Page 5 of Captive of the Crime Queen

For a crazy moment, I think they're protectingme.

But it's Nero they're worried about. Nero they're pushing back. Nero who is refusing to go, bellowing out that this insult will not stand—who dares interrupt his wedding day—as his men form a protective circle around him, shoving me aside in their haste.

I stumble, my heel catching on the hem of my dress. No one moves to help me, but I right myself.

And the group who interrupted Nero's wedding day fans out quickly, well choreographed, some surrounding the altar and others stationed to block the exits. There are about twenty of them, I think. And then one of them—a woman with long, wavy blonde hair and a wolf mask—tips her head back andhowls, howls loud and long like a wolf, the sound raising goosebumps on my arms.

The other masked people are chuckling, but under that, I hear a murmur through the crowd of guests. They seem to know who she is, though I've never seen this woman before.

"Hello, boys," she says in a singsong voice to Nero's bodyguards. "Stand aside. We're not here for your boy. Not today."

Nero snorts in contempt, straightening his tie as he steps forward. "My men will stand their ground. Who thefuckdo you think?—"

The woman laughs, cutting him off, and tilts her head, her widening smile giving her a predatory appearance under the sharp lines of her mask. When she speaks, her voice drips scorn. "Poor little dictator Nero, so ashamed of his manhood that he has to buy himself a virgin bride." Nero's face goes purple. He opens his mouth to respond but the woman continues, "We're here to collect a debt long overdue. This bride doesn't belong to you, sugartits."

"No!" my father cries out. For the first time, I look at him. He's gray-faced, almost frantic. "No, I gave my blessing to Nero?—"

"But you'd already given your daughter away, old man," comes a cold, high voice from behind us all. "Or have you forgotten?"

Before Nero can splutter out more than a few choked syllables, the whole chapel turns as one to see a figure appear at the open doors, silhouetted against the light. Tall and imposing, she strolls down the aisle wearing leathers and a motorcycle helmet. With a graceful sweep, she pulls the helmet off, shaking out a mane of messy, silky black hair that falls to her shoulders in a shaggy cut.

And then her silver-gray eyes meet mine, and I gasp.

It's…her.

The ice-eyed woman.

Nero's face, reddened with anger, now drains of color. "Y-you!" he chokes out.

The woman says nothing, simply turns her wintry eyes on Nero, who is sputtering impotently. He takes an involuntary step back.

"Hello, little brother," she purrs, her voice soft, yet edged with steel. "Surprised to see me?"

Nero's throat bobs as he swallows hard. When he speaks, his voice comes out hoarse. "Hadria. I thought you were…"

"Dead?" The woman—Hadria, I suppose?—arches one brow. "No, little brother. Just busy building an empire while you played at being Papa's heir. But don't worry; I'm not here to kill you. That day will come, but it's not today." Nero's men bunch around him again, pulling him back, but Hadria doesn't even glance at them. Her gaze has turned back to me. "No," she says calmly. "Today I am only here to collect a debt."

I stare at Hadria just as unblinkingly as she is staring at me. She's as beautiful as she was four years ago, and all I can do is stare, uncomprehending, as Hadria's long, elegant finger points directly at me.

"The bride belongs to me," she says.

My knees go weak. I grab the nearest pew and manage to keep upright.

"What do you mean?" my father demands, though his voice wavers.

Nero's doesn't waver. He rages, rages like a four-year-old who's been told he can't have a toy he's been staring at through the store window. "The girl is mine, fairly bought and paid for!"

"I'm afraid not, little brother," the woman says. "This one was promised to me long ago. Her father made a deal he seems to have forgotten."

And my father splutters again, denials, protests, but his voice fades to nothing in my ears as I look deep into her glacial eyes. She's exactly how I remember her—and so very different. Even harder now, like she's been carved from marble. But I see something there in her eyes, a glimmer of something. It's gone too quickly for me to be sure, but it's enough to make my heart skip a beat.

Nero keeps up his protests, but all at once, Hadria silences him with an icy look."Enough squawking." He subsides into silence. She crooks her finger at me. "Come here."

I find myself obeying without conscious thought, my feet carrying me toward her. She reaches out and grasps my chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting my face up to examine me. Her touch sends a thrill right through my body.

"Exquisite," she murmurs. "Like a pure ray of sunshine in human form. That fool father of yours was right; you grew into a rare flower."

Her words spark that memory to life, when my father offered me to her. I'd been only a girl then, and she had refused me. But now...

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