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Chapter twenty-eight

A strid suffered the indignity of being stretched over the obsidian altar.

The stone beneath her embodied the winter surrounding them.

Its chill bit through her shirt dress and tightened her nipples, but Astrid kept her vicious glare on the winged priest. He removed a gilded ceremonial dagger from his wide leather belt.

The gray linen of his sleeves billowed as he approached.

Astrid researched Ledivion wedding ceremonies the instant her match left her mother’s lips. This portion of Ledivite marriage had been a footnote, whereas pages upon pages were dedicated to the Royal Hunt, a spectacle where Dimitri’s kingdom gathered to watch their future queen flee her king.

Until he overpowered and claimed her.

Astrid glowered. She was no hind.

Tearing the priest’s soul from his body would remind her demented suitor she was capable of dispensing death as well. Using Dimitri’s hand for leverage, she lunged across the altar without warning.

The tips of her night-streaked nails grazed the priest’s robe and Dimitri’s talon came down hard, slicing into her wrist. Black chips of obsidian flew as he pinned her—like an offering to his god.

Her captor yanked her injured arm behind her back, leaving a trail of bloody droplets on the gleaming surface.

“Don’t let her touch you, priest,” Dimitri said calmly.

The robed male stammered for a moment then smoothed his clothing, regaining his composure. “I must remember the Anima Carnifex stands before me,” he said, lowering his gaze to her hand clutched beneath Dimitri’s.

“I do not consent to this,” Astrid shouted.

The heavy bones of his wings dug into her back as she fought to pull her hand from the accursed gold trapping her.

“I may not have my hands now, priest—but I will. And I vow, you won’t die.

I’ll keep you, and make you watch as I kill everything and everyone you have ever loved.

I’ll drive you mad with their suffering, and keep you as an ornament. ”

Dimitri’s hard cock ground into the curve of her ass, bruising her hips on the obsidian ledge. He leaned over her, the heat of him against her back made the chill of the altar bite that much harder.

“You’ve never said such sweet things to me, neva. Are you trying to make me jealous?” he purred.

Astrid ignored him. She lifted her fingers through Dimitri’s curled ones, while his palm remained atop hers, reaching for the robed male.

The priest swallowed thickly. His knuckles whitened as he clutched his dagger. “My lord.”

“Make her my wife,” Dimitri demanded, patting their intertwined hands on the gleaming obsidian.

Astrid fought harder as the priest gripped the ceremonial blade with both hands and lifted it overhead.

“May the blood binding you, forge an alliance. United in all things, never turning from the other—”

“—Serpents devour you. You are a dead man—”

“—Bind them by their blood spilled. Their pain shared. Bless this union, never undone.”

The knife came down, piercing Dimitri’s hand and hers, bottoming in the empty slot carved into the altar.

Pain burned through Astrid’s hand and clawed past her elbow as their blood welled together. It spilled in thin rivulets across their knuckles, pooling beneath their entwined fingers.

Astrid clenched her teeth, seething as she committed the priest’s face to memory. The robed male immediately retreated, nearly tripping over his long gray robes. His large, unblinking eyes were reminiscent of a deer before the arrow struck its mark.

“Finish it,” Dimitri commanded.

The priest hesitated and Astrid wiggled her fingers at him, embracing the burning licks of pain it sent up her tendons and down her ligaments.

“If... if you could cover her hand, my lord,” he stammered out.

Dimitri chuckled and leaned his weight into her. Her chest squeezed against the obsidian surface, pushing her breath past her lips. Her jailor covered her exposed digits and outstretched his wing, securing her uninjured hand by the cursed gold circling her wrist.

“Satisfied?” Dimitri asked the priest at her ear.

His deep voice caressed her, and the memory of his death magic coiling over her breasts and between her legs lingered too near.

Mothers save her. Astrid twitched her fingers, focusing on the pain.

She would pray and reflect on why she associated Dimitri’s rough treatment with the ecstasy his touch promised after he subdued her.

The priest pulled the knife from their hands. Pain anew seared up Astrid’s arm and she stiffened, baring her teeth. The priest touched the bloodied wound on Dimitri’s hand and it mended, leaving a thick, pale scar in its wake.

“A moment, my lord,” he said as he hurried around the altar and out of Astrid’s sight.

Realization dawned on Astrid, and she struggled, stomping her bare heels on Dimitri’s boots.

“You will not disfigure me,” she screamed, turning her head to find her view completely obstructed by Dimitri’s disgusting wing.

A soft hand, timidly settled on her ankle and Astrid kicked blindly.

“Stop kicking my priest,” Dimitri said, pinning her knee to the altar with the bend of his.

The priest’s magic oozed over her, and Astrid obliterated it with a lash of her own. “I’m going to skin you, and you’ll exist as my blanket,” she screamed. Then, she turned to snap at Dimitri, “I’m going to kill you and commission your spine into my next pauldron!”

“My lord, her magic is greater than mine,” the pitiful soul weaver confessed on his knees.

A warm, expansive breath fluffed her hair. Dimitri’s firm lips brushed her temple as he said, “Let him scar our bond, neva, or we can renew our vows every morning.”

Astrid took a breath to clear her mind.

Then another.

“I can scar my own hand. I don’t need this idiot butchering me,” Astrid replied coldly before struggling again. “Get your sweaty hand off me.”

To her surprise the clammy palm lifted, and the sound of sandaled feet shuffled behind her.

Dimitri ground against her ass and said, “You are not a priest.”

“You worship conquest, right?” Astrid turned and snarled, “Get on your fucking knees, priest, before I kill your entire family.”

Robes rustled behind her and, what she imagined was the priest’s forehead touching the stone floor, met her ears.

Astrid turned her head as far as she could and stared into Dimitri’s golden eyes. “I conquered your simpering priest, and I claim him by right of conquest. Now get off the floor and make me a priestess,” she yelled the last loudly.

More rustling fabric.

“M-my lord?” the male mumbled.

Dimitri chuckled, and the vibrations danced along her spine.

“You’re learning our ways,” he said sweetly, like he was proud of her. “But your attempts are misguided. right of conquest is a victor’s prize when we are at war.”

“Oh, I’m at war,” Astrid seethed. “I’m at war with everyone he’s ever loved!” Dimitri chuckled again and Astrid bristled. “I am scarring my own hand, or we will be here every morning, my lord. ”

“Bargain with me,” Dimitri purred.

Impulse seized Astrid and she uttered an impossible task. “My kingdom. The Serpents’ Crown on my head.”

“Always the stars with you,” Dimitri exhaled. His weight lifted off her and he turned her in his arms, encircling her in the barricade of his wings.

To protect that cowardly priest and his fading footsteps.

Blood covered both her hands, one from his talon and the other from his disturbing nuptials.

He held his mended hand between them. “Scar it, like this.”

Astrid stared up at him, judging his compromise.

“It should be thinner than yours. Your hand is bigger than mine,” she argued.

He brought her bloodied palm to his mouth and placed a stinging kiss to his mark of devotion. Crimson stained his lips and dripped down his chin. “Make it a scar. Visible to others,” he instructed.

Astrid knit her magic through the wound.

Closing it.

Healing it.

Until a white scar, half the width of Dimitri’s, ran along the back of her hand, between her index and middle finger.

“Satisfied?” she asked, momentarily glaring up at him as she healed the talon gouge on her wrist.

Dimitri grinned and drew her closer. “Yes.”