Page 37 of Fading Sun

With that, he fades back into the darkness, leaving me alone with the echo of his words and pounding of my heart.

As I awaken from the dream, my room feels more like a prison than ever. Because my impending vows might mean nothing to Astrophel, but they mean everything to the vampires.

What I’m going to do tonight can never be undone.

But won’t it be worth it, to free the city from his darkness? To not let Sunneva down after she gifted me with her magic and entrusted me with this task? To go back to the home in Vermont where I grew up, and see my mom again? To know that she—and everyone else—is safe because I did everything I could to defeat the shadow souls?

Yes. It absolutely will be.

And I won’t let anyone—especially not the Shadow Lord—change my mind about it.

Amber

Hours later, I stand in front of my full-length mirror, my reflection barely recognizable.

The dress—my wedding dress—clings to every curve, its crimson fabric shimmering with each movement I make.

It’s custom-made. Damien, seemingly wanting to be prepared for this since I arrived, had my measurements from my training gear used to design the dress.

There’s no denying that it’s beautiful. Flowing, full skirts, hand stitched lace across the bodice, and spun from a material that shimmers like silk.

But it’s not me.

I don’t know what sort of wedding gown I’d choose, since I’ve never been the type to fantasize about my wedding day. But I know it wouldn’t be this. Because even though the dress is custom made, the bodice is too tight around my ribs, like it’s trying to suffocate me along with the vows I’m about to make.

The humans assisting me are fluttering about, helping me get ready. Beyond the necessities, I’ve barely spoken a word to them, as they haven’t to me.

Eventually, there’s a knock on the door.

My heart catches in my throat.

I’m not ready yet. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready. But apart from that, it’s too early for the wedding to start.

“Ma’am?” one of the girls—Sophie—says.

I wince at the formality. “Don’t call me that,” I say, since it makes me sound like an old lady. I’m nineteen, for Heaven’s sake. I’m getting ready to walk down the aisle—not to march to my grave.

“Okay.” She blushes, glances at the floor, then looks back at me. “Should I let them in?”

“Sure,” I say, since I can’t exactly leave whoever it is standing outside.

She hurries to the door and opens it.

I’d do it myself, if I wasn’t being held captive by the curling iron one of the other girls is using on my hair.

Morgan and Abigail are waiting on the other side. They’re dressed in their gowns, Morgan a sight to behold in an orange and yellow dress that almost glows like fire, and Abigail in more earthy tones, reflecting the shifter life she was born into.

Relief floods me at the sight of them.

“I’ll take it from here,” Abigail says, prying the curling iron from the human’s hand.

The three girls look to me, needing my permission over Abigail’s.

“You can go,” I tell them, and then I add, “Thank you.”

After all, it’s not their fault that I’m about to marry for practicality instead of for love.

They bow their heads and hurry out, leaving me alone with Abigail and Morgan.

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