Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

“With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship.” Cristiano commanded my attention, and again, the others fell away. As his dark eyes drank me in, I only wondered how, if he’d not been to many weddings, he knew what to say. Or why he seemed to say it with such vehemence, as if he meant it.

It wasn’t like he needed anyone in this church, not even the reverend, to believe it.

“With all my worldly goods,” he continued, “I thee endow—en el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Prometo amarte y respetarte todos los días de mi vida. Amén.”

He hesitated, as if he half-expected me to repeat the words back to him.

I promise to love and respect you for all the days of my life.

My new husband was turning out to be a riddle.

But I wouldn’t mock the church and say what he asked of me.

A man in cowboy boots and a matching hat appeared out of nowhere and clomped down the aisle to us. “¡Felicidades!” he said. “Congratulations to the happy couple.”

“Remove your hat in the church,” Cristiano said.

“Of course.” The man did as he was told and held out a folder.

Cristiano opened it, looked over some paperwork, and rearranged the pages. Satisfied, he turned the file around for me. “Sign.”

I glanced at the sheet on top. “What is it?”

“To legalize the marriage with a civil ceremony.”

“Why all this trouble?” I asked, shaking my head. “You could take me to the Badlands and imprison me there whether we’re legally married or not.”

“I have my reasons.” He nodded at the cowboy, who patted his pockets before producing a pen. “Sign.”

I started to protest, but what could I say? And what did it matter? Signing on the devil’s dotted line was no more permanent than the verbal agreement I’d already given. I had lost this battle already, and I feared I’d need my strength to fight bigger battles later.

The man started to put his hat back on, then seemed to remember Cristiano’s order and held it to his chest. “I’ll need those medical records, compañero. They’re supposed to be done weeks in advance.”

“I’m grateful for all the concessions you’ve made for my wife,” Cristiano said, returning the folder to the man once I’d signed. “You have a friend in Calavera.”

“Gracias, de la Rosa,” the cowboy said, slipping the paperwork under his arm. He bowed to me, replaced his hat, and returned from wherever he’d come.

I found myself staring at Cristiano like everyone else in the church. He thought himself a god and expected the same of others.

He’d called me his wife. My fingers and toes curled. I was what my mother had been to my father. In some ways, it was a stretch—the devotion between them had run deep, the love profound, and here I was marrying a man who I knew little better than I did a stranger. Yet that wasn’t true. Cristiano had been a constant presence in my life, even after he’d left. There were similarities to our marriages too. My mother and father had trusted Cristiano with their lives and now, I was putting that same faith in him.

Trusting him with my eternal life as we descended into hell.

Promising him my love everlasting while my heart belonged to another.

Cristiano turned to the priest. “Finish it.”

Father Rios nodded. “You may kiss the bride.”

Cristiano gestured for my bouquet. For strength, I called upon a moment in which I hadn’t feared Cristiano. A sunlit afternoon many years ago when he’d carried baskets of daisies and morning glory. I’d held Mamá’s hand on our way back to the house, turned, and caught him smelling the flowers. He’d winked at me. I’d laughed, thinking it funny back then that it was more unusual to see him toting flowers than it would’ve been a gun.

I prayed, for my sake, that man still lived in him.

He took my rosary from my nerveless fingers, pocketed it, and then passed my bridal bouquet to a guard, who handled it with surprising care.

Cristiano cupped his hands around my jaw. He had to stoop a good deal to meet me, even as he lifted my face the rest of the way. He waited there, his unforgiving eyes boring into mine as if trying to read my thoughts. I had only one mounting thought, though.

Please, let this be another nightmare, for the darkness I’ve resisted welcomes me too easily.

Let Cristiano dematerialize into the black shadow that haunts my sleep.

Let him have mercy.

Let him release me.

He pressed his lips to mine, their yielding fullness a stark contrast to the firm hands that held me in place. He inhaled sharply, as if he’d surprised himself as well. My heart pounded. His mouth parted, and mine did the same, granting him access that he seized, plunging his tongue inside to find mine just as eager. I gripped his elbows as his fingertips dug into my cheeks, my knees threatening to give out. It was a kiss that promised lovemaking in one breath and fucking in the next.