Page 9

“You’re a hunter, not a lamb.” Mirador took her hand, seemingly not noticing the thunder of Alwen’s pulse. “I was rather hoping we could both fall.”

Her skin is so soft…

Because she is a monster . That was the detail Alwen must repeat in her mind when she felt weak. She is built to lure unsuspecting victims to her lair .

Mirador reached out with both hands, capturing Alwen’s face in the cup of her palms. She stood there, holding Alwen gently. “I want to drown in you.”

A thought flickered in Alwen’s mind that she ought to draw her dagger and end this now. There were too many witnesses for the convent’s preference, but the alternative was drawing Mirador away from here. Somewhere private so Alwen could behead her.

I cannot say that’s wise…orsafe…or anything other than tempting.

“I’ll learn everything, so I know you as no woman ever has,” Mirador murmured, her lips a breath away from Alwen’s mouth. “I’ll make you happy, my love. I will spend all my hours adoring you until you can no longer remember a life without me. I’ll bathe you in—”

“Enough!” Alwen’s face burned in embarrassment.

A life in the company of the Sisters had provided sufficient evidence that some women were meant for other women’s love or, at the least, their affection.

She’d known that she was just such a woman, and felt no shame in that.

Desiring a blood-drinking monster, however, was an entirely different matter.

She took a steadying step away from Mirador’s plump lips.

One ought not bite the target…

Alwen’s eyes were cast low, gaze firmly on Mirador’s lips.

“Shall I prove my intentions toward you?” Mirador tempted, but Alwen could not glean how exactly one proved the intent to marry a complete stranger. “Say the word.”

“Fine, but—”

Mirador stood, took Alwen’s hand, and led her to the bartender. “Cyrus, be a love and mind my future bride.” Then the monster leaned close and brushed a soft kiss over Alwen’s too-fast pulse. “I will overcome every soul in here to prove that I can protect you!”

Alwen’s entire body leaned toward the stranger she’d been dispatched to kill. She wasn’t a wilting flower in need of protection, but it was still charming. Alwen’s gaze danced over Mirador’s taut arms, her legs where the trousers strained against them, and she bit back a sound of appreciation.

Then Mirador was gone, hopping onto the pitted bar top and yelling, “Behold, I present my intended, Alwen, future lady of Mirador! If you can pass me, I will not besmirch this fair damsel. If you cannot, she will be mine…”

Besmirch? A shiver of anticipation followed the thought.

Mirador leaped at a man, landing so she was on his shoulders, high above the crowd. Using her feet against his midsection, she threw him off-balance and dismounted with the grace of an equine soldier.

Alwen gasped, but a laugh rang out as Mirador ducked and dodged fists and flagons.

I ought to study her fighting style, since I probably will need to kill her.

But there was no style other than improvisation and daring. Mirador moved in ways that were obviously not human, and the crowd just went with it. The melee was absurd. Bottles flew through the air, and tables were upturned.

At her side, Alwen heard Cyrus say, “Are you sure about this, girl? You could slip away if you need.”

“Does Mirador hurt people? Kill them?”

“Nah. Maybe hurt ’em in a brawl or kill ’em for a job, but she’s well-liked by everyone ’cept the man whose wife or intended she’s luring to her bed at that moment.

Never met anyone – man or woman – who can tempt the ladies into their arms so often.

” Cyrus gave Mirador an admiring glance.

“The rest of us only wish we had her charm. It’s definitely not her money.

That one doesn’t have a pot to piss in or a working door to toss it out of. ”

Cyrus chuckled, his attention as riveted as Alwen’s. Absently, he added, “Haven’t seen her as cheerful as this before, though. I’m impressed she kept you a secret. Maybe she was worried you wouldn’t show. Did you have a tiff?”

Alwen shook her head, but she wondered at what Cyrus had inadvertently revealed. Curious now, she prompted, “Why do you ask?”

“Mirador’s been—” He glanced at Alwen and rubbed the back of his head.

“— active more the past few months. Woman after woman, most of them ones she ought not tangle with, and in between she’s like a hurt fox retreating to her den.

She’s been…sad and drunk or naked, not much else.

” He stared back at the fight as Mirador crowed in joy.

“She’s not a bad fellow. Glad you showed up. ”

Alwen didn’t know how to ask if Cyrus realized that Mirador lived on blood, or that she likely wasn’t seducing women but drinking their very life essence.

Alwen shot a look at the way the woman fought, arms bared now as her sleeves hung in tatters, and thought perhaps there was some seduction going on, too.

