Page 24 of Hunted to the Altar
The airin the chapel was heavy, suffocating, yet silent as a tomb. The flickering glow of candles cast long shadows across the stone walls, their dance mocking the gravity of the moment. I stood at the altar, waiting — no, not waiting. Commanding. Every inch of this scene had been meticulously orchestrated, a display of control that soothed my compulsions even as the woman I intended to marry prepared to fight me tooth and nail.
Nina’s footsteps echoed down the narrow hallway, muffled and reluctant. My gaze fixed on the archway where she would appear, a vision of reluctant defiance wrapped in whatever semblance of elegance Marcello and his assistants had forced upon her. The weight of the moment pressed down on my shoulders, but I wore it well, a mask of calm authority carved onto my features. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was a conquest.
She appeared, framed by the doorway like a reluctantgoddess dragged from her temple. Her dark curls framed her face, the defiance in her stormy eyes clashing beautifully with the soft lines of her features. The dress was simple—white, unadorned—but it hugged her figure in a way that made my chest tighten. She was stunning, a force of nature wrapped in human fragility, and every step she took toward me felt like a victory I’d bled for.
But something shifted. The surrounding air crackled, thick with an energy that was darker and more sinister. Nina must have felt it, too, because her steps faltered, her gaze darting around the room as though she sensed the danger looming just out of sight.
“Samuel,” Marcello’s voice was quiet, steady, but there was an edge to it now. “Something is wrong.”
The first shot rang out before I could respond, the sharp crack echoing through the chapel like a thunderclap. My little bunny screamed, ducking instinctively as chaos erupted around us. My instincts kicked in immediately, my hand going to the gun at my side as I pulled her behind me.
“Stay down,” I ordered, my voice calm despite the chaos. She didn’t argue, her body trembling as she crouched behind the altar. My heart pounded, adrenaline surging through my veins as I scanned the room, searching for the source of the attack.
The pews were all but empty. A select few figures dressed in black spilled into the chapel, their faces obscured, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. They moved with precision, their intentions clear. This wasn’t a warning—it was an execution.
I fired the first shot, the recoil familiar, grounding. One intruder went down, blood pooling beneath him as his comrades returned fire. The chapel became a war zone, the sanctity of the space shattered by the violence that erupted within its walls.
Marcello moved with a grace that belied his role as a priest, his own weapon appearing as if from nowhere. He fired withprecision, each shot finding its mark. The man had seen war before, that much was clear. But even his calm efficiency couldn’t stem the tide of bodies pouring into the chapel.
“Samuel!” Nina’s voice was high-pitched, panicked. I glanced back to see her clutching the edge of the altar right behind me, her white dress already stained with blood—hopefully not hers, but the sight made my stomach twist. She looked at me with wide, terrified eyes, her lips trembling as she spoke. “What’s happening?”
“They’re here for us,” I said simply, my voice steady even as I fired another shot. “For me. You’re just collateral.”
Her expression twisted with something I couldn’t quite place—anger, maybe, or betrayal. But there was no time to unpack it. Another figure lunged toward me, and I spun, my knife flashing as I drove it into his throat. Blood sprayed, hot and metallic, painting the front of my suit as the man gurgled and collapsed at my feet.
My little bunny let out a strangled sob, her breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps. She was crumbling, her hands clutching at her chest as though she could physically hold herself together—panic attack. The realization hit me like a bullet, sharper and more alarming than the surrounding gunfire.
“Nina,” I barked, my voice cutting through her rising hysteria. Her eyes snapped to mine, wide and unfocused, her lips moving silently as though she were trying to speak but couldn’t find the words.
I dropped to my knees beside her, my gun still clutched in one hand as I grabbed her shoulder with the other. “Breathe,” I commanded, my voice low and steady. “Focus on me. Just me.”
Her body trembled beneath my grip, her breaths hitching and uneven. I wanted to shake her, to force her out of this spiral, but I knew better. Instead, I pressed my forehead against hers, the gesture more intimate than I’d intended. “You’re safe,” Imurmured, my tone softer now. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Do you hear me, Nina? No one touches what’s mine.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing still erratic but slowing, just slightly. I could feel her heartbeat pounding against my palm, frantic and wild, but it was enough. Enough to keep her grounded. Enough to keep me grounded.
The sound of footsteps snapped me back to the present, and I rose to my feet, positioning myself between Nina and the advancing figure. The man barely had time to raise his weapon before I fired, the bullet catching him square in the chest. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Another figure emerged from the shadows, and this time, I didn’t bother with the gun. I wanted this one to feel it. To understand the price of daring to touch what was mine. I met him head-on, my knife flashing as I drove it into his stomach. His scream was brief, choked off as I twisted the blade and yanked it free. Blood spattered across my face, hot and sticky, but I barely noticed.
“Samuel!” Marcello’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent. I turned to see another man bearing down on Nina, his weapon raised. Fury surged through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I was on him in seconds, my knife slashing across his throat in a clean, precise motion. His blood sprayed in an arc, staining Nina’s dress even further as he collapsed at her feet.
Her scream tore through the chapel, raw and guttural, and I spun to face her. She was shaking violently, her hands clutching at her bloodied dress as though she could scrub the horror away. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, all I saw was fear. Fear of me.
I crouched in front of her, my bloodied hands cupping her face. “It’s over,” I said firmly, willing her to believe it. “You’re safe.”
“Safe?” she echoed, her voice trembling. “Look at me,Samuel! Look at this!” She gestured to her ruined dress, to the carnage surrounding us. “This isn’t safety. This is hell.”
I didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “Hell happens when you’re not with me,” I said simply. “This is survival. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you alive.”
Her laugh was bitter, hollow, but she didn’t pull away. Her breaths were still shaky, her body trembling, but she was here. Alive. And that was all that mattered.
The air was still heavy with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. I rose to my full height and turned my gaze toward Marcello, who had taken a defensive stance near the far corner of the chapel. His cassock was smeared with blood, and yet he looked calm, unshaken. “They won’t stop,” he murmured, his voice carrying over the silence. “Not unless we send a message.”
I glanced at the lifeless bodies scattered across the floor and then back at Nina, who was trying and failing to scrub the blood from her hands. Her wide, terrified eyes flicked between me and Marcello, and for the first time since the attack began, I felt something unfamiliar—guilt. It pressed against my chest, foreign and unwelcome, but I shoved it down. This wasn’t the time.
“A message has already been sent,” I said darkly, my voice low. “They dared to come here. They dared to touch her. They’ll understand now… Nina belongs to me.”
Marcello’s nod was subtle, his approval implicit. He moved toward the altar, his measured steps a stark contrast to the surrounding chaos. He turned to me, his expression grave. “Finish this,” he said simply. “Seal the bond, Samuel. Let them see you’re willing to spill oceans of blood for her.”
