She and Hers

4 - Damnable

Chiara

"They should be here soon," Holden murmurs, checking his watch for the tenth time in the last twenty minutes. He's wearing a light grey suit with a royal blue shirt that matches my dress (and Sam's eyes). The light grey makes his swarthy, dark skin appear even warmer, or maybe that's just the anticipation.

"Hanna went to the hair appointment this afternoon," I reply, rubbing his chest under his suit jacket soothingly. "Sam was fitted with his tux yesterday. They'll be here. Relax."

Holden tears his eyes from the entrance to look at me. "I love you," he murmurs, tilting his head down to capture my lips in a sweet kiss. His sinfully-long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks when our lips meet. I melt into him, my sweet man.

"Come inside and greet our guests," Cort's voice interrupts our moment.

I turn in Holden's embrace to face my dragon. I can't help but tremble, licking my lips when my eyes meet his. The hazel swirls dark, tiny pinpricks of red bleeding into the irises in an unspoken promise of punishment and violence. My jewelry matches that red glow. I know Cort notices. He sees the tiny rubies glittering in Holden's ears, too. We haven't forgotten our husband.

My body is sore with red-hot bruises under my clothes. Cort hasn't gone easy on me in the last couple of days. Our sex is raw and jealousy-fueled.

He kisses Holden gently before turning to me. When he embraces me, his heat pours over my exposed skin. He cups my ass and pulls me flush with his body. "Hurts?" he murmurs against my lips when I flinch.

"You went too hard," Holden answers for me. Another hand smoothes down my back and over my burning cheeks. In stark contrast to Cort's possessive hold, Holden strokes my bum sweetly, soothingly.

"Did I?" Cort looks at me in barely-concealed frustration over the hurt. Fire and brimstone dance in his gaze. He's practically vibrating, coming out of his human skin. Only the merest threads of control keep his scales from bursting forth.

I kiss him again. "I love it. You know that," I breathe against his lips.

He relaxes, but the banked fires can't hide the hint of concern still in his eyes. "Let's go inside," he commands. Cort wraps one arm around my elbow, and his other rests on Holden's back and guides us back into the ballroom. Typically, it's me in the middle with Holden, while Cort stands slightly apart from us. I see a few looks of surprise and avarice tossed our way. Rumor in the coven has always painted my marriage as a cold, loveless affair.

It's a terrible habit. How amusing, that such a smart, well-educated witch wouldn't ever fix this. Yes, at first, it was hard to bear Cort's touch. My trauma was real, so terrible that it still lingers, but that was years ago.

I can't keep publicly holding Cort at arm's length if I'm bringing Sam into our marriage. The coven would eviscerate both men. Cort would be the unwanted cuckold, and Sam, the lowly wolf who signaled the death knell of a powerful, important marriage alliance between the old-world drago and our modern New York coven.

I let my body curl into Cort's. I press my hands to his chest and lean onto him. Our bodies know each other, and his arm slides around my waist without hesitation. Let the coven stew and gossip.

Cort immediately knows my game. His hand drops to cup my sore bottom again, my six-inch stiletto heels putting it within his reach. I feel his body tense. "You're certain about this?" he asks.

I look up at him. Am I sure? Honestly, I don't know. I wouldn't trade my daughter for anything in the world, but my pregnancy was traumatic, to say the least. I barely slept for weeks after the incident, terrified that I would wake up in that cave with a pitiless monster wearing the face of my childhood best friend.