“Too late for that,” he murmured. He glanced at his mate and his gaze softened as he offered her his arm. “Come on, heart of mine, the sooner we do this, the sooner I’ll have you all to myself...”
* * *
The sounds of low chatter and cutlery clinking against china filled the rec room that had been magically transformed into a private reception fit for kings. Soft music played in the background.
Hedori oversaw the two faes glamoured as humans and served as the wait-staff before joining them.
Blaéz glanced around the place he’d spent eons in with his fellow warriors.
Instead of the usual bright lights, softer ones shed golden warmth across the white, damask-covered tables forming a U-shape. From tall vases set sporadically along the tables, a profusion of lilac and purple flowers flowed. Spindly white birch branches and twinkling lights were wound around the stands.
Each and everyone here was family—hisfamily. For a male who’d been alone for so many millennia without emotions, this moment, the warmth of togetherness, the outpouring of…affection? Truly overwhelmed him.
“Right, then—” Týr called out from the bar. The chatter quieted, and those annoying genetic defects appeared, denting his cheeks, warning Blaéz that he was definitely up to no good.
Blaéz narrowed his eyes at the warrior. If Týr brought out that damn sonnet again, he would toss him outside into the snow.
“It’s time for my awesome speech…and it would have been one. But, alas, under threat of an agonizing death, and I happen to like my head where it is, it’ll be a toast instead. Blaéz, Darci”—those amused dark eyes met Blaéz’s and then shifted to his mate—“I wish you both every happiness in this lifetime, and every other.” He raised his champagne glass. “To the bridal couple!”
An eruption of applause exploded in the room. Chairs dragged on the marble floor, and cheers took over as everyone stood, raising their glasses.
Damn Norse. Blaéz shook his head.
As they all took their seats again, Darci asked softly, “Did you enjoy the wedding?”
She rubbed her cheek against his arm, her hand lightly stroking his inner thigh. And like a match to tinder, his groin hardened. Damn. He shifted in his seat and deadpanned. “I’m still breathing, and your brother’s smiling. I’d call it a success.”
She laughed. “I think Dec’s happy…” She paused, her expression contemplative as she watched her brother talking to Reynner. “We were married by a priest, which will soothe his old-school soul. And he’s seen where I live.” Her sparkling gaze came back to him. “More, he realizes how happy you make me.”
“That is good to know. Now, I won’t need your protection when he’s around,” he teased. Curling a silky lock of her hair that had escaped her intricately styled mane around his finger, he tugged her closer and kissed her. “The women appear to want your attention. I’m going to get a drink.”
Actually, he just needed a moment to calm his unruly body. He hadn’t made love to her in far, far too long. Strange, how they’d both conceded to the bet and still had to wait untilafterthe wedding because of other obstructions. No matter, he’d followed the tradition parts just to experience them. He’d emerged mostly unscathed…except for one thing. Andthathe planned to rectify very soon.
Blaéz strolled past the lavender and white, three-tiered cake they’d cut earlier. The three-layer confectionary appeared as if it had taken a dive into a flower garden with the waterfall of blooms spilling from the top.
Stranger still, he’d actually enjoyed it, even though he wasn’t one for sweets.
As he neared the bar, though Týr stared outside at the snow lightly floating to the ground, something appeared off with him. Blaéz frowned. Týr had been his typical self with mocking banter during dinner. And Kira had remained silent as if she’d bolted down her usual irritation with the warrior for a peaceful evening.
However, the wound on Týr’s jaw caught his attention again. The contusion should have healed within minutes, but it appeared to be the same mottled-red shade it was last night.
“Want to talk about the injury?” he asked quietly.
Týr glanced at him, the cocky grin reappearing. “Perks of the job, man.” He set his glass down next to an open can of Red Bull. “What’s your venom, Celt?”
Blaéz let it go for now. “Whiskey.”
Aethan and Dagan joined him. Michael had left after the ceremony, and so had Nik. He’d taken the old priest back. Blaéz doubted he’d return.
He took the squat crystal Týr handed him and sipped, the smoky liquor burning a fiery path down his throat.
“Interesting custom, weddings,” Aethan remarked, taking a water bottle from the small fridge there. Dagan accepted his red wine from Týr.
“You two plan to follow?” Blaéz asked them. “Your mates were human once. I doubt their sentiments have changed even if they are immortal now.”
“Shae just wants a quieter life,” Dagan said, his yellow eyes softening as they settled on his mate. “And I’m all for it after the hell we went through recently.”
Blaéz could understand that.
