Physically, she looks a tiny bit better. She’s clean and there’s more color in her cheeks. She’s eaten and rested. But her eyes are haunted. And she recoils when she seesRoman. She’s terrified of him, as well she should be. I am too.
Her gaze falls on the place Roman’s hand grips the back of my upper arm. She frowns, her eye catching mine as she squeezes the back of the pew until her knuckles turn white. I know she wants to help me but I try to tell her silently not to try. It will only end badly for both of us.
Roman leads me up the aisle where a kneeler has been placed in front of the altar table. It’s so quiet I can hear the candles burning. On either side of the altar, suits of armor stand guard, swords and shields in their hollow hands. It’s an odd choice. Marion and I were raised attending churches with light-filled pews and candlelit statues of the blessed mother and Saint Joseph. The cross was always a crucifix. The symbol hanging above us now is strange—a cross with two bars instead of one and an infinity symbol at the bottom. I vaguely remember coming across the symbology before while researching one of my novels, but I can’t remember what it’s called or the historical significance.
“What type of cross is that?” I ask softly.
“A leviathan cross. It symbolizes the Order’s role in maintaining the balance between the divine and the wicked.” He still has me by the arm as if he fears I’ll bolt if he lets me go, when the side door opens and an elderly man walks in. He’s balding with a nose that’s both crooked and hooked, but I can’t take my eyes off him. The closer he gets, the safer I feel.
“We want the full sacramental rite,” Romancommands. He pulls the marriage license from the interior pocket of his tux and hands it to the judge.
I frown and bow my head, staring at my tangled fingers. There was no getting around using my real signature this time. Roman watched me carefully, even made sure it was legible.
Roman drags me to the kneelers and yanks me down with him. I fall hard and catch myself on the rail.Easy, I hear in my head. That’s Connor’s voice!
I raise my chin and stare at the officiant again. He’s surveying the room like he’s never been in here before.
“Now, Burk!” Roman orders. “I want it done and filed by end of day.”
Duck,I hear in my head.
Faster than my eyes can track, Burk lunges for one of the swords in the suit of armor, draws the weapon, and swings it toward Roman’s head. I drop to my belly, and the steel whistles right over me as the entire being of Judge Burk flies apart like scattered sand and leaves Connor in his place.
Just when I think Roman’s going to lose his head, his ring transforms into a glowing blue sword of his own. The blade extends just in time to block, even before Roman seems to register the attack, as if the ring’s magic is sentient and acts of its own volition. He’s not entirely fast enough.
Connor’s blow is so powerful the momentum carries around Roman’s sword and the tip slices the back of Roman’s head. Blood drenches his hair, but Roman is on his feet, attacking with all the psychotic rage I’ve seen brewing under his skin the past few days.
Connor’s answering energy is death’s swift vengeance. Swords clang again and again. Connor is stronger, and I can’t understand why he doesn’t have the clear advantage until I see his wing is bleeding. Oh my God. He’s still injured from the bolts. And if his wing hasn’t fully healed, his chest is probably bleeding too beneath the leather armor.
A hand lands on my back and I almost scream, but it’s just Vivian, pulling me away from the skirmish. We back behind a pew just as the flat of Roman’s sword slaps Connor’s shoulder. He roars, the place of contact smoking like it burns, but he doesn’t retreat. He moves closer to Roman, into the pain, and sends a sharp elbow into Roman’s chin. Roman goes flying like he’s been hit by a car. He crashes into the wall, his head thunking hard against the wood. He crumples to the stone, but then he’s on his feet again, the sword transforming into a crossbow.
He levels it at Connor.
I race forward, positioning myself between the two of them, my hands raised. I lock eyes with Roman.
“Move out of the way, Fiona,” Roman demands, lowering the bolt a quarter of an inch.
“No.” I won’t let him shoot Connor again. I won’t.
His lips peel back from his teeth, his eyes narrowing to slits. “I had such high hopes for you. So disappointing.” He fires.
A paw the size of a paddle knocks me aside, and I turn my head to see Connor throwing the sword in his hands like a javelin. Roman’s bolt whistles between us, missing its mark, but the sword flies true.It impales Roman through the chest and embeds in the wall behind him. I scramble to my feet, trying to reach Connor. He’s bleeding, and I can’t tell if it’s from old wounds or new.
“Look out!” Vivian screams.
I whirl back toward Roman. Despite being pinned to the wall like a mounted beetle, he raises his crossbow and a second bolt flies. Connor dodges it, leaps over a pew, and slashes Roman’s throat with one partially shifted hand. Blood sprays across wood and stone, the light shining through the stained glass washing my entire world in red.
“Fiona!” Vivian cries. She’s suddenly hysterical.
I’m not sure why until I look down and see the fletching of a blue bolt protruding from the biceps of my left arm. Oddly, I feel no pain. No weakness. I reach around and yank it through my flesh, dropping it on the stone. Blood spurts from the wound, and I clap a hand over it.
“Oh my God! Fiona!” Vivian helps me into a pew as Connor’s roar fills the chapel.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
CONNOR
Watching my claws slice through Roman’s throat even as the sword I threw at him pins him to the stone makes my dragon surge with pride. All my Aries instincts feel satiated from both a battle won and the act of protecting my mate.
