And didn’t that get the hormones cranking.
“What are we doing here, Beth,” he demanded.
“We’re getting married.”
As he recoiled, she rushed in before he could go on any kind of tirade. “You said my human customs matter—that they’re equally important. So we’re getting married. Right now. In my way.”
He shook his head. “But we’re already mated. Why—”
“So you can divorce me and keep the throne.” As his jaw dropped, she cut him off. “In front of our family here. With a real live minister.”
Lassiter raised his hand. “Happy to be of service. I also do christenings. Just sayin’.”
Wrath shook his head again. “This is—”
“Are you saying my human side is of lesser value?”
“Well, no. But—”
“So then if we do the ceremony here and now, we haven’t lost anything, have we. You can divorce me according to vampire law, we’re still mated, and we’ve managed to keep the throne.” She kicked up her chin even though he couldn’t see her. “Pretty good math, don’t you think?”
There was a beat of hushed silence. And then one of the Brothers said, “I fucking love this female. I really totally fucking love her.”
FIFTY-ONE
As Wrath allowed himself to get maneuvered around the foyer, George, as always, went with him.
Frankly, even if he’d had his sight, he would have had to be led around.
He kept waiting for an inner NFW to sound out. But Beth had boxed him in, in the best possible way—she was right: If her cultural norms were as important to them as a couple? Well … if they were “married” in the human way, then they were mated. Period.
And yet, he wasn’t sure how he felt. Then again, they’d done things according to his race’s traditions originally—and although none of that had any resonance for her, she’d gone right along with it.
Seemed only fair that he do the same for her.
“You ready?” Lassiter asked him softly.
People were still shuffling about, moving around the great space of the foyer. “What are they doing?” Wrath whispered back.
“Forming two lines so there’s an aisle that starts at the dining room and runs right to us. We’re about five yards in front of the billiards room. She’s disappeared—they’ve shut the doors so we can’t see her.”
Wrath thought back to when they’d been mated. The Scribe Virgin had been around then. Beth had worn Wellsie’s red gown—and had nearly fainted as his brothers had carved her nine-letter name into his shoulders. John Matthew, Blay, and Qhuinn hadn’t been in the picture then. Neither had Rehv and Xhex, Payne, Manny, the Shadow brothers, and others.
Or Xcor and the Bastards.
And since then, they’d lost Wellsie. No one else, however.
From out of nowhere, music flooded the foyer, a classical ditty he’d heard before, usually in chick flicks that involved … weddings, natch.
“Ready?” Lassiter asked.
“Yeah.” Jesus, this was not what he’d expected to be doing.
“I just nodded to Fritz,” the angel whispered. “And he’s opening the doors.”
Wrath cleared his throat and leaned in. “What … what is she wearing?”
“White. Calf-length. Loose. She’s escorted by her brother and carrying a pink rose that Rhage took from a bouquet on the mantlepiece.” There was a pause. “Her eyes are right on you, and that smile of hers? Million bucks, my friend. Million fucking bucks.”
All at once, the shit about the throne and the other reasons they were doing this went away: As he caught the scent of his leelan, all he thought of was that she was everything to him—and not just because she might well be saving his throne, right here and now.
Oh, and holy shit, she might be pregnant, too.
“Dearly beloved,” Lassiter began, “we are gathered here to witness the joining of Elizabeth, daughter of Darius, and Wrath, son of Wrath.”
So they were leaving the formal vampire names out. Cool. Made it seem more human.
“Who gives this female—ah, woman’s—hand in marriage?”
Wrath expected one of the brothers to translate John’s response. Instead, the male communicated his reply loud and clear: He whistled an ascending note that declaratively announced he was the guy presenting his sister.
On instinct, and because he had no idea what the ceremony entailed, Wrath thrust out his palm. As it was clasped by John Matthew, the two of them squeezed hard, a vow given and acknowledged in the shake, an I’ll-take-good-care-of-her exchanged with a You’d-better-fucking-do-that.
Cue the throat clearing. Like maybe a couple of the brothers were getting emotional.
Lassiter coughed a little and there was the sound of pages being flipped back and forth. “Ah … okay, look, I’m just going to wing it, all right? Is there any reason you two can’t do this? No? Awesome.”
Beth laughed. “I think you’re supposed to wait for us to answer.”
“All together then, shall we? And you guys in the peanut gallery, too—any reason this won’t fly?”
The entire household as well as his shellan and himself shouted, “No!”
“Man, we’re doing great.” More flipping. “Yeah, they go on and on here. Wrath?”
For some insane reason, he started to smile. “Yeah?”
“Do you take this incredible woman who’s just saved your ass as your wife? Will you love and comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live— crap, I was supposed to do you before him, Beth. How about you answer?”
“No,” Wrath cut in with a big grin. “I’ll go first. Yeah, I do.”
There was a sniffle from the crowd. At which point, Rhage’s voice hissed, “What. This is beautiful, ’kay? Fuck all y’all.”
“Now, Beth, do you take this hotheaded PITA as your husband? Will you love and comfort him, honor and keep him in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” his Beth said. “Absolutely.”
“Niiiice.” Lassiter flipped some more pages. “Okay, rings? We got rings here, people?”
“Put my ring on her thumb,” Wrath said, taking off the massive black diamond his father had worn. “Here.”
“And he can use mine,” Beth chimed in. “It’s his mother’s.”
“Aww, that’s some sweetness right here.” Lassiter took Wrath’s ring. “Okay, let’s rock this out. I hereby bless these rings. Beth, take yours back and place it on any finger you can fit it on. Or, like, the upper knuckle—there ya go.
“Okay, repeat after me. Oh, shi—I mean, crap. I was supposed to do this with Wrath first, I guess.”
“No,” Beth said with another laugh. “Actually this is perfect.”
“Perfect,” Wrath agreed.
It was all just so … right. It was natural and real—and the lack of formality so worked, especially in light of the aristocracy’s ridiculous value system.
Hell, Lassiter was a living, breathing antidote to all that.
“Okay, so, Beth, follow me. ‘I, Beth, a totally awesome chick…’”
Beth barked out a giggle. “I, Beth…”
“Where’s the ‘awesome chick’ part? What? Come on, I have a license from the Internet. I know what I’m doing.”
Wrath nodded at his leelan. “He’s right. You are, in fact, awesome. I think we need to hear it.”
“Can I get an amen!” Lassiter shouted.
“Ammmmmmmmmen!” echoed throughout the mansion.
“Fine, fine, fine,” she said. “I, Beth, a totally awesome chick…”
“‘…take this meathead, Wrath…’”
“…take this meathead, Wrath…”
“‘…as my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward…’”
“…as my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward…”
“‘…for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer…’”
And suddenly it wasn’t a joke. The further she went, the more serious Lassiter got, and the shakier Wrath’s shellan became, as if the words she were speaking were ones of great value and meaning.