We’re only here because this is how Luke wanted us to exchange vows. Tyson just hijacked it.
The pastor steps to the side, allowing Tyson access to a long rectangular wooden table—the Lords’ table. It has a black runner that hangs off each end with white rose petals covering the surface and tapered candles sitting in their own individual crystal bases. The building is so large that the flame gives no light to it. They hold no meaning other than decoration for the table.
Tyson releases my hands and they drop to my side while he reaches out to pick up the dagger that sits in front of the candles. He pulls it from the old worn-out leather sheath with their crest engraved into it—a circle with three parallel lines through the middle—and lifts it to my chin, forcing me to look up at him. The cold sharp edge pressing into my flesh is enough to pinch but not enough to break the skin just yet.
My eyes meet his, and I hold my breath. He steps into me, the tip of the blade gently running along my jawline to the base of my ear. The metal is cold but smooth against my burning skin, making me break out in goose bumps.
“Recite your vows,” the pastor announces, making my heart skip a beat.
“I … vow,” I say with a heavy tongue. My breathing is ragged, and my pulse races.
The tip of the blade punctures my skin, making me hiss in a breath before I feel the warm liquid rolling down my neck.
His baby-blue eyes watch it slowly trail down my chest and fall between my breasts.
Taking the dagger, he pokes the tip of his thumb and cups my jaw, gently running it along my shaking lips, smearing his blood on me. “You vow.” His deep and assertive voice holds power. That thought makes me whimper.
“Together,” the pastor adds.
“We vow,” I whisper to myself, while his commands our audience.
Tyson steps into me, closing the small distance. His eyes stay on mine while he lowers his lips to my collarbone. A tear runs down my cheek when I feel his warm and wet tongue run up my neck, licking along the trail of blood. A shiver runs through me.
I feel his lips slowly running along my jawline as he speaks softly, “As blood is my oath, you will forever belong to me and I to you.” He reaches my lips and captures mine with his.
I taste something metallic—our blood—when his tongue enters my mouth and I swallow, knowing that if I don’t, I’ll vomit. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough.
I go to stop the kiss and pull away, but his hand flattens across the back of my head, holding me in place. The other slides around my waist, pinning my front to his hard body.
I try to fight him, but his lips pry mine open easily and he dominates my mouth, making my body react to him even though I don’t want it to. My thighs tighten and my heart races. My eyes fall closed, and he swallows what I can only think is a moan from me. I’ve been kissed before, but it was different. I actually liked that guy.
His fingers dig into my hair, and I feel him pulling the tight bun loose. Tilting my head, he deepens the kiss, and his tongue caresses mine in the softest way even though I know it’s anything but. Heat runs up my back, and my body begins to tingle with electricity.
When he pulls away first, ending the kiss, I hate that I don’t step back. That I willingly stay close to him. He gives my lips a gentle peck before he breathes into my ear so only I can hear. “Welcome to hell, little darling. You’ll only be able to crawl as far as my chains will allow you.”
I bite my tongue to keep from sobbing. My body is shaking, my heart racing, and my breathing is ragged. I can’t think straight right now. He pulls back and licks his bloody lips while watching me silently cry.
“I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Tyson Crawford,” the pastor announces to the silent audience.
The words are like a door slamming shut, locking me in my cage.
TEN
TYSON
My wife stands before me in the very spot I signed my life away for her three years ago. Her watery eyes meet mine, and I smile at the blood smeared across her lips. I felt her body stiffen when I kissed her at first. The way she tried to fight me. But a part of her, the best part, melted into me. Her body is going to crave being mine. I’m going to parade her around as my own personal fucking trophy for all to see. For her father to be disgusted and ashamed.
The bell is rung, slicing through the silence of the Cathedral. She jumps at the loud intrusion, trying to take a step back, but I hold her in place.
My eyes drop to the blood trail that makes its way from her neck to her chest. She will bleed for me in more ways than one tonight.
“Tyson.” My name is spoken softly on her trembling lips.
“Yes, little darling?” My eyes lift to meet hers.
“Go to hell,” she whispers, referring to my last statement.
I smile at her. “It’s going to be so much fun bringing you to your knees, Mrs. Crawford.”
