“Traditionally the father gives the bride away,” I said, trying to ease the nerves glittering inside me.
“But we’re not traditional,” Raze continued.
“We’re not giving you away,” Lock said. “We’re walking you down this aisle and into the family. You’re stuck with us.”
Their hands landed on my arm, securing my place interlocked with them. Then we walked down the makeshiftaisle. My breath came shaky, not from nerves, but hope. I’d forced myself into their world with a tattoo. Now they were saying they wanted me here, for real.
A warmth slid into my heart, down into my bones.
Safe.
Beyond the danger that I knew would lurk in this world, I—my soul—was safe. These men knew who I was. They had seen all the skeletons in my closet (and had even put a few there) and they still welcomed me.
The sound of the ocean and soft crunch of sand was my wedding march. I thought back to Psyche, arrayed in funeral attire for her wedding. Escorted to fate, finding freedom in death.
Gemma Crowne was dead, but I was just getting started.
I stopped before Grim. Wraith stood next to him, in the middle of us both. Was he officiating? I tried picturing his tattooed, monstrous face asking me to take my husband. Lock released me and stepped to Grim’s side. Raze joined him.
“Hey, Rich Girl,” he said softly.
“Hi,” I said. I bit my lip, looking at the makeshift wedding. “What does it mean to marry the king of the damned?”
“Marry?” he asked. He arched a brow, slightly tilting his head in a way that accented the sharp shadow of his jaw.
“This isn’t a wedding?” I said, throwing my arms out and gesturing to, well, everything. The dress, the aisle, the fucking officiant.
“You can leave a marriage,” Grim clarified.
I sucked in a breath just as Wraith started talking. His speech was different from the usual wedding fare. Darker. Wraith spoke of death and eternity. Of soulmates andthings only fate could know. I tried to focus on it, but my attention kept slipping to Grim. He stared at me relentlessly, like a sailor finding land, like a wolf worshipping the moon.
His black shirt was undone, showing our first tattoo.
Wraith stopped speaking and Grim took my hand in his.
“Gemma—”
“I didn’t prepare vows,” I said, cutting him off. “I didn’t know.”
A secret smile speared his lips. He released my hands and wrapped his hand around my neck.
“You already said your vows,” he said, thumbing my tattoo for emphasis. “Now it’s my turn.”
I don’t remember if I responded. I was stuck in the soft way his voice caught, but still hinted at something dangerous. In his gentle, possessive stroke on my neck paralleled by the hot gleam in his eyes.
I swallowed and simply nodded.
“This tattoo doesn’t mean I own you, it means youown me.Your safety, your well-being, yourlife,are all mine to keep safe. If you want something, I’ll give it to you before you have to ask. You will always have a home here. The Horsemen are your family. They will protect you from anything, even me. You will never be alone.”
Grim thumbed my cheek, swiping fugitive tears away. His palm lingered on my face, cradling.
“I was dead until you.” With his free hand, Grim took my own and pressed it to his bare chest, against the tattoo. “Now my heart beats inside your chest. I will always be in your debt.”
Before I could think, he dragged me in for a devouring kiss. It wasn’t hunger fusing our lips together, so much asinevitability, like gravity finally giving in. His mouth claimed mine with the weight of his vows. I felt it everywhere: in my ribs, in the ache behind my eyes, in the place where fear used to live. The world narrowed to breath and heat and the quiet violence of being chosen completely.
Someone coughed.
“I think you’re supposed to wait until the end for that,” Lock said wryly.
