Page 39 of Bathed in Blood

My heart stills, my head coming up so quickly, the cabin of the car spins. “Mom and Lewis?” My voice is hoarse.

He nearly cringes. “No…”

I rub my eyes, fishing out the crust before wiping it on my dirty sweatpants. The dash on the car only says it’s a little after seven, but the darkness of the small parking lot screams midnight, the snow now falling in billows. I don’t ask what he means, but I accept the hesitant kiss he presses to my cheek before he exits the car. His dark waves catch the snowflakes as if they’re christening him. My head is light as he opens my door, unbuckling me, his smell swirling around me as his warm breath fights against the cold.

The warm light from inside the small church disagrees with my somber mood and the growing snowstorm as he ushers me from the car and across the small lot. It's only now I recognize the armed men in tactical uniforms posted up in the dark, each one looking fit to go to war and widely out of place in the small Baptist church in Bedford, one Mom would always set up little picnics at so we could binge all the vendor food we hoarded from the festival.

If I hadn’t long given up the faith I was raised in, I would shrink under the warring stare of the local pastor as he greets us. When he casts a pained, sympathetic look my way approaching me with arms open, it’s the dark presence at my side that stops him. Christian’s eyes are endless pools of deep green, his jaw clenched as he towers over the older man. When the man’s ownjaw tightens, it's clear he’s battling with something. His mouth is barely open when Christian ends the standoff.

“I trust you’ve had time to prepare.”

A stream. My eyes prickle, my chest finding a way to cave in deeper. It’s a wonder the organs are working at all.

The older man stares at me, wringing his hands before a guard at his back. One with a badly busted face flicks the safety off his assault rifle, giving the man a light tap with the barrel. He nods once, and I know the war he was fighting is over.

“Yes…” he gestures to the room behind him. “All your… documents were in order.” My heart lurches for the man when he takes a sudden step forward. The room comes to life around us, his hands cupping my face. “God is with you, child.”

My lips part.

Christian mumbles something under his breath, shoving the man’s hands off me. “Enough.” His voice is nearly demonic, surrounded by holy pictures, warm tones, and pews that have been absorbing tears and prayers since before I was alive.

Christian's warm hand on the small of my back grounds out the brief panic the pastor’s words infected me with as he steers me down the aisle, the guards staying back. When we reach the pulpit, Christian’s hold on me changes from a warm guide to alock, a warning vice around my wrist, his fingers digging into and bruising the flesh. My heartbeat kicks up as I glance at him, then the pastor walking around us with a sullen, almost ashamed look on his face. When he speaks, he doesn’t face me, the bible in his hands shaking as he stands before us.

“Dearlybeloved, we are gathered here in the presence of God to witness a…joyousoccasion: the union of Lana Porter and Christian Vanegas in Holy Matrimony.”

The blood whooshing to my head makes me sway on my feet, and Christian only grips me tighter, tugging me to his side. “What? Christian…”

His jaw clenches, his fingers making languid, testing passes, daring me to say no.

The pastor's voice grows thick, his wrinkled eyes glossing over. “The sacred covenant of marriage is a sanctuary and a home. It must not be entered into lightly, but reverently, discreetly, soberly, and advisedly, with God’s guidance and blessing.”

Sick builds again in my stomach as I take a step back, and Christian tenses further at my side. “Careful, princess. You’ll wound me.”

“I can’t—" I scoff, my head swirling. “Why are you doing this?”

When his dark eyes turn on me, I realize the sick feeling in my gut is morphing. It’s a fluttering now, a deadly one. He gives me a devastating smile, one his eyes betray, showing his nerves. “You’re mine Lana, I told you that. I absolved you of their hold, told you I needed you, that I wanted to keep you. Those words were not spoken lightly. When I consumed your flesh, it was a sacrament.My vow. I only mean to make it legally binding.”

“Christian…”

He cups my face, slamming his lips to mine, and I’m lost to him. I whimper as he consumes me, his tongue demanding entry, and I give it to him. God help me, my soul is dying, left in tatters, and I give him what’s left of it. When he pulls away, his heated eyes burn me from the inside.

“If my words are not enough to convince you, I will drag members of his congregation out here one by one. I’ll lodge a bullet in their skulls for each time you deny me.”

The pastor makes a choked sound, his whole-body trembling. I feel my cheeks flush as I turn back towards him, my hands shaky as I try to smooth out my dirty sweatpants.

“You make astunningbride,” Christian offers, his arm locking me in place again.

But I… I’m not leaving.

“We rejoice today as Lana and Christian receive one of God’s greatest gifts: a loving partner to grow with, to share life’s joys and challenges, to build a family, to grow old with, to journey with in faith throughout all of their days. “So let us pray, asking for His blessing on this marriage.”

The pastor’s tears plop onto his open bible.

Hope is a funny thing…

“Oh, Heavenly Father, bless this couple—"

Christian shifts. “Skip the prayer. We all know you don’t mean it.” I glance up at him, my flush creeping down my neck when he frowns, like he just remembered I was there. “Unless you wish to hear it, princess.”

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