Page 39 of Asher

“Congratulations,” Sam says flatly. “Forgive me for not sounding more enthusiastic, but…” He trails off and shakes his head.

“Alistair,” I say. It’s an explanation, acceptance, and curse all in one word.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him. He promised to be on his best behavior, and he’s been so excited about this wedding… I just assumed things would go smoothly.” He shakes his head, and I laugh.

“Seriously, Lucifer, don’t worry about it. That was nothing. It was even kind of sweet. I’m fully expecting at least five of the guests to cause trouble later.” I’m keeping an eye on them and hope to head them off, but my cousins are sneaky. I just want to avoid what happened at Aunt Cilla’s wedding… nobody wants to hear a dozen hellhounds howling the melody of “Firework” by Katy Perry.

They could at least have picked a classic song.

“Please call me Sam,” he says. “We’re practically related, thanks to these two.” He waves a hand at Asher and Gideon.

“Did you ever imagine this would be our lives?” Asher asks his cousin, whose resting bitch face is the thing legends are made of. Scary legends, but still.

“There aren’t enough drugs in the world for that kind of trip.”

Sam elbows his boyfriend hard enough that he—Sam—stumbles a step sideways. Gideon doesn’t move, seemingly unaffected by the elbow. “Are you okay?”

Before Sam can answer, there’s a piercing shriek from across the room. “I’m going tokill you! I’m going to rip out your intestines and strangle you with them!”

I’m still trying to process that when Gideon mutters, “Grandmother,” and he and Asher start in that direction.

“Oh, please,” a voice with a distinctly French accent scoffs into the sudden silence. “As if you could find my intestines.”

“That’s Andrew,” Sam growls. “Why am I surrounded by these people?”

“Does someone have popcorn?” Aunt Vivienne asks. “The entertainment at this wedding has been delightful so far. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”

Serendipitously, the crowd parts just then, giving me and Sam a clear view of the would-be combatants. Damaris’s face is contorted with frightening rage—I’ve never seen her look this way before. She’s being held back by her sons, Micah, and Zac, and as we watch, Gideon and Asher join them. It’s still a toss-up as to whether she’ll break free. Incidentally, her daughter is standing idly by, an expression of mild amusement on her face. It’s definitely the women of that family I need to watch out for.

Damaris’s ire is aimed at a tall, silver-haired vampire about ten feet from her. One corner of his mouth is quirked in a mocking half smile that makes me want to slap it off his face—and it’s not even intended for me. Beside him is Noah, the young human who works with Alistair and the others. His annoyed sneer is aimed at Andrew, not Damaris.

“Grandmother, this is my wedding,” I hear Asher say. He’s keeping his voice low, but hellhound hearing is extraordinary.

At the same time, Noah hisses at Andrew, “I swear to god, if you don’t apologize and stop this sceneright now, there is nowhere in this world or any other you can hide from my wrath.”

Andrew squints at him for a moment. Noah lays a hand on his chest, and a second later, Andrew yelps. “Fine, I’ll be good.” He lifts his gaze to where Damaris has managed to free one arm, despite the best efforts of her family. “Damaris, I’m sorry. I let the champagne go to my head. Let’s call a truce and not disturb the festivities any further.”

Damaris glares at him suspiciously for another tense moment, then stops straining to escape and nods tersely. “My grandson’s wedding is a joyous occasion.”

Her sons and grandsons seem a little unsure that she really means it, as it takes them a few more seconds to actually let go, but once they do, I clap my hands and raise my voice to pull everyone’s attention away from the would-be combatants.

“As much as Asher and I appreciate the high emotions and enthusiasm our wedding has caused, if there are any further disruptions, Asher and his cousins will be ripping limbs off the instigators. And then teleporting them to an ice crevasse somewhere they’ll never be found.” I smile and make eye contact with the people I’m sure have trouble up their sleeves. “Let’s enjoy the canapés.”

As I half turn toward Sam, my hellhound hearing catches Gideon saying, “How come you got the good hellhound and I’m stuck with Alistair?” It’s followed almost immediately by Alistair’s howl of protest.

I leave them to it as people begin chatting again, and return to Sam’s side. A server has stopped to offer him a glass of champagne from a tray, and as I watch, he takes one in each hand. “Want some?” he asks me, and as I reach for one of his glasses, he adds, “No, sorry, these are mine.”

It’s not a terrible idea, but I need to stay mostly sober to keep my family in control, so I only take one glass from the tray, and as the server leaves, I ask, “Soft focus not soft enough?”

Sam drains one glass quickly, then sips from the second. “Yeah, no. I know I said I had a two-glass limit and I was done, but between Alistair during the ceremony and Andrew trying to start an interspecies war, I think I’m gonna need to be plastered.” He lifts his still half-full glass in salute. “Cheers.”

* * *

“The most important part,”the leader of the community of species, a man who communes with existential magic and is our representative in all things, says, leaning forward and almost overbalancing. “Oh shit. I think there’s an earthquake! The floor just moved.” He clutches his boyfriend. “Are you fucking me right now? Did you make the earth move?”

Alistair crows with laughter, and my lips twitch too, though mostly I’m trying not to be shocked that our lucifer is as drunk as a college rugby team after winning a match.

That’s right. Thewholeteam.

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