Dimitri
The air seemed to still contain that musky scent, as if the very place itself refused to allow all the airing out that had been done to take effect, reminding you that this hall held history. It was the kind of history that snaked its way up your legs and settled in your bones, and it only took one glance at Zoey to know that I was right. Her arms were stretched across her own body, her hands clutched her own shoulders, as if she needed the reassuring hug to simply remind herself that she was part of the living.
I wondered how many of the dead stood in the Grove today to watch Corinne and I wed; I wondered if Arlo was here - if he was rejoicing in the fact that he was right, and that I was indeed marrying a Vedman.
We stood in a small Grove outside the town hall, the lush green a stark contrast to the rest of the French Quarter. Marie was draped in shades of blue, setting herself up as the Priestess of our wedding. Of course having a female Witch wed us was unconventional, but it was what Corinne wanted. And that was enough for me.
Marie pushed away from the crowd, gliding around us as she waved incense around, much like the Priests of old. She whispered words to the ground and the trees, blessing the space as she begged the earth itself to welcome our union.
A small group of our selected circle stood in the Grove awaiting Corinne's arrival. But I couldn't mentally tick off who had joined us because my gaze was suddenly riveted towards the small clearing that held a dirt pathway in and out of the Grove - the same pathway that Corinne now walked down.
But walk was far too tame a word - for Corinne didn't walk, she seemed to glide, as if the spirits themselves approved of this union and were carrying her on the backs of their history and promises.
She was breathtakingly magnificent. The lace of her dress clung to every curve and edge of her body, and in that moment, she didn't simply look like an Empress, she looked like a goddess.
I heard Ravi and some of my men mutter their approval at the sight of her, and while it shouldn't matter - didn't matter - it still eased an old ache within at the very idea that we were rebuilding our family - rebuilding the Bratva mirroring the old ways. Our guests seemed to link into a circle, surrounding us in a motion that seemed almost seamless - the work of the Witches no doubt.
She was breathtaking, and as she stepped before me there was no doubt in my mind that she would be the one to lead alongside me - to take the Bratva to even greater heights than the Pakhans of the past.
Her steps faltered, halting her before me in the center of the Grove. We both stood on a blanket of roses - in place of the traditional rose-colored cloth that those before me had stood upon.
"Hi." Her greeting was spoken on an exhale, and that one word somehow settled any sense of unease I may have harboured. She was so fucking devastatingly beautiful. Did she know how beautiful she was? Did she understand the effect she had on me? Because even seeing her in all her regal finery had me sporting a semi at my own goddamn wedding.
My hand seemed to engulf hers, calloused and dipped in sin. Corinne liked to think of herself as not wholly good, but in my world, she was all light - it was as if my very ability to breathe had somehow become tethered to her being.
I watched the pulse in her throat quicken as I wrapped my hand around hers. Marie didn't waste a moment as she stepped towards us, and began chanting softly in a way that no one other than Corinne and I could hear.
For a brief second, I wondered what Emily Rand made of this - made of our ceremony. She probably chalked it up to a Russian thing, but the truth was so much more complicated than that. The structure of the wedding followed the Russian tradition, but I knew that the little Vedmans had weaved their own shit into the day, and Marie seemed to be the start of it. She offered blessings and spoke of belonging to one another more than love or even a partnership. And in belonging to one another, we owed each other everything. Which was fine because the idea of Corinne belonging to me - of owning me - of building her life with me, meant more than what we spent on flowers and food - which was fucking expensive.
At the end of Marie's blessings and prayers, she produced two crowns - crowns that were the exact replica of the tattoos that Corinne and I sported. Her tattoo had healed nicely, and I had spent an obscene amount of time licking and kissing her inked crown, laving the area just beneath her breast - which turned out to be far more sensitive than I had realised.
The metal of Corinne's crown was cool against my fingers as I lifted the jewelled piece from Marie. It was fine and delicate - a perfect replica of Corinne, but the small diamonds that were embedded within the filigree of the crown showed her strength - her durability, just as the Empress she was.
