Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

She spun around to face him, her cheeks red and her nostrils flaring. “Are you for real?”

He brought his face close to hers. “You better believe it, little witch.” Nothing would ever be more real. “You have five minutes. Don’t make me come fetch you.”

It was hardly a love declaration, definitely not words one would expect from a groom and most definitely not fit for a bride, but it was what it was. They were who they were. Maybe they weren’t fated soulmates or anything romantic like that, but circumstances had brought them here and there was no going back.

Closing the door on her gorgeous face, a face filled with a stunning display of emotions that covered every dark one in the spectrum from loathing and injustice to disbelief and hate, he gave her privacy. If she was wise, she’d value that time. It was the last privacy she’d have.Chapter 30There was no denying the dress was beautiful, but Clelia hated it. She hated everything it represented. As she stared at the intricate knit, shaking with indignation, it was hard to believe there had ever been a time she’d love the man on the other side of the thick, wooden door. How could she have been so stupid? She’d been naïve, in love with an idea, not a man.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared at the symbol of many a young girl’s dreams. She’d had dreams, all right. A white dress, roses, and candlelight had featured in those dreams, as had Joss. Just not like this.

She looked around the small room. A lantern standing on the floor provided light, casting long shadows. Other than a chair and full-length mirror that had been considerately leaned against a wall, there was nothing. No window to escape through. No candlesticks to use as weapons.

Battling to come to terms with what was happening, she stood motionless in the center of the space. The earlier heat had evaporated, leaving her cold. The iciness inside this horrific prison emphasized how frozen she suddenly felt. Trapped.

There was no way out of this. She couldn’t escape the fate waiting outside the door. In less than five minutes, Joss was going to open that door and drag her to the altar. He’d dress her himself if he had to.

Furious, helpless tears slipped free as she shrugged off the coat and let it drop to the floor. More tears ran over her cheeks and plopped on the front of her dress, the wetness bleeding into the silk, but she let them. They were appropriate. Joss might be dressing her up in white and pretty, but she’d wear her tears. They’d be her truth, the reflection of her wedding day.

Her wedding day.

Her heart shriveled. Her knees buckled, but she pulled down the zipper at the back of her dress and let if fall on the discarded fabric of her coat. She abandoned the clothes in a sad heap on the floor as she stripped the dress roughly from the hanger, careless of the stitching or pearl buttons at the back. Indeed, a tearing noise sounded, but she didn’t pause to examine the damage. She stepped into the silk-lined wool, hating how the softness caressed her skin and how warmth bled into her body as the long sleeves covered her arms.

A knock sounded on the door. Joss’s voice carried through the wood. “Ready?”

Only then did she dry her eyes on the back of her hands and swallow back the rest of her tears. They were for her, not for him.

When she didn’t answer, he pushed open the door. The silver of his eyes lit with appreciation as he ran his gaze over her. “The priest is waiting.” He turned toward the altar.

“Why are you doing this, Joss?”

Pausing, he said without looking back at her, “It’s who I am.” After no more than a beat, he continued down the aisle.

Steeling her spine, she said, “I’m not doing this.”

He stopped again, this time turning slowly to face her. His expression was as unreadable as his voice, void of emotion. “Maybe this escaped you,” he said, walking back to her, “but I didn’t ask you to marry me.”

“No.” She looked up at him, her hands shaking with fury. “You’re ordering me to.”

His eyes thinned, crinkling in the corners. “I’m glad you understand.”

Clenching her hands into fists, she could only stare at him.

“I was going to wait for you at the altar like a groom, but maybe it’s better if you go first.” He swept an arm through the air. “After you.”

She wasn’t going to win. It was a battlefield he’d tricked her onto by clouding her defenses with lust. She should’ve run the minute she’d spotted the chapel. She should’ve known.

Joss raised a brow. “Tonight still, witch.”

Unable to keep the bite from her tone, she said, “Haven’t you forgotten something in all your foresight?”