Page 45

Chapter

Forty-Five

S erenity

Enzo handed me over to Angelo, who clasped my hand with a possessive certainty, his cool fingers intertwining with mine as he pulled me toward him. The simple contact sent electricity racing up my arm. His eyes never left my face as we turned together to face Raphael, my father. My legs shook beneath the smooth satin of my dress, not from fear or doubt, but from a pure, overwhelming excitement that threatened to buckle my knees. Angelo’s thumb traced small circles against my palm, a private reassurance felt only between us.

Raphael stood before us, his angelic presence making the air around us feel charged and heavy. The celestial power that radiated from my father made the roses in my hair tremble slightly, though no breeze stirred the night air. His gaze swept over us both, ancient and measuring.

“I want you to know that once I marry you, it cannot be unbound,” Raphael’s voice resonated with authority that seemed to echo from somewhere beyond this courtyard, beyond New Orleans itself. “This is a heavenly marriage that only I can dissolve. If you try—” he paused, the weight of divine warning hanging in the silence “—you’ll be severely punished.”

The words were clearly meant for both of us, but I noticed with perfect clarity that Raphael’s eyes—eyes that held the light of stars and the judgment of heaven—were fixed not on me, his daughter, but solely on Angelo. The challenge was unmistakable, angel to vampire, immortal to immortal, father to the man claiming his daughter.

Angelo’s hand tightened around mine, his posture shifting almost imperceptibly as he drew himself up to his full height. When he spoke, his voice carried the quiet danger of a predator confident in its strength.

“I protect what’s mine,” he said simply, each word etched with centuries of resolve. His gaze never wavered from Raphael’s celestial stare. “She belongs to me.”

The declaration hung in the air between them—not a romantic platitude but a vow carved in stone, a promise backed by blood and power.

Raphael orchestrated the ceremony with celestial grace, his voice carrying both divine authority and, surprisingly, a gentleness I hadn’t expected from him. Ancient words in a language I half-recognized from my Nephilim blood flowed around us, creating patterns of light too subtle for human eyes to perceive. I was vaguely aware of the traditional elements—promises exchanged, symbolic gestures completed—but they passed in a beautiful blur.

When my moment came, I said, “Yes, I do,” my voice clear and certain despite the emotion tightening my throat. The words seemed to shimmer in the air between us, binding and powerful. But I couldn’t remember everything else—the specific vows, the ritual responses, the traditional gestures. My mind kept slipping away from the formal proceedings to focus on Angelo’s eyes, on the slight tremor in his usually steady hands as they held mine, on the impossible reality that this immortal being had chosen me.

The courtyard, the guests, even Raphael’s solemn presence—all faded to beautiful background noise compared to the overwhelming certainty flooding through me. Angelo’s thumb brushed across my knuckles, and that small touch seemed more real, more significant than any ceremonial words could be.

Time stretched and compressed strangely. Moments that should have passed quickly lingered—the way candlelight caught in Angelo’s dark hair, the subtle shift in his expression when I said, “I do,” the almost imperceptible softening around his eyes that only I would notice. Other parts of the ceremony rushed by in a happy delirium, leaving only impressions rather than clear memories.

The reception was a blur of congratulations, champagne toasts, and music that seemed to flow around us like water. I remembered fragments—Gianna’s knowing smile as she embraced me, Trystan raising a glass in solemn tribute, Elena wiping away tears as she watched us dance. But these moments passed in a haze, my awareness focused solely on Angelo’s hand at the small of my back, his eyes finding mine across the room, the electricity that sparked between us with each casual touch.

And then, before I knew it, Angelo had whisked me away from the celebration, lifting me into his arms with supernatural grace as we reached the staircase. He carried me up to our room with an urgency that made my heart race, my arms wrapped around his neck, my face buried against his shoulder to hide my flushed cheeks from any lingering guests. The solid strength of him against me, the scent of his skin, the barely controlled power in his movements—it all sent anticipation spiraling through me.

The heavy door closed behind us with a definitive click that seemed to seal us away from the rest of the world. Angelo set me down slowly, allowing my body to slide against his until my feet touched the floor. His eyes had darkened to a shade of green I’d only seen in moments of intense hunger or desire, and the look sent a shiver racing down my spine.

“You’d better get that dress off if you don’t want it in pieces,” he said, his voice a low growl that vibrated through me. There was no pretense in his words, no polite restraint—just raw, honest hunger after hours of maintaining control in front of others. His fingers flexed at his sides, the only visible sign of his effort to hold back, to give me this one moment of choice before the storm broke between us.

The simple white satin suddenly felt too constrictive, too much of a barrier between us. I reached for the thin straps with trembling fingers, my eyes never leaving his.

As the satin dress pooled at my feet, I stood revealed in the white corset and leggings I’d chosen specially for this night. The delicate lace and silk hugged my curves, a final barrier between us. Angelo’s gaze traveled over me with such intensity I could almost feel it like a physical touch—hot and possessive, claiming every inch of me. His hunger wasn’t just visible, it was a palpable force in the room, stealing the air from my lungs. Something primal stirred deep in my belly in response, a fiery heat that spread through me like wildfire.

I found myself backing up against the oak door, not from fear but in a teasing invitation. The cool wood pressed against my shoulder blades, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me. I bit my lower lip, watching his reaction through lowered lashes. The slight distance between us crackled with anticipation—a game of predator and willing prey.

But Angelo wasn’t having any of it. Not tonight. Not after weeks of danger and separation, not after hours of ceremony and restraint.

