Black Soul, White Heart (Black Hat Bureau 3.50)

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes, Hiram Nádasdy, my Saint, I will.” She brushed her lips over his. “Poor dear, that means you must marry me too.”

Throat tight, he marveled at her open affection, at her easy forgiveness. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“We all must suffer divine punishment for our sins,” she said solemnly. “I just happen to be yours.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Hush.” She kissed him again. “Let’s cut you free and take you to see Papa.”

Once his hands were loose, he wrapped his tingling arms around Howl. “Are you sure?”

“That you ought to see Papa?” She touched the wound on his jaw. “Yes.”

“That you want to spend the rest of your life with a man you hardly know.”

“I can think of no greater adventure and no one I would rather share it with.”

“You’re not afraid of me?” The pressure in his chest built and built. “Of what I am?”

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she lamented. “I’m forever getting in trouble for it. Ask anyone.”

“Two years,” he forced himself to offer. “Two years to change your mind before we marry.”

“Challenge accepted,” she declared. “Two years to convince you that you can’t live without me.”

From the moment he saw her, working in her family’s stall, chatting with anyone, smiling for everyone, he knew in his bones he had been fundamentally altered by the simple fact such a shining light existed in his dark world. He ought to have left. He ought to have run. But he had stayed, she had asked him to, and his eyes ached from staring into the brightness of their future.

There was nothing left but for him to admit, “I’m already convinced.”

“Well.” Howl dusted her hands together. “That took less time than I—”

Hiram silenced her mouth with his, drawing her against him, heedless of the stares from the pack. He tasted her goodness, her kindness, and when her wicked tongue darted out to touch his, he was lost.

“Amalthea Vonda Winterbourne,” he spoke the words against her lips. “Marry me.”

“I already agreed.” She slid her fingers into his hair. “Perhaps your head wound is worse than I thought.”

“Tonight,” he murmured, “tomorrow morning.”

Delighted laughter flowed out of her and into him, filling every dark corner of his soul.

“Far be it from me to slow a man sprinting for the gallows,” she teased. “Assure Papa you’re of sound mind and body, and then we’ll see.”

“You saved me.” He stared down at her. “No one has ever saved me before.”

“Best get used to it.” She tightened her grip on him. “It’s a nasty habit, and I can’t promise to kick it.”

“Are you sure—?”

“Keep asking me, and I’ll think you’ve gotten cold feet.” She slanted him a look. “Mine are plenty warm. I wear wool stockings, you know.”

“You are a miracle.”

“You’re a flatterer.”

“You amaze me.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“You’re…”

“Don’t stop now.” Her eyes danced with mirth. “Things were just getting interesting.”

“…mine.”

“And, goddess help you, you’re mine.” Her features softened. “Till death do us part.”

“Till death,” he agreed, already certain he could never again live without her.