Page 30 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

The words had been adapted slightly for her sake. Ordinarily the vows would ask her to take my blood as hers, but that was one point on which I steadfastly refused.

She would not become a vampire merely for drinking my blood, but I would not prolong her life with me unnecessarily. She would have a hope of freedom in the end—the freedom of death, the shackles of marriage unlocked in the afterlife.

“When you stand before your ancestors and your soul is weighed, will you claim him as yours?”

Yes, Cirrien said, and added something else with punctuated ferocity. Wyn tipped her head slightly, but didn’t seem to take issue with the addition.

“Very well. Visca, give her a taste of the hardships to come. There is no love without pain.”

My commander stepped forth, holding a length of freshly-cut thorny vine from the Bloodgarden’s roses. The sharp scent of its sap almost overpowered the perfume of the flowers as Visca quietly ordered Cirrien to hold her hands together before herself and wrapped them with the vine.

The thorns dug into that smooth skin, drawing drops of blood that made my mouth water. Cirrien inhaled sharply, but she didn’t pull away.

Wyn’s sharp blue eyes landed on me.

“Lord Bane Lifegiver. You come before Mother Blood, your first ancestor, to give yourself body, blood, and soul to the woman before you. Will you have her?”

“Yes.” My voice emerged in a low growl, and I made myself look into those teary green eyes as I made my vows. I would lookher in the eye as I bound her to me for life. “A thousand times, yes.”

Wyn asked the same questions, and I answered yes to every one, meaning them with every fiber of my being. Cirrien was mine now, whether she wanted it or not, and every fragment of what I was would defend her to my dying breath.

“When you stand before your ancestors and your soul is weighed, will you claim her as yours?”

Cirrien’s eyes were so bright. I couldn’t read the horror in them, and wondered if I had misread, but… no. I couldn’t be mistaken, not when her tears had poured so freely.

We might be vowed to each other. I might want her with the intensity of a beast, but I would not force myself onto her if she wanted nothing to do with me. I would simply want from afar, and that would have to be good enough.

“Every part of her. My soul would be nothing without hers,” I said roughly, and a frisson of surprise ran through me when she smiled faintly.

What did that mean?

“Visca, give him a taste of the pain the future holds. There is no love greater than that which weathers the storms.”

I held my hands out, my newly-blunted fingertips nearly touching Cirrien’s, and Visca wrapped me with the other end of the vine. The thorns dug in as she tightened the bond around us, our blood spilling on the same length, which would be buried in this garden.

Wyn finally handed the goblet to Cirrien, who held it awkwardly, rivulets of red spilling over her pale fingers from the thorn-pricks.

“Drink of this cup, blessed by the ones who came before, and bind yourself to this vampire.”

I watched my bride raise it to her lips, the column of her throat working as she took a deep draught. Purely wine andpetals for her—if she were a vampire, or were she to choose an eternal life with me, the cup would have been held beneath our thorn-bonded hands to catch our intermingled blood.

Wyn slid a bottle from her robes, full of fresh blood that was nearly black in the moonlight. As Cirrien swallowed her wine, she uncorked it and poured it in, the sweet salt aroma of Cirrien’s fresh blood overpowering the roses.

“Now, Lord Bane, drink from this cup, blessed by the ones who came before, and bind yourself to this woman. She lives in you now, the other half of your soul.”

Cirrien’s eyes narrowed faintly at the words she hadn’t received, and if I understood anything about her at all, she already knew much of the ceremony had been changed for her sake.

I took the goblet and drank deeply, my first taste of Cirrien.

It was not the same as fresh blood from the vein, but it was sweet. The wine was an unwelcome addition, diluting the fresh taste of my bride, warmth soothing my aching throat.

Wyn took the goblet from me and held it beneath the thorns now, catching droplets in our mingled blood in the dregs of the wine. She swirled it, mixing them together, and then paused.

It was only a second of hesitation, one that perhaps no one outside of those who knew her well would even notice. But for the next part… I wondered if she was worried.

“Two are now one. You have vowed yourselves to each other, through life and into death; you will never be parted. We ask you now, Mother, to bestow your blessing upon this union.”

Wyn poured the wine-and-blood dregs into the mouth of the statue. It was only a few mouthfuls at most, the thin red liquid dripping over the white marble fangs of the Mother’s likeness, disappearing into her dark throat.

---