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My pussy clenches around him as I ride my euphoric high, half-buried in fabric. He quickens his pace, the thrusts getting harder, messier, before he spills himself inside me. Panting, Daemon collapses into my skirt, his tail slipping free of my clit as he catches his breath. With one hand, I tangle my fingers in his silky locks. With the other, I thumb the choker Minerva gave me.

Really, this is her own fault.

If she didn’t want us having sex, she shouldn’t have given the necklace to us.

I grin as Daemon threads his fingers in mine, his cock still buried deep inside me. “Are you ready to get married now?” he asks.

“I was ready to get married twenty minutes ago,” I tease. “The sex was your idea.”

“Yeah, but you enjoyed it.”

Well, I can’t argue with that.

The one good thing about not having many friends is small, inexpensive weddings. Although Minerva might be the wealthiest person I know, so the benefit is a bit lost on us. Still, it’s nice being able to wed in a backyard—not her backyard, but at my parents’ old estate.

The property conveniently went up for sale when our engagement was announced, and we received an anonymous phone call tipping us off to it. The magic in the soil makes it a light witch hot spot. Selling it to anyone in the Septem would have been looked at as heretical, yet Mom did. Technically, not her, but the agency she sold it through.

I’m certain if anyone in the coven asks her how we acquired it, she’ll have a fantastical lie about a faceless third-party buyer who deceived her agency. But I’ll know the truth, and so will she, and that’s good enough for me.

Honestly, I can’t imagine marrying Daemon anywhere other than the place we met. It’s where we fell in love, where we built our life together, and maybe one day where we’ll have a family of our own too. But that’s a decision to make a hundred years down the line, not today.

Dressed in my black wedding gown, I peek out one of the back porch windows and stare at the sprawling estate. Black lanterns and golden fairy lights hang from between the fruit trees. Black candles and rose petals float in the pool, the flames gleaming off the water as sunset approaches. A matching pavilion tent glitters too, accented in Minerva’s emeralds.

It looks like something out of a gothic fairytale.

It’s not that I’m obsessed with the color black, but white seemed inappropriate—too light-witchy—and red and pink reminded me of Salios’s Hell. This seemed a happy middle ground. Besides, Daemon looks good in black.

He looks good in everything.

My gaze finds him instantly, standing by a black floral arch at the front of the gathered crowd. There isn’t a groom’s side or a bride’s side for our wedding, just everyone sitting together—for my benefit, mostly. This crowd is all Septem. And while I’ve never been baptized and never will be baptized, both they and the light witches consider me one of them.

Salios does too.

Staring at my long black sleeves, I catch a glimpse of the infernal tattoo, but blessedly the archdemon is silent on the other end—a wedding present of sorts. I straighten my sex-ruined hair, take a deep breath, and push open the porch door. Soft dark velvet greets me—the carpet squishing beneath my bare feet because I’m not a masochist willing to wear heels on my wedding day.

Near the pavilion, a soft string quartet kicks to life as I walk down the aisle toward my best friend. I’m not wearing a veil, and even though Daemon just had sex with me in the house, his face lights up when he sees me, a smile spreading from ear to ear. God, it makes me melt. Blinking back happy tears, I pass by all the guests and join him at the arch.

Discreetly, Minerva tugs on my dress before I can reach him. “I’m so happy to get you as a daughter, Annalise.”

I wipe my eyes and try to think of a witty retort to break the syrupy sweetness of this moment, but can’t. “Thank you,” I say instead, and touch the emerald on my neck, twisting it as I step up to Daemon.

Gently, he takes my hands in his, his red eyes sparkling in the fairy lights. The reds and oranges of sunset fade, turning the sky a dusky blue. “I’m sorry I made you late for your own wedding,” he whispers, seeing the change in light. But honestly, this is better. Maybe not for the photographer, but the way Daemon looks right now, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

The officiant rises from the chair he’d been sitting in and steps up to the arch. The man is a Septem witch—a demonic priest of sorts, from Minerva’s faction. It’s blasphemous, but I don’t care. Dressed in an all-black clergy robe, holding a black Luciferian Bible with a seven-sided star on it, he smooths open the cover. The spine makes an audible crack, and the crinkled yellow pages rustle as he flips to the designated page.

He’s still flipping when I feel a familiar tug on my chest.

Immediately, my eyes pull toward the crowd where Christopher has arrived, excusing himself as he climbs over guests’ legs to reach the last empty seat I reserved for him. He came. I swallow when I see him in his all-white suit—an Elder now in the European coven. It’s illegal for him to be here—Septem witches and light witches don’t mix—yet he came anyway. For me.

When Christopher smiles at me, it’s watery and bittersweet.

I bite the inside of my cheek—part of me wishing I could break the bond between us, the other part incredibly thankful that it’s there. That I have him and his friendship in my life. Nodding to me, he settles into his chair just as the officiant clears his throat.

“Having second thoughts?” Daemon asks, his gaze dropping to where mine had been.

“Never,” I admit. I know what and who I want. “I already told you, Daemon, you’re stuck with me forever.”

He laughs, and the officiant snaps at us.