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He smirks. “Only if you’re planning to run off and fuck me behind the courthouse.”

I wince while my body rushes with heat. “Don’t joke.”

He sighs. “I’m not. But I am serious about the errand. You coming or not?”

I nod. “Okay. Let me change.”

His eyes skim over the gown. “You look fine.”

“I don’t feel fine.”

“Yeah, well I know one way to fix that,” he says, and walks out.

Outside,the air is sharp and damp, fall rushing toward winter. We walk in silence past the gravel drive and down the side path of the estate. Damon has his hands in his pockets, head ducked, eyes scanning everything but me. I have no idea where we’re going. I don’t ask. It feels better not to know.

We reach the garage. Hunter took his truck, but the SUV is parked behind the side of the carriage house, tires still caked with mud from the trip to the river. He unlocks it with a grunt and opens the passenger side for me. The skirt of my dress is ridiculous, unwieldy.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ,” he mutters. “This thing is like fighting a fucking tiger.”

His hands cinch around my waist and with a hard lift, he chucks me in.

“Oof.” I flail across the seat, struggling to keep myself upright. The corset top threatens to slip down, and I tug at it to keep it over my tits, while he continues his battle with the tulle, ultimately using both hands to shove it in and quickly slam the door.

I’ve composed myself by the time he gets in the driver’s seat. He starts the engine, pulling away from the House of Night with a little more force than necessary. Something metal rattles in the back.

After a long silence, I ask, “Why did you ask me to come with you?”

He flips the turn signal and heads toward town. “I told you. I need an extra set of hands.”

I turn my face to the window and watch the trees blur past while he flips on the radio to WXFU, but instead of Hunter’s voice an annoying commercial sings a jingle about air conditioners.

“Did it hurt?” he asks suddenly.

I know what he’s asking. I wish I didn’t.

“Yes,” I whisper. “It hurt.”

He looks at me for a long moment until there’s a flash in the corner of my eye. “Damon! Watch out!” He slams his foot on the brake and the SUV skids erratically. The white tail of a deer bobs into the trees.

“Sorry,” he mutters, gripping the wheel. “I’m just–fuck.”

My hands are flat on the dash, holding myself upright, my heart pounding against my chest. “It’s done. It’s over.”

He snorts. “Until tomorrow night, yeah.”

It takes me a second to understand what he’s referring to, and that same humiliated burn ripples across my skin. I’m nothing but meat to these people. Flesh to be owned. I don’t think for a minute Damon cares for me. He’s just pissed he didn’t get his piece first.

Hunter’s smooth voice drifts out of the speakers.

“It’s just past midnight, on October thirty-first, and if you’re still with me, congratulations. You’ve made it to the edge of the veil… it’s sacred here, maybe cursed.”

Damon turns up the volume.

“Tomorrow, the city wakes up to a ceremony that isn’t printed in your church bulletins or listed on campus calendars. A wedding, but not the kind with lace and doves. This one’s soaked in bloodlines and old money, secrets whispered through oak-paneled rooms. The girl’s barely grown. The man? We can only guess the man behind the Baron King’s mask.”

There’s a long pause, one marked only by the flash of passing headlights.

“They’re calling it the Black Wedding. I don’t know if it’s a merger or a sacrifice, but either way, Forsyth will change.”