Page 78 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

For the next three hours, Elena fussed over me with the dedication of a master artist approaching her canvas. Her fingers, nimble despite their age, braided my hair in an intricate pattern that felt both secure and delicate against my scalp. Shetucked fragrant white roses into the twists, their petals cool and silky against my skin, their scent rising around me with each movement. The familiar ritual of being cared for by Elena—something I’d experienced countless times before, though never for an occasion like this—steadied my nerves in a way nothing else could have. She hummed old Creole lullabies under her breath as she worked, songs I remembered from my first days in Angelo’s mansion. She made sure that both Gianna and I had pedicures and manicures, tutting over Gianna’s battle-roughened hands and my bitten nails with equal dismay. I chose a white fingernail polish that caught the light with tiny specks of silver—like stars trapped in glass—a small nod to my Nephilim heritage that only those who truly knew me would recognize.

I wanted a simple dress, nothing fancy. It was all satin with straps—elegant in its restraint. The ivory fabric caught the light differently with each movement, sometimes appearing warm like candlelight, other times cool like moonbeams on water. The material skimmed over my body in a clean A-line, falling from the fitted bodice to just brush the floor without unnecessary flourish or fuss. No beading, no lace overlay, no dramatic train that would catch on the courtyard’s ancient cobblestones.

The thin straps rested delicately on my shoulders, crossing slightly at my back to reveal a tasteful glimpse of skin. Elena had nodded approvingly when I’d chosen it, saying it possessed “the elegance of simplicity” in her lilting accent. In a world of supernatural excess and drama, there was something powerfully honest about this unadorned dress.

The way it moved felt like wearing liquid silk—cool against my skin, responding to every step with a subtle shimmer that seemed to echo the natural luminescence of my Nephilim heritage. I hadn’t wanted a gown that competed with what I was; I wanted one that complemented it. And somehow, thisunderstated dress made me feel more like myself than anything ornate or elaborate ever could have.

Three hours flew by fast, dissolving into moments of laughter, nervous adjustments, and final touches until suddenly, impossibly, it was time.

Elena stepped back to survey her handiwork, her weathered hands hovering near my shoulders as if reluctant to let go. Her eyes, those eyes that had witnessed decades of Angelo’s loneliness, filled with unshed tears. In them, I saw reflected not just the bride before her now, but years of waiting, of hoping someone would come along to save the master she had served with such devotion.

She cupped my cheeks with her palms, her touch warm and steady—the touch of a woman who had bandaged wounds, wiped tears, and kept a household running through supernatural wars and centuries of bloodshed. Her fingers trembled slightly against my skin, betraying the emotion her dignified bearing tried to contain.

“I’ve waited for Angelo to find someone to tame his savage heart,” she whispered, her voice breaking on the words. “For so long, I watched him walk through endless nights alone. You’re literally a gift from heaven.”

Her eyes searched mine with an intensity that made my chest tighten. In that moment, I felt her blooming approval—this woman who had been more mother to Angelo than servant, who had kept his humanity alive during his darkest years. Her blessing meant everything.

She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, her lips dry and soft against my skin. The gesture was simple but conveyed the sanctity of a sacred ritual. “May you two live in happiness,” she said, the words emerging like a prayer, a spell, a binding promise from someone who had witnessed enough sorrow to know the true value of joy.

“Thank you,” I choked out, the words laughably inadequate for the emotion strangling my throat. Tears spilled over my lashes, and I didn’t care if they ruined the makeup Elena had so carefully applied. Some feelings were too powerful to contain, too precious to hide.

Don’t cry Don’t cry Don’t cry

Enzo cocked his elbow toward me, his usual roguish confidence softened by something unexpectedly gentle in his expression. The man who had fought countless battles at Angelo’s side now stood beside me as my escort, the hard lines of his face transformed by the gravity of the moment.

“Are you ready, Serenity?” he asked, his voice lower than usual, meant only for me.