The definition in those arms brought a gasp to Alwen’s lips.

Monster though she might be, Mirador was undeniably beautiful, and her joy in the fight was intoxicating.

“You’re as bad as the rest, aren’t you?” Cyrus muttered.

Alwen couldn’t argue. Her attention was locked onto Mirador in a way that might make this mission more complicated than she had expected. How was she to snuff out a light as vibrant as Mirador’s?

“Are you ordained still?” Mirador called over the ruckus. “Cy!”

“I am,” Cyrus bellowed, batting a log out of the air. He glared at the young man who’d hurled it. “Watch yourself.”

“Marry me, Alwen,” Mirador half-asked, half-demanded.

“You are absurd,” Alwen shouted across the room.

“Yes.” Mirador leaped onto a table. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were red. And Alwen couldn’t remember having ever seen anything quite as alluring.

What harm was there in a wee wedding? If she had to kill Mirador, she’d be a widow – one with a castle. I don’t want to kill her , Alwen admitted to herself. The mission is to contain her. So if we are married…

MIRADOR

I knew she was mine before she did. I hadn’t understood it until today, though my parents and cousins had spoken of it. My heart felt as if a shaft of light had pierced it, cut clear through me, when she smiled at me that first time.

Of course, I also knew what she was: a hunter. She had all the markings of one of the holy sisters that the queen commanded. I could smell the metal weapons on her, and my nose tingled at the garlic, salt, and seeds sewn into her skirt hem.

Fate has a perverse sense of humor.

“Behold my oath that I will take no one as my wife except you,” I intoned as I stepped over several bodies where they were nursing bruises and egos.

“I take you, Alwen, as my faithfully conjoined wife to have and to hold until the end of my life, and I give you my word of this, if you should accept me and my vow.”

“You don’t know me,” Alwen said, even as she stepped around the bar and came to my side.

When she said nothing more, I added, “Ubi tu gaius, ego gaia. Where you are, there am I. If you have me, I will take only you.”

In a shaking voice, Alwen answered, “I take you, Christabel of Mirador, as my faithfully conjoined wife to have and to hold until the end of my life, and I give you my word and vow of this, if you should accept me and my vow. No other vow before yours.”

“I pronounce you wives, by the powers and all the rest,” Cyrus bellowed. “Let no person put them asunder.”

I met Alwen’s gaze, knowing what other vow she must mean. My fated bride was here to destroy me. I couldn’t mention it in the company of so many who had no idea what I was. So I took Alwen’s hands in mine and vowed, “I will give you no cause to heed other vows that came before this day.”

I felt the tremble in her as she asked, “Why?”

“You were destined to be mine, and I will dedicate myself to proving that I can be worthy of that fate.” I pulled her closer to kiss her, but a boot hit my temple.

I pivoted. “Truly? A muddy boot , Emil?”

“Not throwing my mead.” Emil scowled from where he sat against the wall.

“A round to celebrate my nuptials!” I grinned at Cy. “Put it on my tab!”

“Mirador!” Cyrus glared at me, but before he could come around the bar, he was swarmed by drunks in search of a free pint.

I lifted my wife into my arms and ran from the tavern. Alwen wrapped her arms around my neck, laughing and chastising me at the same time.

“To our castle, my love!” I found a strong pair of horses, boosted Alwen into the saddle of one, and discovered both a bottle of some vintage and a bit of coin in the saddlebag of my own chosen steed.

“Do you always bring a second horse?” Alwen asked.

“Never.” I wasn’t lying, and I rather liked that.

I lied so often to convince unsuspecting maidens and matrons to slip into the shadows with me.

There were no restaurants that served what I ate, so what was a woman to do?

And I often left them smiling for other reasons as a gratitude for their kindness.

I suspect more than one of them had whispered enough that my appetite drew the Crown’s attention.

My bride and I rode out of Helgren and into the dark.

“Keep a dagger at hand, my love. There are dangers aplenty in the shadows.”

“A dagger?”

I opted not to answer. We both knew she was armed, and now she knew that I was aware of her weapons.

As the moon rose higher and we grew closer to home, the castle showed her best face, and I heard the whispered, “It’s gorgeous,” from my left side. My bride stared up at the behemoth, and I paused to let her awe wash over me.

I could already feel my body reacting to her. We were wed. That started the bond. And as long as she drank no blood, she’d remain more or less human. The choice to change would be hers alone.

“Mirador?”

“The view is spectacular,” I offered.