Page 8 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

Nor had I expected such composure, a very pleasant surprise. She stood with her back straight, chin lifted… and then I took in what they had done to her.

She wore a crimson Veladari wedding dress, hastily tailored to her small frame. A sloppily-braided crown of rowan perched on her fiery hair. Silver bells gleamed at her wrists.

Another insult. I supposed I could count myself fortunate that they had skipped their bridal tradition of brushing silver dust over her throat.

The girl swallowed hard as she stared back at me, her throat moving, and my gaze was inexorably drawn to the pulse of her heart, just beneath that pale skin.

Beneath the stench of rowan, her scent was clean, fresh. Like the Rift.

The bubble in time was broken as Wyn made an approving sound under her breath, marking her notes without looking at the pages. “Oh, lovely. I smell no sickness in her, and she’s not so young as to make this situation uncomfortable. And that hair… she’s from one of the old noble houses, mark my words.”

I couldn’t bring myself to speak under that measuring green gaze.

With several steps, I stood at the altar, close enough to touch my new bride. She did not look away, watching me curiously, still trying to glance under my hood.

Wyn made a final notation on her papers, making the Eldest Sister wait for her attention, and finally looked up at her. “May I present Bane the Lifegiver, Lord of the Rift, Skinner of Wolves.”

I nodded to the Sisters. “My thanks, priestesses, for my bride—and hosting our wedding.”

The Eldest Sister favored us with a crooked smile. “Welcome.” From her tone, we were anything but. “I give you Cirrien lai Darran as your tithed bride, my Lord. Let us join you in, ah…holymatrimony.”

Cirrien… it was a pretty name. Not as pretty as she was, but I found myself marveling at my sudden turn of fortune as I stood in front of the altar, only a foot away from that mouthwatering scent.

Soap and roses… and beneath it, sweet blood.

But she was a lai, a high noble bloodline. The situation made no sense—they dressed her to insult me, but gave me nobility for a bride?

I wondered what their game was. What was the sting in the tail?

She was from the Sisterhood… perhaps she would try to bury a silver dagger in my heart the first moment I dropped my guard. Or maybe she had been anointed with those cursed silver teeth.

The Eldest Sister was speaking, distant noises in the background as I glanced sidelong at my future wife. Her hands were trembling; one of the bells on her wrist chimed, the high sound sending sharp pains through my fangs.

Then it chimed louder as she reached for the cup of wine, bringing it to her mouth for a quick sip. I caught a glimpse of white teeth, no silver to be seen.

The Eldest Sister gestured at her imperiously.

Cirrien turned to me, offering me the cup—and as she took in my clawed, long-fingered hands, large enough to crush her skull, her own hands shook harder.

Another thin streak of pain raced through my skull as the bells sang.

I took the cup and lifted it to my mouth, eager to be out of the lung-burning presence of rowan and silver.

“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the Eldest Sister said quickly. “We have upheld our end of the agreement.”

Wyn presented her with a paper, giving her the pen. The vampire slayer scrawled her name at the bottom, and thus the Blood Accords remained unbroken—on the human side, at least. This was no true wedding, according to our own customs.

My bride was still watching me as my advisor handled the paperwork. Beautiful, delicate… and I could not resist the desire to give her one last chance.

One last chance to save herself before it was truly too late.

I reached up and pushed my hood back, revealing the full aberration of what she was to vow herself to.

Her eyes widened. The bells chimed once more, suddenly silenced as she curled her fingers at her sides. Several stifled gasps rose from the witnessing Sisters, more than one moving back a step before catching themselves.

I stared at her, waiting for the scream. The horror. The despair.

Cirrien gazed back. My ears swiveled, narrowing in on the frantic gallop of her heart, but she didn’t move an inch—only her eyes moved, studying my face. She had gone several shades paler, but the shriek never arrived.

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