“To guard your life with mine,” I say. “In light and in shadow. In peace and in war. Until there is no breath left in me to stand between you and harm.”
She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t look away.
Her voice, softer but no less unbreakable, cuts straight to me.
“To stand beside you,” she vows, “not behind you. Not beneath you. No matter the war. No matter the cost. I choose you. Always.”
I feel a shift in the room. Even my brothers feel it—this is not romance born of fantasy, but of survival. Of choosing each other after the fire.
When I kiss her, it isn’t hurried. It’s deep. Certain. A seal rather than a celebration.
And then—the room erupts.
Cheers. Laughter. Applause.
This time, we don’t rush out of the venue. We linger, moving among the guests. I watch her laugh, watch her chat effortlessly with the other wives, and something in my chest melts—a slow, steady warmth I’ve always wanted for her.
Sasha hugs her tight, beaming. Elara steps up to compliment her dress, eyes sparkling. Vivian moans dramatically over the food, clearly impressed. Sienna smirks, shaking her head. “You’re the first Rusnak wife to have two weddings in less than six months,” she says, and Raelyn laughs, bright and unrestrained.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Alive, radiant, surrounded by people who adore her. And finally, finally, I get to just watch, just be, and know that she’s safe. That she’s mine.
Always mine.
As soon as we walk into our room that night, I grab her arm and turn her to me.
“I’ve wanted to bury myself in you since the moment you walked into the garden in this gown, Raelyn,” I say. “Get on the bed.”
Giggling, she kicks off her shoes and climbs into bed. I watch her as she crawls across the silk sheets, the heavy fabric of the wedding gown rustling around her like a shifting cloud. The sight of her—decked out in diamonds and lace, looking like a queen and a captured prize all at once—sends a surge of possessive heat through me that makes my vision go dark at the edges.
I don’t even take off my jacket. I just move, my boots heavy on the floor until I’m at the edge of the bed, looming over her. She’s still giggling, her cheeks flushed from the champagne and the dancing, but when she looks up and sees the look in my eyes, her breath hitches. The playfulness shifts into something deeper, something far more dangerous.
“You have no idea,” I rasp, my voice sounding like a low, jagged growl. “Watching you…knowing that under all this silk and lace, you’re already marked by me. It nearly drove me through the wall.”
I reach out, my hands trembling with the effort of holding back, and grab the hem of that massive, white skirt. I bunch the fabric up in my fists, dragging it upward until I see the pale, smooth skin of her thighs and the delicate lace of her garter.
“You’re my wife,” I mutter, the word feeling like a brand on my tongue. “My wife. And tonight, I’m going to remind you of that until you can’t scream anything but my name.”
She reaches out, her small hands catching the lapels of my tuxedo, pulling me down toward her. “Then stop talking, Konstantin,” she whispers, her eyes flashing with that same bold fire from before. “I’ve been waiting for you to claim me since the moment I walked down that aisle.”
I dive in, my mouth crashing against hers as I tangle my hands in the tulle and silk, desperate to find the woman hidden beneath the finery.
“Take it off,” I command, my voice thick with a hunger that feels like it’s clawing at my throat. “I want to see you out of this dress and underneath me. Now, Raelyn.”
She rises to her knees, her eyes locked on mine as her fingers reach for the intricate row of silk buttons trailing down her spine. She moves slowly, intentionally, the fabric slipping an inch at a time to reveal the creaminess of her shoulders and the dip of her back. The diamonds at her throat catch the light, shimmering with every shallow breath she takes.
The sight is exquisite. It’s torture.
Watching her struggle with the heavy lace, her movements graceful and agonizingly slow, snaps the last thread of my control. The growl that rips from my chest is animalistic, vibrating through the room as I lunge toward her.
“To hell with the dress,” I rasp, my hands catching her waist and hauling her toward the edge of the mattress.
I don’t wait for her to step out of the silk. I don’t wait for her to unfasten the jewels. I simply bunch the voluminous skirts of the gown upward, the white tulle and satin rustling frantically as I shove them out of the way. My hands find the heat of her thighs, my thumbs digging into her skin as I spread her wide right there in the center of all that ruined finery.
I strip myself of what I need to, my movements jagged and frantic. I don’t give her a second to catch her breath. I guide myself to her entrance and drive home in one heavy, punishingthrust, burying myself to the hilt while she’s still draped in the very lace she wore to say I do.
The contrast is intoxicating—the pure, pristine white of the wedding gown crushed beneath my weight, her head thrown back against the silk pillows as she lets out a sharp, shattered cry of surprise and pleasure.
“You’re mine,” I growl into her ear, my teeth grazing the lobe as I begin to move with a relentless, driving pace. “In this dress or out of it, you’re mine to take. Do you hear me?Mine.”