Page 87 of Sold to the Devil
He offers me his arm, and I happily link mine with his. We turn toward the closed doors hiding my fiancé and the guests, all waiting for us.
“I'm so sorry about all of this, Aelys. I hope you can forgive me one day,” he whispers in a trembling voice.
My eyes turn to him and I find myself surprised by the guilt and sadness on his features. I gently squeeze his arm and he looks at me, confused and ashamed. I've never seen my father so vulnerable.
“I'm not angry, Father. I understand,” I confide softly. “And I've learned to love him. He makes me happy. I actually think I need to thank you.”
Relief floods his eyes and he relaxes, laughing softly, nodding his head.
“I'm glad you've found happiness, my precious little girl. I'm proud of the woman you've become, Aelys. Your mother would be too.”
My heart fills with joy at his words and I kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper, touched by the thought of making him and my late mother proud.
He nods and asks if I'm ready. I exhale and nod. Without another word, the doors open and we begin to walk. I see the room filled with disciples, all turning their heads towards us, I swallow, feeling even more nervous than before. Then my eyes meet his and everything else disappears.
I can't take my eyes off him. He's wearing an emerald green suit, a golden rose in his jacket pocket, his curly hair swept back, but a few curls stubbornly fall over his forehead—just the way I like them—and he's gorgeous. His perfect pink lips are slightly parted in admiration.
I'm so drawn to him that I don't immediately notice the Dark Mage standing beside him. My gaze falls on him as we approach them. He has a devilish smile on his pale face, it sends shivers down my spine, my smile fading for a few seconds before I compose myself. I knew he was the one who would marry us, although I know it's not a traditional union, and I have to admit I don't know what to expect.
Mattheo offers me his hand, and I slip mine into his palm. He gently pulls me toward the altar, right in front of him and grabs my other hand. My father goes to sit in the front row, I tense when my eyes catch sight of Tom. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are dark, filled with murderous rage.
I quickly come back to reality as the Dark Mage begins to speak, thanking everyone for coming. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice our friends sitting next to Tom, their faces neutral but their eyes shining with happiness. Unfortunately, we can't show emotions in front of the Dark Lord. Especially Matt and me. He wouldn't be happy to know we are in love and would probably kill us for it.
He just wants the power and influence this union gives him, and the heir I'll bear who will be powerful thanks to my witch and shapeshifter’s blood.
I focus on Mattheo, finding him looking at me with no emotion on his features but his eyes filled with love.
The Dark Mage pulls out the same knife he used to give me the Trace, we grip our hands tighter as he presses the tip of the blade against his palm. He hisses a spell in Latin, black smoke curls around our clasped hands as he cuts his palm, drawing his blood onto us.
The effect is immediate as I feel the dark magic painfully seep into my soul, but the pain abruptly stops when I feel the warmth of Mattheo's soul bond with mine. I swear I can hear the magic whispering promises of greatness and power as it binds me to the man I love.
When the Dark Mage completes the spell, he lowers the dagger and licks the fresh blood flowing from the wound on his palm. He smiles evilly and claps, causing all his followers to applaud as well.
I look at our hands and my heart leaps when I see the beautiful rings adorning our two fingers. Two twin rings made of rhodium that symbolize our souls bound by powerful black magic.
A spell that makes me Mattheo's wife.
The latter intertwines our fingers and we turn to the congregation before stepping down from the altar and heading towards the exit to the sound of applause. We are now husband and wife and it is time for the reception.
Mattheo and I sit at our table on a platform overlooking the guests' tables, silently watching them eat, drink, chat and even dance. The Master sits on his throne, apart from everyone, his red eyes watching his disciples.
I take a sip of champagne and smile softly when I feel my husband's hand on my thigh. This man really can't contain himself. He smiles, and I know he's heard my thoughts. I roll my eyes teasingly, and he laughs.
Suddenly, he stands up, I raise an eyebrow in silent question. His smile widens, and he extends his hand, giving me a small bow that makes me giggle softly.
“Can I have this dance, Mrs. Rigast?”
My lips curl into a bright smile as my laughter subsides and I slide my palm over his intertwining our fingers.
“With pleasure, Mr. Rigast.”
I follow him to the middle of the ballroom and he pulls me towards him, one hand on my waist and the other still in mine. We begin dancing among the disciples, our bodies pressed together as if we were the only ones in the room.
We dance for what seems like hours, lost in each other, filled with love. I'm happy and I know he is too.
But nothing ever lasts.
A scream echoes through the ballroom, silencing everyone, the music stops abruptly. We all turn to see Warren Steele, a shapeshifting disciple taking the animal form of a grizzly bear. He fall to the floor, one arm severed, blood seeping from his now lifeless body as his glassy eyes stared up at the ceiling.
