Page 4 of Liar's Heart
He places the ring onto my hand, but I’m too busy studying his face to even look at it, too engrossed in the reverence with which he regards me. Reverence and hunger. I’m so lost in that hunger that I miss Hera grabbing a knife off the table, and I startle when her voice booms out next to us. “We shall bear witness to the vows made today between these two. A covenant, soberly made and sincerely entered, shall be sealed only with that which we hold most sacred—blood.”
Here goes my dress.
Still hand in hand with my groom, he squeezes mine and quietly says, “Ladies first.”
Stepping back, Ender removes his jacket, laying it on the table with our masks. Then he undoes the cufflink on his left wrist, pockets it, and proceeds to roll his shirt sleeve up to his elbow. Each turn of the fabric reveals more tanned skin hugging lean muscle, tendons and veins flexing as each delicious inch is exposed.
Hera offers me the blade, and I recognize it immediately as the dagger I gifted Ender, the sapphires dark as ink in the low light. Finished with his preparations, Ender rejoins me and offers me his wrist. Turning it over, I examine the skin there. There’s an old scar here already, a clean, thin line that's well-faded. I run a finger over it and decide to place my mark parallel to it. I line up my strike and lift my eyes to Ender’s,seeking his permission before breaking his skin. Pupils blown wide, he nods, and I cleanly slice across his wrist. Blood begins to well, and I lift his wrist to my mouth, lapping at the pooled warmth before sealing my lips to his skin. I suck and lick, swallowing his blood down as it fills my mouth.
The ritual doesn't specify how much blood I'm required to take, and once I swallow the second mouthful, I’m not sure I can stomach a third. I decide that’s surely satisfactory and unlatch, leaving his wrist a mess of blood and matching lipstick. The dagger changes hands, and the roles reverse.
I'm prepared for him to take my wrist just like I did his, so I raise it between us in offering. Gently knocking my arm out of the way, he steps into me, cradling the base of my skull and tilting my head to the side. My neck is bared to him, putting far too much skin on display to a killer wielding a knife for my comfort. Before I can figure out how to counter him, he’s drawn the blade along the top of my collarbone, pausing for a heartbeat to watch the crimson line form on my skin before descending upon me.
Knocked off balance, self-preservation makes me grab for him, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck. The nerves in my neck finally register the throbbing ache from the cut at the same time he starts to soothe it with his tongue. His mouth on the sensitive, pulsing flesh sends a shiver through me, pulling his name from my lips in a gasp. I hear the dagger clatter to the ground, metal on stone, before I feel his other arm wrap around me, cradling me to him. He lets out a soft moan that sends electric heat straight to my pussy, each brush of his tongue like a phantom touch on my clit. And it’s here, in the arms of my husband for the first time, that I begin to understand just how truly fucked I am.
Ender is still feastingon my neck as Hera formally introduces us as husband and wife. Only when guests begin to applaud does he settle me back onto my feet and pull away. His lips were sinful before, but seeing them slicked with my blood is enough to drive me to madness. That has to be the only explanation for the way my body is humming right now, like it’s trying to attune itself to his. I gained a husband and lost my fucking mind. And I don’t have any hope of recovering it until we’re out of the Binding.
Right on cue, two acolytes approach us. One grabs my train, and the other leads the two of us through a concealed passage to the side. Our footsteps echo against the stone as we take a winding path deeper into the cave. It’s not far, but this section feels so much more secluded than anywhere else I’ve seen here. We stop at a door guarded by yet another acolyte, who bows in greeting and opens the door.
The four of us enter the Binding Chamber, and the acolyte at the door closes us in, resuming their position outside. The two who came in with us start gathering supplies from cabinets along one of the walls, and I take the opportunity to take in the room we’re to occupy until morning. Bindings are anold marriage ritual meant to help facilitate uninterrupted bonding time between a couple, especially those whose marriage was more traditionally arranged and who had never met before. The suite is aptly set up for a romantic night. A sitting area with a bar cart and food provides a comfortable place to sit and talk, and, well, the ornate bed farther into the room speaks for itself. Technically, newlyweds aren’t expected to consummate their marriage in this room—we consummate by blood, not sex—but the giant canopied bed with burgundy and gold linens might as well have a neon sign above it that says, FUCK HERE.
Cabinet doors close, and the acolytes approach us carrying trays laden with supplies—a basin of water, clean cloths, first aid supplies, and a jar full of ointment. I’m suddenly very aware of the drying rivulets of blood down the front of me, some staining my dress while others follow the curve of my breast down underneath it. I’m sticky and more than a little shaken as I come down from the adrenaline rush, but I do my best to hold still and allow one of the acolytes to wash as much blood off me as they can. Next to me, Ender’s being subjected to the same treatment on his wrist. Once I’m clean and dried off, they examine the wound on my neck, checking to make sure I won’t need stitches, that the edges are clean and smooth, and that the scar will heal nicely. Having passed inspection, they begin packing ointment into the wound, then bandage it, effectively starting the next phase of the ritual.