“Yes,” I whispered, squeezing Enzo’s arm with fingers that trembled with certainty rather than doubt. The simple word couldn’t possibly contain everything I felt—the journey that had brought me here, the battles we’d fought, the impossible odds we’d overcome. I took a steadying breath and looked up at Enzo, letting him see the absolute conviction in my eyes. “I want this more than anything.”

My father, Raphael, waited at the altar to marry us—the angel who had never been present in my life until recently now standing ready to bind me to a vampire for eternity. The irony wasn’t lost on me, but in this moment, it felt like perfect symmetry. A bridge between worlds.

My heart thundered against my ribs, each beat so forceful I was certain everyone could hear it. The music changed, and Gianna walked down the aisle in a red, sequined dress that captured and scattered light with every movement, the crimson roses in her dark hair echoing the passion she’d always embodied. She moved with the controlled power of a warrior dressed as a queen.

Dimitri waited at the altar for her, his usually guarded face transformed by naked adoration as she approached him. But my eyes slid past them, drawn like a magnet to Angelo.

My breath caught painfully in my throat. His dark hair flared over his shoulders like a midnight halo, wild and untamed despite the formality of the occasion. When his mesmerizing green eyes locked with mine across the distance, something electric passed between us that made the lights seem to flicker. Those eyes—eyes that had witnessed centuries—now looked at me with an intensity that made the world around us fade to insignificance. His black suit hugged his magnificent body with tailored precision, emphasizing the power contained within his frame, the immortal strength that had protected me so many times.

A flush of heat rose to my cheeks as I thought about what tonight would bring, what those hands would feel like against my skin without barriers. I could only imagine what he was going to do to me tonight—or rather, I couldn’t stop imagining it, even now, with everyone watching. The promise in his slight smile told me he knew exactly what I was thinking.

My heart ached with a fullness that bordered on pain. I wanted to spend immortality with him. Thanks to my father, I could.

“You look beautiful.” Enzo’s eyes, normally guarded and calculating, swept over me with brotherly appreciation. He glanced toward the end of the aisle where Angelo waited, then back to me with a knowing smile. “Angelo can’t take his eyes off you. I’ve never seen him like this in all our centuries together.”

Something about Enzo’s words—the confirmation that what I felt wasn’t one-sided, that Angelo’s desire matched my own—made emotion swell in my chest until it threatened to overflow. Tears burned behind my eyes, blurring the scene before me into a kaleidoscope of colors and light. I blinked them back, notwanting anything to obscure my view of Angelo when I walked toward him.

Chapter

Forty-Five

Serenity

Enzo handedme over to Angelo, who clasped my hand with a possessive certainty, his cool fingers intertwining with mine as he pulled me toward him. The simple contact sent electricity racing up my arm. His eyes never left my face as we turned together to face Raphael, my father. My legs shook beneath the smooth satin of my dress, not from fear or doubt, but from a pure, overwhelming excitement that threatened to buckle my knees. Angelo’s thumb traced small circles against my palm, a private reassurance felt only between us.

Raphael stood before us, his angelic presence making the air around us feel charged and heavy. The celestial power that radiated from my father made the roses in my hair tremble slightly, though no breeze stirred the night air. His gaze swept over us both, ancient and measuring.

“I want you to know that once I marry you, it cannot be unbound,” Raphael’s voice resonated with authority that seemed to echo from somewhere beyond this courtyard, beyond New Orleans itself. “This is a heavenly marriage that only I candissolve. If you try—” he paused, the weight of divine warning hanging in the silence “—you’ll be severely punished.”

The words were clearly meant for both of us, but I noticed with perfect clarity that Raphael’s eyes—eyes that held the light of stars and the judgment of heaven—were fixed not on me, his daughter, but solely on Angelo. The challenge was unmistakable, angel to vampire, immortal to immortal, father to the man claiming his daughter.

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