Page 33 of Lethal Saint

It was my turn to snort. I hadn’t changed overnight. I was both—the butcher and the romantic, all at once.

“Any luck tracking Finch?” I asked after a moment.

Vincent shoved me, which was not the response I expected. Neither was him grabbing my head and shaking it until my brain rattled.

“Fucking idiot. It’s your wedding day; leave that shit to us and enjoy your day. Enjoy your wife,” he added with a smirk. “I’ll cover for you if you want to sneak off.”

I shook off his hand and gave him a well-mannered glare. “Thanks. Dick.”

“You’re welcome. Jackass.”

I grinned, lighter than I’d felt in days. Maybe even weeks. It was good to have them here; it wouldn’t have felt right without them.

I looked back to my wife to find her smiling softly, her cheeks flushed as she walked back towards me. She shot a wary glance at Vincent, lurking beside me. With his shaved head, tattoos and the way he held himself, anyone knew at first glance he was a predator.

“Get lost,” I told him, opening my arms to Vasya, my heart softening when she came to rest against me. Her shield. Always.

“Nice to meet you, Vasilisa,” he muttered and loped across the church grounds to join Jonathan where my best man was brooding beside a topiary bush, his tie already hanging unfastened around his neck. Vincent was gone before Vasilisa could reply; she gave me a wide-eyed look.

“My older brother,” I explained, wrapping my arms around her. “He’s not much of a talker. Actually, that’s probably the friendliest I’ve seen him be to a stranger in years.”

She looked up at me, something unfamiliar in her eyes. I couldn’t name it and that drove me wild. “Your family seem…”

“Unhinged? Overenergetic? Interfering?”

“Normal,” she finished with a soft laugh. Holy shit, she laughed again. This one was breathy and quiet and went straight to my dick. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t for them to be…kind. Welcoming.”

I slid my fingers into her hair, unsettling the pretty style it was set in and momentarily distracted by fantasies of fucking her so well her hair was a complete, staticky mess.No. Bad Damien,I snapped, and didn’t know if I was talking to myself or Little Damien. Not that he was so little. I grew up with two brothers and even more cousins; I knew from comparison I was well above average.

And I should definitelynotbe thinking about this with my hands on my new wife. My traumatised, fragile new wife.

“They’re good people,” I said finally, a few seconds of silence stretching between us. “I’m lucky to have them. And we’re all lucky as fuck to haveyou.”

Her hands fluttered between us, nervous like butterfly wings before they settled on my chest, her palms cool through my shirt. I needed to take them both in my hands and warm them up but I didn’t dare move, scared I’d lose her touch. She’d voluntarily touched me. My heart quickened.

“I’m lucky to haveyou,”she said, looking at my collar. “Not many men would have married someone like me.”

“A queen? An angel?”

She huffed a breath, giving me a dry look before she glanced away again. “Someone imperfect and—messed up.”

“What makes you think I’m not imperfect and messed up, too?” I asked quietly, glad my family was giving us space. Maybe Vincent had made good on his promise and kept them away.

“He’sgoing to come for me. So is my dad. But…you know that, and you married me anyway. Just because I asked.” Her brow furrowed, but she met my gaze. “I’m the lucky one. You’re rare, Damien. Maybe you’re the angel.” I opened my mouth toargue but she got there first. “A dark, avenging angel, who gives women guns and gifts and freedom.”

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever armed.” I slid my free hand along her waist, pressing us closer. “And I’d do it all over again.”

“I know,” she said, smiling. “I remember your vows.”

“Good. I meant every word.”

That soft happiness crossed her face again, making the gold flecks in her eyes sparkle and—she held eye contact. “Thank you. For everything, for our wedding. It was more beautiful and special than I ever imagined. Not that I dared to think about getting married before, I just dreaded what came after. The life of pain.”

“You don’t have to be scared of that with me.”

“I know.”

Her words hit me like a sledgehammer. “I’m so fucking sorry we had to get married like this, because of that bastard and your vile excuse for a father. I’m sorry we didn’t meet in a café and fall in love the traditional way.”

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