Page 31 of Lethal Saint

VASILISA

My head spun, the priest’s words a blur in my ears, only the soft caress of Damien’s eyes holding my attention. I was really marrying him. He was really marrying me. This was real. And I wasexcited.

I should be terrified to marry a criminal, to join his family of killers. But with the way he was looking at me, the care he’d taken since the moment we met, and even the way his friend had treated me, I couldn’t be scared. They were the gentlest men I’d ever met. They were kind—good. There was no fear tightening my chest, only a steady flutter of nerves and excitement.

It was too soon for full vows—we’d both agreed on that yesterday—but I tried to listen for my cue, repeating my single line over and over in my head. It was secret, kept to myself until this moment, and his was the same, but we spoke about every other little detail of today, from my hair to my makeup to my dress and shoes, and his suit, shirt, shoes, and cufflinks—a family crest—and then the venue, the hymns, our vows, flowers,the rings, and a dozen other things I hadn’t even realised went into a wedding.

I didn’t care what car we used to get here, or what readings the priest did, or if we held a reception—we decided to wait until the dust settled. I cared about being here, standing in the aisle of a church beside Damien, the only man who’d ever made my heartbeat settle with a sense of safety…but also race with demanding attraction.

Being asked what I wanted instead of being told? It was new and scary andfun.I could choose whatever I wanted.

You’re the queen here, Vasilisa. You make the rules.

“Damien, Vasilisa,” the priest said, startling us out of our intense eye contact, “would you like to exchange your vows?”

I swallowed, my nerves rising now the priest was smiling at me, watching, expectant. Everyone was watching me, eyes burning my skin, and it was like being in the ballroom all over again—

“Vasya,” Damien said gently, his fingers grazing my jaw, unfurling to cup my cheek. He looked at me long enough for me to push off the memories and swallow down my sudden panic. I focused on the church, the priest, the flowers all around us, like a florist had gone completely and utterly insane. I loved it. And I was here, in the church, not in the ballroom.

“I’ll go first,” he said sweetly, not looking away from me or severing his gentle touch from my cheek. My chest slowly unclenched, until the thrill began to creep back in.

“Vasilisa Ivanov, the bravest girl I know. I promise to stand between you and anyone—or anything—who would ever hurt you, and I make that promise for the rest of our lives. No matter what happens, I’m yours. Your man and your shield.”

I swallowed a sudden knot in my throat, his words hitting my soft heart far harder than I expected his vow to.

A thrill zipped down my spine when he tucked hair behind my right ear and leaned closer.

“And I’ll give you all the guns your violent heart could ever dream of.”

I sucked in a breath, my eyes widening. I was sure everyone else thought he’d promised something sexual, but it was…perfect. I never knew I could be drawn to violence, but my gun gave me power and the idea of having more made my heart quicken.

He kissed my cheek and drew back, a glimmer in his black eyes that made me squirm. God, this man was dangerous. And sexy. And mine. I wanted to ride him; the idea flashed through my mind, vivid and sudden, and I had to clear my throat before I could speak.

I’d discarded thirty different vows last night, too many of them promising too much, others promising to be better, undervaluing myself. Damien called me a queen, so I wouldn’t act like anything less.

I dragged in a shaky breath, focusing on the heat he coaxed through me instead of my panic, and met his eyes again.

“Damien,” I breathed. “Saint. I know this happened so fast, but I’ve felt safer with you than anyone I’ve ever known and—and you’re already the most important person in my life.” I glanced away, the words too personal—but they were true. A hundred percent true. And now I’d begun, the words kept flowing off my clumsy tongue. “I vow to make you feel every bit as safe as you make me feel, to take care of you like you care for me, and to make you happy. Always.”

The old Vasilisa would never have been so bold to assume she evencouldmake him happy, but I was a queen now. Queens made their own rules. Queens had their gun strapped to their thigh under their wedding dress.

A giddy smile crossed my face, matching the soft happiness on Damien’s, and it felt, even for just a minute, like everything was going to be okay.

Armand Finch didn’t burst down the door and claim me for himself. My dad didn’t find us. The rest of the ceremony passed without stress and panic, and then the priest was smiling so wide her eyes crinkled and pronouncing us married.

Really, legally, actually married. I was Damien’s. The Saint was mine.

I grinned, my heart fluttering so fast, and the world stopped as I waited for him to kiss me. I wanted it—the kiss. Wantedhim.I knew he was only marrying me to save me, but I wanted it to be real, and I meant what I said. I’d be good to him. So good he’d choose to keep me.

“You’re mine now, little queen,” he murmured, his hand sliding along the embroidered lace waistband of my dress. Had he noticed the neckline that plunged low enough to show more than a glimpse of cleavage? Had he noticed my makeup was dark and smoky, the closest I came to that killer wing liner I wanted so badly? He’d offered a makeup artist, but I wanted this to be as personal, asme,as possible, so I declined. It was the right choice. Today I felt pretty. I felt powerful.

And as Damien guided me closer, my hands falling on his chest, appreciating the heat and strength of him, I wasn’t surprised to learn his kiss made me feel even more powerful. It was only a press of his lips to mine, but it was rough and possessive and made my toes curl. I wanted more, wanted far, far more.

We both jumped when the doors flew open at the end of the aisle, and I pressed as close to Damien as I could get, instinctively seeking safety in his arms. But it wasn’t Armand Finch, my father, or either of my brothers who entered.Actually… I had no idea who any of the sixteen people and children who burst into the church were.

Damien groaned, dropping his head on my shoulder. “Who invited the rabble?”

“Woohoo!” a man cheered. “Go Damien!”

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