The Vampire Prince and His Brat | On Hold

Chapter Ten | The Brat's Wedding Part III

She was expecting the sharp sting of the knife, but it still made her wince. Her pain tolerance wasn't the greatest, and it had given her no small amount of trouble whenever she'd tried to exercise. Eventually, she'd figured it wasn't worth the bother. As long as she went on short walks and monitored her meals accordingly, she wouldn't gain any weight. Her metabolism was fast enough, and she'd never had that large of an appetite, so she wouldn't be enjoying the fast approaching feast at the end of the main ceremony.

Blood trickled down from the cut in her hand, dribbling down into the cup she knew was positioned there to catch the sticky red liquid. She still couldn't see yet, thanks to her fiancé being a complete and utter bastard. He brought her bleeding hand to his lips, tongue tracing over the wound, his saliva helping to knit the wound back together. Her healing rate was abysmal for a vampire... yet another thing Leviathan probably had to add to his growing list of her flaws. Scowling, she pulled her hand back, grateful the worst of the ceremony was over and done with. All that was left was the Blood Binding, followed by a small sip of the cup she'd just emptied some of her blood into. It was a mix of her own and Leviathan's so she doubted it would taste nice. She knew her own was fairly sweet, courtesy of licking her own wounds quite literally, but the bastard's just had to be as bitter as anything. Neither of their bloods couldn't complement the other's. There was no way it could... no way it could symbolise a happy marriage.

Her fingers ran over the edge of the cup, feeling the runes carved into the sides of the metal. The runes and Blood Magic of the Order of Blood Monks had always intrigued her, not that she'd ever get to learn more about it. She didn't have Blood Magic, and they were highly secretive about their ways. She'd never get to learn more about runes. Her shoulders slumped. All the equipment and ceremonial items used by the Blood Monks were runed, and the only time she'd known she'd ever encounter one of their order would be at a wedding... she'd just never imagined it'd be her own. Swallowing back the bile threatening to rise in her throat, she took a breath, trying to calm herself down. Blood Binding was irreversible. She was about to be bound to the bastard of a prince, tied together by ancient laws – the ancient magic of the vampire bloodline being woven into their very blood by the monk in front of them. There was no way to undo that kind of binding. The magic dated back centuries, all the way back to the very creation of their race by their God, Skora – the First God of the Quartet, one of the two Winged Gods, creator and ruler of the afterlife. They'd been the first race to be created, much to the annoyance of their werewolf cousins. They were first, said to be the noblest of all races. Hence why so many of the vampire nobility were said to have sticks lodged up their backsides. Leviathan didn't seem to have too much of one though, if she were being completely honest.

Ribbon wove around her wrist like a snake, binding her arm flush against Leviathan's. Bare skin met her own, shivers racing down her spine at the hum of power emanating from the slip of cloth. It felt ancient, just as Skora's magic was said to be. It felt wrong. Dizziness made her slump against the bastard sitting next to her, images flittering across her covered eyes as she half-lay there, confused as to what the hell was going on.

Black feathers. Silver blood. Purple eyes.

"Sweetheart, I know you love lying on me, but I kind of need my arm back now," Leviathan murmured, pushing her back upright, reaching out to take the cup. "Now, tradition dictates that my sweet wife is supposed to drink first..."

A sinking feeling weighed down the pit of her stomach. Leviathan was doing something. He was totally about to do something... and she wouldn't enjoy that something, whatever it was. Her instincts were proven right seconds later.

Leviathan's hand pulled her back against him, an arm wrapped around her, preventing her from moving, and that same hand from before came to tilt her face up. "What are you doing?" she hissed, eyes widening under the blindfold as lips met her own, prying them apart in the same breath, and then the sweet taste of blood filled her mouth.