“So much for our plan to go naked,” Kaia muttered beside her. “Gwen saw me leave my room that way and almost sliced my throat.”
“Did not,” the bride in question said from behind them.
They turned in unison. Bianka’s breath caught as it had every time she’d seen her youngest sister in her gown. It was a princess cut, which was fitting, the straps thin, the beautiful white lace cinching just under her breasts before flowing to her ankles. The material covering her legs was sheer, allowing glimpses of thigh and those gorgeous red heels.
Her strawberry curls were half up, half down, diamonds glittering through the strands. There was so much love and excitement in her gold-gray eyes it was almost blinding.
“I almost pushed you out a window,” Gwen added.
They laughed. Even stoic Taliyah, their oldest sister, who had her arm wrapped through Gwen’s. Since it turned out Gwen’s father was the Lords’ greatest enemy, and Gwen’s mom had disowned her years ago, Taliyah was escorting Gwen down the aisle.
“Hence the reason I’m now wearing this.” Kaia motioned to her own gown, an exact match to Bianka’s. A buttercup yellow creation with more ribbons, bows and sequined rose appliqués than anyone should wear in an entire lifetime. They even wore hats with orange streamers.
Gwen shrugged, unrepentant. “I didn’t want you looking prettier than me, so sue me.”
“Weddings suck,” Bianka said. “You should have just had Sabin tattoo your name on his ass and called it good.” That’s what she would have done. Not that Lysander ever would have agreed to such a thing. Whether they were together or not.
Which they never would be. Bastard.
“I did. Have him tattoo my name on his ass,” Gwen said. “And his arm. And his chest. And his back. But then I casually mentioned how much I’d always wanted a big wedding, and well, he told me I had four weeks to plan it or he’d take over and do it himself. And everyone knows men can’t plan shit. So…” She shrugged again, though the excitement and love on her face had intensified. “Are they ready for us yet?”
Bianka and Kaia turned back to the chapel, peeking through the crack in the closed doors.
“Not yet,” Bianka said. “Paris is missing.”
Paris, who had gotten ordained over the Internet, would be presiding over the nuptials.
“He better hurry,” she added grumpily. “Or I’ll find a way to make him oil-wrestle again.”
“You’ve been so depressed lately. Missing your angel?” Kaia asked her, pinkie-waving to Amun, who stood in the line of groomsmen beside Sabin at the altar.
Amun shouldn’t have been able to see her, but somehow he did. He nodded, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.
“Of course not. I hate him.” A lie. She hadn’t told her sisters why she and Lysander had parted, only that they had. Forever. If they knew the truth, they’d want to kill him. And as all but Gwen were paid killers, immensely good at their job, she’d find herself the proud owner of Lysander’s head.
Which she didn’t want.
She just wanted him. Stupid girl.
“I only would have teased you for a few years, you know,” Kaia said. “You should have kept him around. It might have been fun to corrupt him.”
He didn’t want to be corrupted any more than she wanted to be purified. They were too different. Could never make anything work. Their separation was for the best. So why couldn’t she get over it? Why did she feel his gaze on her, every minute of every day? Even now, when she looked like a Southern belle on crack?
“So Sabin doesn’t have a last name,” she said to Gwen, drawing attention away from herself. “Are you going to call yourself Gwen Sabin?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m going to call myself Gwen Lord.”
“What’s Anya plan to call herself? Anya Underworld?” Kaia asked with a laugh.
“Knowing our goddess, she’ll demand Lucien take her last name. Trouble. Or is that her middle name?”
“I here, I here,” a voice suddenly screeched. Legion pushed her way in front of Bianka and Kaia. She was wearing a yellow dress, as well. Only hers had more ribbons, bows and sequins. A basket of flowers was clutched in her hands, her too-long nails curling around the handle. Best of all, she wore a tiara. Because she didn’t have hair, it had had to be glued to her scaled head. “We begin now.”
She didn’t wait for permission but shouldered her way through the door. The crowd—which consisted of the Lords of the Underworld, their companions and some gods and goddesses Anya knew—turned and gasped when they saw her. Well, except for Gideon. He’d recently been captured and tortured by Hunters, the Lords’ nemeses, and was currently missing his hands. (His feet weren’t in the best of shape, either.) Because of his injuries, he was beyond weak, so he lay in his gurney, barely conscious. He’d insisted on coming, though.
