Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 65871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 263(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“If you do not want to be married, you do not have to be. You are my mate. That is enough for me. But I think we should do everything we can to…”
“Be more normal?” I finish his thought with a guess.
“Be more stable,” he says. “I do not know that a ceremony will change anything, but it is celebration, and we need one of those. You should be celebrated, Anya. I love you, you are mine. And everybody should know it.”
I know who he truly means should know it. A certain tall blood-eyed creature of the night. Dom’s shadow falls over us from time to time, a chill that does not come from the external temperature or the internal drafts of the castle.
“I love you, Alexei. And I am yours. As you are mine.”
He wraps his hand in my hair and kisses me deeply, thoroughly, with animal possession that will brook no interference from anybody, living or dead.
CHAPTER 21
“Weddings are deeply political things,” Mrs. Tibbs says.
She is one of the pack members who very much enjoys things like wedding planning. She is married to Mr. Tibbs, neither of whom I have met until very recently, and both of whom exude elder wolf warmth.
“What are you getting at?” Alexei is not nearly as keen on the planning as most of the pack seems to be, but I know he cares. It is simply the fact that we have been discussing napkins and tablecloths and various flowers that might bloom late. It is hard for either of us to maintain interest in these little details. Though I do like the black lace for the napkins, and I do have opinions on a few of these little…
“It is a time where enemies might be made, well, if not friends, at least friendly. And, when Anya comes down the aisle, someone should be by her side to give her away. What if we asked…”
“No,” Alexei says firmly.
“From what I understand, things parted amicably,” Mrs. Tibbs says. “As I said, you cannot underestimate the diplomatic value of these affairs. And I do believe, having heard what I’ve heard, he would be thrilled…”
“I don’t care how he feels. He’s not going to be in the wedding.”
“You want Elena and Vlad to come, don’t you? That’s why it’s at night. They’re his children now, effectively.”
Mrs. Tibbs speaks plainly, and with a sort of ease that accepts all these changes with equanimity. If the pack now also includes an ancient vampire and his two progenies, then the pack now includes an ancient vampire and his progenies. She just wants to know what sort of place setting they need.
Should she bother with plates, or would glasses suffice? Is there any way to provide fresh blood for them? Or do they need to feed directly from someone? Should we get some willing people to be fed from; apparently that’s all the rage, these days.
I watch Alexei be slowly beguiled by the mundane, even banal matters of hospitality as relating to vampires and I feel Mrs. Tibbs pulling off an old saleswoman’s trick to perfection: speak about something as though it is already happening and watch the person you’re talking to act the same.
EPILOGUE
Several months later…
We are married in the evening, with the light of the moon bathing us, and the pack all around us. There are guests in the shadows, some seen, some unseen. Mrs. Tibbs got her way, as very friendly people always do. If it were up to her, she’d be catering the outskirts where the uninvited vampires are looming. We’re aware of them. We can smell them, all of us.
My wedding dress is made of black velvet and lace. White would not have been appropriate. Wine red seemed too on the nose after all the bloodshed. So I wear the color of mourning to attend my nuptials.
“You are beautiful.” Dom smiles at me. “I believe your mother would be very proud of you. You have become strong in ways she never was.”
“I’m a college dropout getting married to a much older man who wants to knock me up,” I say, smirking slightly as I voice my deepest self-critique.
“That American sass does nothing to diminish your achievements,” he says. “You have survived mental tortures that would have broken lesser people. You could have—perhaps would have—gone mad. But you did not. I have been inside your head, and I have known your strength. Even now, on the verge of becoming a wife, and inevitably a mother, you are bold.”
I am bold now, but will I be later? What will this marriage be, what will peace be like? I am almost more afraid of that than anything.
Dom leans down and smiles at me. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You won’t be bored. There will always be trouble for a girl like you to get into, no matter how time passes.”