Page 4 of The Night Runs Red

“Don’t you already have a boyfriend?” I teased, knowing that she didn’t do relationships at all.

Brielle leveled me with a stare. “I have a friend I see occasionally for sex, Cal. That is far from the same thing.” She paused, noticing my furrowed brows. “Hey, are you okay? What can I do?”

I looked around the room one last time, savoring the bitter taste of freedom. There were so many memories here, and while I couldn’t give a shit about most of them, I knew I’d miss how I felt closer to my mom when I was here.

I gave her a half-hearted smile. “Nothing, nothing,” I said, waving a hand. “I guess it’s just hitting me that I’m not coming back here.”

“At all?” Brielle asked, looking around, and I shook my head. “You haven’t packed anything! Who is moving your stuff?”

That was the clause I’d fought with my father over the most. My soon-to-be husband said I couldn’t bring anything when I left. Everything would be furnished for me, something about ensuring I matched the image the family maintained. While I didn’t mind the thought of getting a new wardrobe, I’d asked my father if my betrothed would ‘allow’ me to bring the picture of my mom. I couldn’t bear leaving it behind to be thrown in the trash when my father undoubtedly turned my room into something ostentatious like a sauna.

My father had only said one thing: “No.”

That was that—even if it broke my fucking heart.

When I told Brielle as much, she looked horrified. She marched over to the frame, grabbed it, and stuffed it in her purse. “We’ll smuggle the damn thing in if we have to,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“Miss Darrow? We need to leave now if we are going to keep to the schedule,” Kai said, peeking his head back in and lowering his voice. “And your father has already threatened to dismiss me if I go back downstairs without you.” He cringed as my father yelled something intelligible from below us.

Brielle squeezed my hand, making sure I knew she would be by my side no matter what. “Ready to get married?”

* * *

“You look beautiful,” Brielle chimed as the stylist stepped away from where I sat. We’d been plucked, prodded, and primped within an inch of our lives since we stepped through the door. The bridal suite was littered with every dainty finger food we could imagine, and servers kept the mimosas flowing. My stomach was too tied up in knots to eat, but that didn’t stop me from reaching for my glass every time they filled it.

The cathedral was breathtaking, but I knew it was chosen for one reason only. It had been blessed by the witches of old to be an eternal meeting place for the warring factions. Beneath our feet were the bones of those that had come before us, and they blessed the space to be exempt from the curse for the duration of the blood moon. It was their way of ensuring our union was always possible.

My long, dark auburn hair fell down my back in soft waves, the front tendrils loosely tied back and braided with pale flowers intertwined. My makeup artist, who was finishing up on Bri, had given me two options when we’d arrived. Both were nearly identical, so I didn’t know why my choice mattered, but I selected the one that came with dark red lipstick instead of the one an infinitesimal shade lighter.

My dress hung in one of the stained-glass windows, the colors dancing along the wall as the sun shone through the panes. My father spent a ridiculous amount of money to fly in a designer, something he grumbled over even though I’d told him it wasn’t necessary. However, he refused to be outdone by my future in-laws, who’d footed most of the bill for the wedding.

The gown was designed to fit my body like a glove, showing off my curves in a way that had me thanking the gods for their existence. Why couldn’t I look like this every day? The sleeves were long and sheer, save for the vines of lace that flowed down my arms from the bottom of the dress. It was perfect, both elegant and sexy. Enough to hopefully entice the most desirable man in the city, who had no choice but to accept me as his bride.

I didn’t know much about Rion D’Arcy—only that he was talked about in every tabloid we had, and every word was scandalous. Each week there was a new woman, or two, draped on his arm as he smiled for the camera. Still, the man was a mystery despite his very public life. I’d hardly heard him utter more than two sentences unless he was speaking in front of a crowd on behalf of his family.

That thought loomed overhead like an inky cloud, diminishing any hope or excitement I could have. Even if I’d been given a choice, it wouldn’t change the outcome. In the time since the last union, tensions between the fae and the vampyres had begun to rage out of control; innocent lives were lost, caught in the crossfire as collateral damage.

A knock interrupted my musing, Brielle and I glancing anxiously at the door. The event coordinator had popped her head in earlier to tell me that my betrothed and his family wanted to meet before the ceremony, and judging by the number of voices I heard on the other side, I knew this was it.

“You can do this,” Brielle murmured as she reached for my hand. “And I’ll be right by your side if you need me.”

No sooner had I dipped my head in thanks when a tall, slender woman waltzed through the door. I recognized her quickly from the numerous tabloids and newspaper articles I’d seen her face plastered across. Leonora D’Arcy’s perfect silky blonde hair was swept back into a low chignon, drawing attention to her delicate frame. She sat down on the large sofa opposite us and was quickly followed by a beautiful, tall man whose dazzling smile nearly knocked the breath out of my lungs. Between his burnished gold eyes and the slightest hint of dimples, I was speechless.

Too bad he isn’t my fiancé.

As if summoned, the man in question walked through the door with a huff of exasperation, fixing his blazing gaze on me.

CHAPTER THREE

Rion D’Arcy’s black hair was held just out of his eyes, perfecting that stylishly sexy, ruffled look that every man dreamed of achieving. Stormy, peppered eyes swept over me, causing my insecurities to rise and strike my carefully curated confidence. I fought the urge to shrink in on myself, knowing a man like him would never respect me if I showed weakness. His mother's barely contained sneer told me all I needed to know.

He pulled at the sleeves of his black tuxedo, impeccably tailored to show off his perfect physique. Around the cuffs at his wrist, faint markings of tattoos peeked out. I couldn’t deny the attraction I felt toward him. Fuck me, every part of him oozed sex appeal, and given the infinitesimal smirk he sent my way, he damn well knew it.

But that attraction was only surface level. Once someone saw past the persona he portrayed—the disgustingly wealthy bachelor who had no cares except for getting his dick wet—they’d notice the red-soaked hands from the lives he’d taken.

The room remained painfully silent as he sat beside his mother, who was already glaring daggers in my direction. Brielle and I exchanged glances at one another. She raised an eyebrow at me, nodding in their direction slyly as if to say, “Break the silence, you idiot!”

I cleared my throat, not knowing what I should say. Neither of them looked pleased with what they saw, which was chipping away at the shaky confidence I’d attempted to piece together all morning. But if I’d learned anything over my twenty-nine years, it was how to fake what I didn’t feel.

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