“Never mind,” I interrupted, grumpy and disgusted with the dress and with myself. I was the freaking queen and yet no one listened to what I wanted. My simple ride-to-a-chapel-and-get-hitched-wedding had been pilfered, purloined, and appropriated by my so-called friends. People who thought they had a say in my life and a right to be at my wedding. Like they were . . . family. Or something. And now I had upset Deon.Dang it.
But still.
The only thing the Consort and I were getting out of our dream wedding was the almost-solo ride on the Dragon’s Tail on our bikes before the wedding, and the camping honeymoon we had planned for immediately afterward. But the hope to be married anonymously in some rickety white-painted roadside chapel was gone. Instead we had an event site reserved—a family-owned church and inn in the mountains called Sunrise Stone Chapel and Inn. And though no one had sent invitations,the list of people who claimed they intended to show up, was long. Big. Ridiculous big. Terrifying big. And I’d be in a dress instead of armor or riding leathers and boots.
We had security. I knew that. But, still. “Weapons,” I demanded, then added, “Please?”
Deon’s lips went tight for a half second and even I could tell he was tired of my protests. Guilt tried to worm its way deeper into me but I stomped on it, metaphorically. He stepped up on the dress-making dais to face me, though the small man was still inches short of my six feet, and clasped his hands together in front, at his hips. Very formally, the kind of formal only a born-and-bred New Orleanian could manage, he said, “My Lady.” The words managed to convey respect for my title, false patience, and the world-weary exhaustion of a put-upon (though well-paid) servant all at once. “You have faux pockets. I will personally strap your hip rig and your vamp-killer to your hips and thighs before the dress goes on.”
A pent up breath shot out. I should have known Deon would take care of me.
Before I could apologize for being a pain in his butt, he added, “Or Quint will.”
“Oh no.” Dread spread through me. “Quint will be there?”
Deon sighed—long-suffering and dramatic—shook his head, moved around me, and unbuttoned the dress so fast I wasn’t prepared.
I caught it before it slid from my shoulders to the floor and left me more naked than I preferred. Sexually speaking, I was a straight-laced, white-bread prude. Deon was unflappable. And far more sexually adventurous than I wanted to think about.
He stepped off the dais and tossed me a dressing gown. He was really ticked off.
When the heck did I get a dressing gown?
“What happens if I have to shift and Beast ruins the dress?” I asked.
“We will repair it.” Patient. Longsuffering. Irritated as hell.
“What if we’re attacked on the way to the chapel and I get blood on it?”
“No one alive or undead is stupid enough to attack you afterThe Change, Queenie Lady. And I promise, if they do, I’ll hang your bloody wedding gown in the entryway of your Clan home to warn people who they are greeting.”
I snickered. Then I laughed.
Deon said, “The dress.” And turned his back.
I slipped my arms out of the straight silk sleeves and into the arms of the silk dressing gown. Vamps had a thing for silk and, since I was their queen, though not a fanghead myself, I was surrounded by silk. I stepped from the dress, tied the robe closed around me, and extended the wedding gown. He had to hear it rustle but Deon didn’t turn around.
Point made.
“I’m sorry I’m . . . difficult,” I said.Difficult. Right.I was snapping at everyone because I wasn’t getting my way. And wedding jitters. Not saying that aloud, not admitting that to anyone but myself, but yeah. Jitters.
His back still to me, he said, as he had a dozen times, “You will be a beautiful bride. And I will be so proud to walk you down the aisle with Koun and Eli and Alex. And stand by you.” But this time he added, “But there are times when I want to give you away for real.”
“This isn’t what I wanted. I wanted to elope—”
“No one cares what you wanted, except you, Bruiser, and me.” When I didn’t reply, because the truth shut me up, he said, more gently, “Did Aggie OneFeather call you back about adding in a Cherokee part of the ceremony?”
I cleared my throat, which had gone tight. “A text saying she was out of town.” The words came out too soft, too gravel-y. “In Natchez. She didn’t ask how she could assist me.” Assisting people was what Cherokee Elders did. Except when they know the person they are trying to help is an irredeemably dangerous skinwalker. Like me. She didn’t offer to help me. Not anymore.
“Ah.”
Yeah. Aggie’s words had hurt. And yeah, that was one of many reasons why I was being so ornery. “So, who planned this extravagant ceremony I didn’t want?”
“Me,” he said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear him. “And there is no reason to be catty, Queenie.”
My big stupid mouth had hurt his feelings, yet he’d still made a joke, which I honored. “Catty—haha.” Holding my dressing gown closed over my front with one hand, I leaned in and kissed the top ofhis head. “I’m sorry. I know the ceremony will be tastefully done, and will meet as many of my needs and requests as possible, and that no one will add something stupid.”
Deon still hadn’t turned around, and now his arms were crossed over his chest. “Like a wedding cake shaped like a bloody severed head?” he asked. “Alex suggested that. I nixed it.”