From his pew, Aeron smiled indulgently as Legion tossed pink petals in every direction. Just as she reached the front, Paris raced to the podium. He looked harried, pale, and Sabin punched him in the shoulder.
Sabin looked amazing. He wore a black tux, his hair slicked back, and when he turned to face the door, watching for Gwen, his entire face lit. With love. With pride. Bianka’s jealousy increased. She wanted that. Wanted her man to find her perfect in every way.
Was that too much to ask?
Apparently so. Stupid Lysander.
“Go, go, go,” Gwen ordered, giving them a little push.
Bianka kicked into motion, heading toward Strider, her appointed groomsman. He smiled at her when she reached him. He would be proud to call her his woman, she thought. She tried to make herself return the gesture, but her eyes were too busy filling with tears. She looked around, trying to distract herself.
The chapel really was beautiful. The glittery white flowers she’d hung from the ceiling were thick and lush and offered a canopy, a haven. They were the best part of the decor, if you asked her. Candles flickered with golden light, twining with shadows.
Kaia approached her side, and everyone except for Gideon stood. The music changed, slowing down to the bridal march. Gwen and Taliyah appeared. Sabin’s breath caught. Yes, that was the way a man should react to the sight of his woman.
What makes you think you were ever Lysander’s woman?
Because she was his one temptation. Because of the reverent way he had touched her. Because she liked how he made her feel. Because they balanced each other. Because he completed her in a way she hadn’t known she needed. He was the light to her darkness.
He was willing to show you that light. Over and over again.
Perhaps she should have fought for him. That’s what she was, after all. A fighter. Yet she’d given in as if he meant nothing to her when he had somehow become the most important thing in her life.
Bianka didn’t mean to, but she tuned out as Paris gave his speech and the happy couple recited their vows, her thoughts remaining focused on Lysander. Should she try and fight for him now? If so, how would she go about it?
Only when the crowd cheered did she snap out of her haze, watching as Sabin and Gwen kissed. Then they were marching down the aisle and out the doors together. The rest of the bridal party made their way out, as well.
“Shall we?” Strider asked, holding out his arm for her.
“She can’t.” Paris grabbed her arm. “You’re needed in that room.” With his free hand, he pointed.
“Why?” Was he planning revenge against her for forcing him to oil-wrestle Lysander? He hadn’t mentioned it in the days since her return to Buda, but he couldn’t be happy with her. He should be thanking her, for gods’ sake. He’d gotten to touch all of Lysander’s hawtness.
Paris rolled his eyes. “Just go before your boyfriend decides he’s tired of waiting and comes out here.”
Her boyfriend. Lysander? Couldn’t be. Could it? But why would he have come? Heart drumming in her chest, she walked forward. She didn’t allow herself to run, though she wanted to soooo badly. She reached the door. Her hand shook as she turned the knob.
Hinges creaked. Then she was staring into—an empty room. Her teeth ground together. Paris’s revenge, just as she’d figured. Of course. That rat bastard piece of shit was going to pay. She wasn’t just going to make him oil-wrestle. She was going to—
“Hello, Bianka.”
Lysander.
Gasping, she whipped around. Her eyes widened. In an instant, the chapel had been transformed. No longer were her sisters and friends inside. Lysander and his kind occupied every spare inch. Angels were everywhere, light surrounding them and putting Gwen’s candles to shame.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, not daring to hope.
“I came to beg your forgiveness.” His arms spread. “I came to tell you that I am proud to be your man. I brought my friends and brethren to bear witness to my proclamation.”
She swallowed, still not letting hope take over. “But I’m evil and that’s not going to change. I’m your temptation. You could, I don’t know, lose everything by being with me.” The thought hit her, and she wanted to wilt. He could lose everything. No wonder he had wanted to destroy her. No wonder he had wanted to hide her.
“No, you are not evil. And I don’t want you to change. You are beautiful and intelligent and brave. But more than that, you are my everything. I am nothing without you. Not good, not right, not complete. And do not worry. I will not lose everything as you said. You have not committed an unpardonable sin.”
She gulped. “And if I do?”
“I will fall.”
Okay. A small kernel of hope managed to seep inside her. But no way would she let him fall. Ever. He loved being an angel. “What brought this on?”
“I finally pulled my head out of my ass,” he said dryly.
He’d said ass. Lysander had just said the word ass. More hope beat its way inside and she had to press her lips together to keep from smiling. And crying! Tears were springing in her eyes, burning.