The ointment is a proprietary blend the Society only uses for this specific ritual. The exact formula is a closely guarded secret, but I know that it has components that enhance the scarring of marital marks as they heal, as well as euphoriants and a mild hallucinogen. The original idea was that it’d help ease some of the tension between the couple and make it easier to get to know each other. Now most of us just consider it part of the whole ordeal and a nice way to blow off steam at the end of the night. Granted, most couples nowadaysactually know their new spouse and don’t consider it a problem to be locked in a room with them while drugs that make them want to touch and be touched are flooding their bloodstream.
Tasks complete, both acolytes return their supplies to their trays, taking them with them as they head to the door. They bow in farewell before knocking three times. It opens long enough for both silent figures to slip through before sealing shut again. And now I’m stuck in this room with my new husband for the next twelve hours.
While tripping balls.
I try to keep my eyes on the closed door, but I can’t ignore the only other person in this room forever. Eventually, the heat of his eyes on me is too much to ignore, and I relent, finally giving him my attention. He’s standing with his hands casually shoved into his pants pockets, one blood-stained sleeve still rolled up. Our eyes collide, and he smiles, a wickedly beautiful thing, as he says, “Hello, wife.”
Wife.An hour ago, I wasn’t one, but now I am. An hour ago, I didn’t know this man would stir up anything in me other than malice. I didn’t know the heat of his palms, or the salt of his blood, or the burn of his scent. Now I do. An hour ago, the mission seemed a whole hell of a lot easier.
And now it doesn’t.
I hold his gaze, refusing to back down and praying my voice holds steady. “Mr. Sinclair.”
Ender closes the distance between us, stopping only when he’s close enough that I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “I like the way that sounds coming out of your mouth, Mrs. Sinclair.”
I hum a noncommittal response as he begins to circle behind me, stopping at my back. He sweeps my hair over the unbandaged shoulder, baring my back to him. Heat soaks into my back as he leans into me, close enough that I can feel his breath brushing the shell of my ear as he says, “Though I’m guessing that’ll be true of a lot of things, hmm?”
I try to suppress my shiver, but at this distance, I know he can feel the way my body is responding to his. In a final bid to distract us from the alchemic energy flowing between us, I lift my left hand and examine its new addition. Ender and I exchanged a list of preferences and sizes for ring shopping purposes but left the final selection a surprise. I honestly wasn't very specific with mine since, well, I'm not going to wear it for very long. But now that I see what he chose, I might have to reconsider.
A brilliant, deep-blue, marquise-cut sapphire sits in the center, surrounded by a halo of diamonds. Pavé diamonds continue down the band. It's stunning but not overly complicated and absolutely my style. In a word, it's perfect. And I have no idea how this practical stranger managed to pick out something so well-suited to me. My heart and lips give a small twitch at the gesture, even if it was a lucky guess on his part.
Of course, since he's still over my shoulder, he sees the quirk. His hand rests on my arm as he turns into my ear again. “I hope you like it. When they brought this one out, it felt right. Reminded me of you. A midnight sky full of gleaming stars.”
I swallow down the lump that's formed in my throat. He couldn't possibly know about Ox’s nickname for me, but the emotions swell regardless. I reach across myself and cover his hand with my own. “It's beautiful. It's perfect.”
Shifting back, he slowly traces a knuckle from my shoulder to my neck, then down, rippling gently over each vertebra before stopping at the top of my dress. His fingers begin toying with the fabric until I feel the very top of the bodice expand by a breath. Then, a little more, a bit lower. And again. He’s unbuttoning my dress. There’s something like forty tiny satin buttons running down the back, and he’s slowly undoing them one by one, letting his fingers trail along my skin as he reveals it inch by inch. I decide bravadois the only way I’m going to make it through this with any of my dignity intact. “Not going to cut it off me? Interesting choice.”
He huffs a laugh, still deftly working his way down my spine. “I think you’ll come to learn that I’m an exceptionally patient man when properly motivated. Some things are worth the wait. Worth doing the right way.”
My stomach tightens the lower he gets, anticipating what he might do once he finishes his slow descent. Finally, he reaches the very last button and comes back around to face me. I let the gown slowly slide down my curves to pool on the ground. Ender drinks in the sight of me fully bared to him before lifting an eyebrow and asking, “No panties?”
“They would have left lines.”
He hums in acceptance, then removes his remaining cufflink and begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt. Dark ink slowly starts to reveal itself the further he gets, before he finally finishes and removes his shirt entirely. Most of his arms are covered in black ink, memento mori of everything from flowers to winged hourglasses and skulls to a skeletal snake winding around the forearm not bearing my mark. Two sphinxes flank his chest, facing out so their wings sweep up over his trapezius, not quite reaching his neck. In the center of his chest, right over his liar’s heart, is the all-seeing eye of the Society.
