Page 30 of Lethal Saint

Or he didn’t know.

I’d find Boris. That monster needed to pay for what he’d put my wife through, and I wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d suffered for weeks. Months. My thirst for vengeance had no limits. Vasilisa was the brightest fucking star in this world; the entire planet stopped turning when she smiled.

And for her entire life, he’d put her throughhell.

I jumped when cool hands covered mine, smoothing my fingers from the fists they’d curled into.

“Calm. Down,” Dad ordered quietly.

“I’m going to kill every single person involved in her abuse,” I hissed, only vaguely aware of the priest, approaching us, freezing in place when my words reached her.

Dad held my stare. “I don’t doubt it, and you won’t be doing it alone. But less thinking about murder and more about marriage. Yeah?”

The dark void of my rage cracked, letting sunlight in. I was marrying Vasilisa. She’d bemy wife.

“It’s only a marriage of convenience for her,” I whispered, eyeing the priest when she dared to finally approach. “Thank you for coming on such short notice,” I told the greying woman.

She gave me a bright smile, as if she hadn’t heard me threatening murder. “I’m always happy to assist a whirlwind romance. It’s sweet that your wedding was so spontaneous.”

“When you know, you know,” Dad said, giving her the brilliant smile that made women swoon. “We Marshall men have always had an intuition when it comes to women.”

“Oh, I’m jealous,” the priest replied, her smile unwavering, and strangely it settled my nerves. “I could have used that intuition when it came to my first husband. And my second. Happy to report I’m still happily in love with my third.”

I blinked. “Isn’t divorce frowned upon by the church?”

She waved a hand. “God forgives all. We have a very understanding god, and he works in mysterious ways. He also apparently believes in that old idiom—third time lucky.” Her green eyes met mine. “Nervous?”

“Yes,” I admitted because it was safe to admit that weakness here; a woman of god was hardly going to use it against me.

She nodded, like she already knew. I straightened the cufflinks at my sleeves, adjusted my collar, and checked my jacket was in place, my fly was up, my trousers buttoned. I ran through every possible bad scenario in my head, all in the space of a second.

“Breathe,” Dad ordered, heavy on the amusement. His hand met my shoulder, a little too roughly. I shot him a glare.

“Oh, here we go,” the priest said, her eyes flashing with excitement. “Your dad’s right; best to take a deep breath. Your bride is coming.”

I spun to face the door when the low note of organ music began, the ancient man in the corner of the church striking up the wedding march and sending my heart into overdrive. Dad squeezed my shoulder and moved into the pew behind me, his eyes on the door as it opened, too.

My mouth went dry when I saw Vasilisa. I was with her yesterday when she chose her dress; I helped take her measurements for god’s sake. But seeing the embroidered lace draped over her body, silver and peach flowers trapped between layers of tulle in the skirt, like a living piece of art… it was nothing like looking at photos on a tablet.

This was my girl, my Vasilisa.

Her hair tumbled to her shoulders in blonde curls, and she’d used some magic potion to soften every wave. She looked like a fairy queen, like an ethereal being who stepped right out of a fairy tale with lace and embroidered flowers trailing behind her, a veil defiantly absent.

She met my eyes when she came closer, gripping Jonathan’s big arm like she needed stability, and my stomach rocked at the eye contact. There was a world of emotion in those chocolate eyes, but not a single gleam of fear. And as I stared at her, she stared right back. Her rosebud lips curled at the edges, and I swore she checked me out in my fitted suit.

She was so gorgeous I forgot how to breathe.

We’d spent so much time making the church perfect, picking the flowers and fabric and colours, but as she walked down the aisle, she didn’t even notice them. Her eyes were on me and only me.

My stomach filled with butterflies this time. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

When she stopped beside me, I couldn’t help but caress her face, trailing my fingertips along her jaw. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

She glanced away, but not before I saw the flash of emotion across her face. She was pleased. Almost happy.

I didn’t even see Jonathan take his seat. He didn’t exist. The priest didn’t exist. Only her. My queen.

CHAPTER 11

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