She paused longer to study him. He looked magnificent in his dark gray velvet jacket, and his long black hair was tied back in a queue. He wore a green vest underneath his coat, and it matched the color of his eyes. Those eyes were filled with unconditional love for his bride, even in her hideous veil.
Victor placed Clair's hand in Ian's when they arrived at the end of the aisle; then he stepped away as Ian lifted the veil from her face and flipped it back. "Now I can see you," Ian said softly. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld in my life." His tone complemented his serious expression, for his eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"Thank you." She grinned, joyful tears of her own spilling down her cheeks. "For the compliment, but more for getting that beastly veil out of my face."
Ian chortled.
"Who gives this woman?" the bishop asked, frowning at the levity of the wedding service.
"I do," Victor answered after a slight pause, sounding a bit choked up.
"Do you, Harold Ian Huntsley, take Clair Elizabeth Frankenstein to be your lawfully wedded wife?" the bishop asked.
Giggling, Clair nudged Ian. "Harold?"
"Hush, Clair. Now is not the time." Ian felt a blush travel up his face. He truly despised his first name. It had been a curse throughout his life.
"Harold." Clair giggled again. She couldn't imagine such a whimsical name for such a formidable man. But all that mattered was that they were to be wed.
Despite Clair's giggles and the oddity of the bride's side of the family, the wedding turned out to be the usual, traditional, emotional affair. Afterward in the receiving line, Ian stood with his arm wrapped around his bride's waist. He proudly introduced her for the first time as his wife to his family and friends. His life was now complete in a way that he had never known. He felt a sense of complete well-being. Clair was his. He had found his one true mate.
"Take care of her, young man. She has been a daughter to me," Victor warned kindly. "My Clair is special."
Ian nodded. "Yes, they broke the mold when they made her."
"No. That was Frederick, not Clair," Victor replied. He looked mildly confused as he moved aside to let other well-wishers congratulate the bride and groom.
Ian shook his head. He would have to get used to this. But as Clair smiled up at him, her eyes shining with pure joy, he decided she was well worth putting up with living around a nest of odd ducks and a few quacks. He'd mostly only see them at family gatherings, anyway. "I love you, Clair Huntsley," he said.
Clair grinned mischievously. "I love you too, Harold."
Hmm. Perhaps he would have to rethink the matter. Playfully, he swatted his wife on her nicely rounded behind. Harold? Just wait until he got her alone tonight.
Haunted Honeymoon
Clair came out of the water closet and glanced toward the balcony, where Ian stood in all his naked splendor. He was watching the last rays of the golden sunset give up the ghost and blend into shades of purplish gray, soon to be black. He wore a smug, satisfied leer on his handsome face.
"Thank you, God," she whispered. Thank you for listening to children's prayers, for creating the human heart and spirit which can survive against all odds. Which can love in spite of fear. Which can, despite loneliness and by your great grace, find love. And thank you most of all, God, for creating two people so right for each other and bringing us together.
Staring at her handsome husband, Clair was awed that he'd been able to create such a perfect person. "God," she said, "you've still got Uncle Victor beat in my book."
She walked past the lovely old four-poster bed and mussed linen sheets where she and Ian had made love earlier. Their joining had held a raw, primitive passion, each of them claiming the other in the ancient rites of love and lust, and Clair blushed at the memory. Reaching Ian, she tenderly wrapped her arms around his hard, muscular back, heated in spite of his nudity. He reached behind himself and pulled her into his arms, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head.
Clair sniffled, holding back her tears. In Ian's arms, she had found completion. It was a place so miraculous she would never leave it willingly. She hugged him more tightly, glancing out at the darkening sky.
"It will be a full moon tonight," she said and shivered.
Ian tucked his wife closer, his legs pressed to the outsides of hers. He leaned his head back and breathed deeply. He smelled sex, orange blossoms, and the scent of the coming evening. "I love the way the night smells and sounds," he said.
Clair tilted her head, leaning back to look at him.
He went on, "The night has its own music, the stars their own melody. The moon has a song which sings to me."
"So there is a poet buried inside you," she teased. "I thought that was only Asher."
"Hmph. Asher and his 'She walks in beauty,'" Ian sneered good-naturedly. "Poppycock."
"Poppycock? So, I'm not a beauty who walks in the night?" She loved teasing Ian.
He gently lifted her chin, pretending to study it with haughty thoroughness. "Some men might find you lovely. I find your jaw a bit too stubborn." That was for calling him Harold, he thought.
"Some men might find your gray eyes mesmerizing. I find them full of obstinate challenge." That was for bringing up the top-lofty Asher on their honeymoon. He didn't want to be haunted by a vampire's ghost.
"Some men might find your graceful manners most pleasing. I find them sadly lacking in decorum—a trifle hoydenish." That was for giggling in church at his first name.
"Some men might find you a handful." He grinned wolfishly, a predatory gleam to his eye as he cupped both breasts tenderly. "I find you… a handful."
So saying, he scooped her up and carried her inside, depositing her upon the rumpled sheets. He came down atop her, his nostrils flaring. "All in all, Clair Frankenstein Huntsley, I find you to be quite remarkable."
Lovingly, Clair gazed upon her husband's face. "And I find you to be more interesting than any supernatural species I have ever investigated. In point of fact, you are supernaturally magnificent all by yourself."
Ian grinned deviously and stripped off her robe. Clair was soon to be greatly surprised, he knew. He licked and nipped every inch of her flesh.
Squirming, Clair felt as if her skin were on fire. That area between her thighs began to tingle as Ian licked his way up her body. She looked down at his dark head buried between her legs and gasped. What was this? Did men and women really do this on their wedding nights? As Ian glanced up at her, a wicked grin on his face, Clair's thoughts all came tumbling out. "My, what big teeth you have."
The look he gave her would have melted a glacier.
"The better to eat you with, my dear." And he proceeded to do just that, nuzzling the honey-gold curls between her thighs. He sucked and bit, gently bringing on a climax that had Clair touching the stars. She screamed in delight.
Ian's grin was one of pure male arrogance in knowing that his mate was well satisfied, and soon he would be too. His erection was so stiff and heavy that he was afraid he would burst before he could savor her lush, tight warmth. Seconds later he was buried in her hot, pulsating heat.
Hungrily he attacked her mouth, feeding on its sweetness as he thrust into her with a savage rhythm. With indomitable spirit, Clair met him thrust for thrust, her body bucking wildly as he sucked on her generous white breasts. Again she screamed.
He was killing her with a pleasure so pure, Clair thought it must be tied to infinity and the creation of the cosmos. "I love you, I love you," she chanted over and over.
Ian could feel Clair's tremors beginning, and knowing she was about to climax he reared back and plunged deep one last time. She screamed again. He shouted, her loving words as well as her fulfillment bringing on his own. He found release in a hot burst, his seed flooding her warm dark depths.