay the final claim to my new bride.
“Dez.” Her gasp as she tears away from me is filled with affection. Slamming the door shut behind me, I lock it and trudge over to the bed. “Please don’t rip my dress,” she pouts, her swollen bottom lip popping out and tempting me.
Turning around, she offers me her back, and I pause, needing to get better control of myself. My Liliya is a delicate little bird who deserves tenderness, and I’m determined to give it to her.
“Why?” I ask as I undo the two buttons on the back enclosure. Gently, I push the material off her shoulders until it slides down her arms, catching on her peaked nipples in front.
Liliya spins back to face me, revealing her body for the first time with the intent of pleasure instead of pain. “I’d like to keep it for our daughter one day.” My entire body freezes at the word daughter. “You do want children with me, don’t you, husband?”
“I want every piece of you you’ll award me,” I respond honestly.But boys, we must have boys.I could never love another female the way I do her. It’s not possible. I keep that to myself for now, however.
“Good.” She sighs as she allows the garment to slide to her feet, pooling like a puffy white cloud. Taking a step back to get a good look at her, I realize she is wearing nothing. She was completely nude under her dress, and now, the only thing on her is the scars.
From her cutting.
My name in her belly.
From me cutting her.
And I’m a sick fucking bastard because I want to add to them; I want to make her bleed more. I want her to only ever remember the inscriptions I put on her body and not the ones she did on her own in her panic-ridden states.
I’m so terrified to move because I don’t want to hurt her, so she steps forward and begins undressing me. Slipping her hands into my jacket, her delicate fingers glide up my chest to push it off my shoulders. I shake it free when it reaches my wrists. Kicking off my shoes as she begins unbuttoning my shirt, I lift my hand to finally touch her for the first time as my wife.
With my blade in my palm, she gasps when I cup her breast in one hand, letting the sharp steel dig into her skin as I massage the perfect little teacups. Precious drops of blood slide down her trim stomach.