In a blur of movement, he closed the distance between us. His hands slammed against the door on either side of me, caging me in his arms. For one breathless moment, his face hovered above mine, eyes searching, seeking the surrender he knew was already his. Then with a sound that was half-growl, half-moan, Angelo ripped the corset in two, the delicate material giving way like paper in his supernatural grip.

The pieces of cloth hung uselessly at my sides, exposing my skin to the cool air and his burning gaze. The display of raw strength, of barely contained desire, sent a shock wave of arousal through me that was almost frightening in its intensity. I hadn’t expected to find his loss of control so intoxicating—to feel so desired, so utterly necessary to someone so powerful.

I gasped, my chest rising and falling rapidly against his. “Angelo,” I whispered. My fingers traced the hard line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, marveling at the restraint still present even in this moment of abandon. “You didn’t have to...”

But my protest died as his hands found my waist, scorching against my now-exposed skin. The look in his eyes told me everything—that yes, he did have to, that centuries of patience had finally run out, that tonight, nothing would be held back between us.

An intense longing for him swelled inside me, an urgency that couldn’t wait another moment. “Take me against this door. Now,” I whispered, my voice husky with desire. My hand slid down his hips, disappearing into the waistband of his pants. As my fingers wrapped around his rigid length, I traced the moisture glistening there, feeling the heat and pulse beneath my touch.

He let out a low growl as he tore his trousers off, the fabric giving way to reveal his arousal. His erection sprang forth, bold and unrestrained. With a swift and powerful motion, he lifted my thighs, positioning me perfectly before thrusting himself deeply inside me, filling me completely.

I gasped at the overwhelming sensation, the unyielding thickness, and the sharp pain that left me breathless. It felt as though I had dared to provoke a mighty dragon and was now facing the consequences. His lips met mine in a fervent kiss, and I clung to him as if he were my anchor in a storm. He began to move his hips with a deliberate rhythm, and instinctively, my own responded in a synchronized dance.

Bodies collided with a force that sent shockwaves through the air. Heartbeats pounded in sync, a thunderous rhythm that filled the room. He exuded the intoxicating scent of amber and fire, and in that moment, he was wholly mine. Pain ignited into a consuming pleasure, a raging inferno that devoured every part of me.

He lowered his head with reverent intensity, his lips brushing my throat in a tender kiss before his teeth pierced my skin. The sharp pain bloomed and transformed almost instantly as he drew my blood with a ferocity that transcended mere hunger. This wasn’t just feeding—it was communion, a sacred exchange that bound us more intimately than any wedding vow. The exquisite ecstasy that replaced the pain made me cry out his name.

I arched my hips, pulling him deeper, my nails clawing into the solid expanse of his shoulders, desperate to anchor myself in the overwhelming tempest of sensation. In this moment, the boundary between Nephilim and vampire, between heaven and darkness, dissolved completely. Each drop of blood he took connected us more profoundly, my very essence flowing into him as his flowed into me.

Tears sprang to my eyes—not from pain but from the sheer intensity of emotion, the terrifying perfection of being so completely known, so utterly accepted. All the fears and doubts I’d carried, all the battles and separations we’d endured, crystallized into this single moment of absolute certainty.

A cataclysmic surge of ecstasy erupted within me, an unstoppable tidal wave crashing through my very being until pleasure detonated explosively. My vision exploded with stars, a dizzying galaxy swirling before my eyes—reminiscent of the celestial realm of my heritage but somehow more real, more vital in Angelo’s arms. His primal scream tore through the air as he unleashed his essence with ferocious intensity deep within me, the centuries of loneliness finally ended, of salvation found in the most unexpected place.

As the tremors subsided, the joy and hope of destiny settled around us. Our union was more than physical, more than supernatural. It was the convergence of ancient bloodlines, the breaking of divine taboos, the beginning of something unprecedented in the long histories of both our kinds.

I dragged my fingers through his damp hair, marveling at its silken texture, at the vulnerability in his eyes that only I was privileged to witness. My heart swelled with a possessive tenderness that matched his own.

“That was just the beginning, my lord,” I whispered against his lips, tasting my own blood mingled with the unique essence that was purely Angelo. The words held both promise and profound emotion—a vow to heal every lonely moment in his past with our shared future. “I want more tonight until we fall exhausted in each other’s arms. We have time to make up for—every moment we were kept apart, every day we wasted fighting what we both knew was inevitable.”

My hands framed his face, forcing him to see the depth of emotion in my eyes—the love, the certainty, the absolute commitment. “Tonight, tomorrow, forever—I am yours, and you are mine.”

He kissed me possessively, branding me as his, his powerful hands gripping me with a dominance that left no doubt about who commanded this city. When he pulled away, his eyes had darkened to the dangerous emerald shade that his enemies had learned to fear.

“No one will ever tear us apart,” Angelo declared, his voice dropping to that lethal timbre that had made hardened immortals tremble. The casual menace in his tone wasn’t practiced—it was simply who he was, the vampire who had built an empire on blood and loyalty. “The last fool who tried to take what’s mine is still screaming in pieces in hell.”

His thumb traced my lower lip with surprising tenderness, the contrast to his words making my heart race. “You’re not just my wife, Serenity. You’re the queen of New Orleans’ underworld now.” His smile was slow and predatory. “Anyone who forgets that risks the wrath of the vampire mafia king. And I’ve spent centuries perfecting my vengeance.”

I should have been frightened by the casual way he spoke of violence, but instead, I felt a dark thrill. This was Angelo—my Angelo—the ruthless ruler who had carved his territory with fang and claw, who commanded loyalty through both fear and fierce protection. And somehow, impossibly, he was mine as much as I was his.