“You might have to if you’re planning to stay long-term,” I replied with a laugh.
“Accidents happen at weddings all the time,” Santos called out, his voice deceptively light but eyes cold as a winter sea.
Amara’s eyes glinted as she squeezed my hand. “See? You have options.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, her fingertips lingering against my temple. “Besides, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, little sister.”
“I’m counting on it,” I whispered.
“There’s my bride.” Alaric’s voice drifted across the terrace like smoke.
He stood framed in the doorway, silver cufflinks catching moonlight, his smile transforming his face into somethingalmost vulnerable. Santos and Amara exchanged a single glance before melting away—Santos returning to his post, Amara no doubt seeking some fresh mischief to antagonize our father.
Alaric moved behind me, his chest warm against my back as his arms encircled my waist. His embrace felt like coming home after a long journey, his breath against my ear carrying notes of champagne and relief.
His breath warmed my ear. “What’s going through that mind of yours?”
“Right now?” I turned just enough to catch his eyes.
“All of this.” His chin gestured toward the scene beyond the glass.
The reception glittered before us—crystal catching light, champagne bubbles rising in flutes, laughter weaving between guests, a hundred pairs of eyes that had followed our every move since morning light broke.
“Remember when I mentioned wanting a fairytale? You’ve managed to conjure one out of thin air.”
His chest vibrated against my back with quiet laughter. “I aim to please.” His grip firmed around my waist as he turned me, the celebration beyond us fading to watercolor impressions.
Something in me still faltered when I looked at him directly—the sculpted features paired with that perpetual need for contact. Though perhaps I was the addict now. His fingertips grazing mine, his palm claiming the small of my back. Each touch a fix I craved more desperately than the last.
Alaric’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I saw Danielle slip out here earlier.”
My fingertips traced the edge of his lapel, feeling the fine texture beneath my skin. “Just sharing war stories. About you.”
“I can imagine what kind.”
“The intimate kind,” I replied, studying the microexpressions crossing his face.
He bent toward me, his lips nearly grazing my ear. “She lives with ghosts now.”
“If our positions were reversed, I might too.”
His eyes darkened as he pulled back slightly, his palm warm against my cheek. “You’ll never know that particular pain. What we have ends only when they lower us both into the ground.”
A delicious shiver ran through me at the conviction in his tone.
“Such certainty,” I murmured.
The smile he gave me belonged to a man who collected victories like others collected art.
“I have no concerns about your desire to stay.”
A small laugh almost escaped me. “The Dominion doesn’t exactly offer exit strategies.”
His smile faltered slightly. “We have rules between us.”
I nodded, remembering the night he’d laid them out in crisp, no-nonsense terms.
“Those rules are irrelevant when it comes to one simple fact,” he continued, voice dropping to something so intimate it felt like he’d reached inside my chest to touch my heart. “I will never let you go.”
Something shifted in the air between us—the current of our conversation taking a darker turn. His eyes, normally so carefully controlled, burned with an intensity that made my breath catch.