Her breath puffed out before her and an unnatural quiet settled upon the Grove itself. I wondered what Emily Rand would do if Isis presented herself - how she would explain the phenomenon of the Egyptian Goddess away.
Corinne herself stood motionless, caught on an inhale, as if the very act of breathing might be too much for her crowning. My thumb grazed her forehead, and I watched in awe as goosebumps dotted the flesh beneath the lace covering her body. Even now, she was affected by me - by my touch.
Her hair was pulled back in a neat chignon, and this time I knew it was because of practicality rather than her mother's expectations. She had not wanted her hair to hinder the Crowning in any way. I heard Eli's grunt of disapproval in the background, and for the fluttering of a beat, I considered summoning Isis myself - just to watch the veiled threat unfold across the bastard's face.
And then Corinne exhaled, crowned in all her glory, and I heard the murmuring of the Russian words of acceptance and servitude as an unseen ripple passed through the crowd at her official acceptance and welcoming. I willed the violence simmering in my veins down, allowing it to bank to a cool flame, desire roaring up in its place. But my little Vedman was oblivious to my inner turmoil, stepping forward as she stretched up on her tiptoes, her vanilla scent capturing me in a way that made me think of the way her hair looked fanned across our pillows, her chest and neck flushed with desire.
But then the hard metal of the crown she pressed against my head dug into my skull, and instead, I grasped onto the pain - the feel of it all - because if I didn't, I would take Corinne in this Grove, regardless of who stood in attendance of this ceremony.
My hands still clasped Corinne’s, and Marie began winding the bright red thread around our wrists, binding us together in the Magickal tradition of handfasting. The red was an acknowledgment to her dress from the day before - the color of blood - the color of life itself. I held myself still, allowing myself to pant slightly, breathing in the scent that was uniquely Corinne. The process seemed to drag, and yet was over from one blink to the next, and perhaps that was an accurate summary of the entire wedding and traditions we each held dear.
A small bronzed goblet was thrust between us, and Marie motioned for both of us to sip upon the wine that it held within. The spicy scent spoke of cinnamon and warmth, and suddenly my mind flitted to winter months where Gluhwein was the drink of choice. But this wasn’t winter, and the wine held within had been personally mixed and anointed by Marie herself.
With our hands bound together, drinking from the goblet in unison was an impossibility. Corinne’s laughter seemed to bubble from her mouth, and suddenly I was thrusting the goblet against those plump lips, willing her to gulp down the essence of the wine a moment before I pressed my lips to hers, sipping the wine from her tongue, singing the taste of the beverage to my very soul. She moaned against me, the goblet pressed between us, and I no longer cared that I had an audience, no longer gave a fuck about the ceremony, I needed to taste her - struggled to recall a time when the taste of Corinne hadn’t been my favourite thing to dine upon.
A hand that wasn’t Corinne’s thrust against my chest, separating the two of us, and I couldn’t halt the animalistic growl that escaped me. Marie looked upon in blunt amusement, and once more I could only blink, willing my control back to the surface. How this woman had the ability to unravel me - to pick apart my control was enough to cause my stomach to clench in fear. Because there was Eli - watching every single interaction between Corinne and myself, categorizing every perceived weakness for when he chose to strike. As I allowed that icy control to surface once more, my gaze scanned the crowd, settling on Maxine, as if she held the answer to the question I would never voice.
Marie tugged on the bindings that held Corinne and I together at our wrists, demanding that we follow her as she walked around the sacred circle a total of three times. As she walked, she bent down low, allowing a handful of soil to slip through her fingers as she scattered the dirt to the wind. On our second turn, she burnt a small wreath of leaves, intricately woven in a way that seemed to have both mine and Corinne’s initials nestled in the twigs themselves. And by the third loop around the circle, the flames had petered out, leaving Marie to open a crystal vase-like bottle, dribbling water into the soil with each step she took. She brought us back to the center of the circle, once more instructing us to stand on the bed of rose petals beneath.
“What will you offer the Goddess that guides you - what will you sacrifice for a long, happy union?” Marie’s voice was low, casting the question towards us in a way that ensured that none of the guests allowed at this ceremony heard her question. I stilled, schooling my expression into that bland look that I had mastered over time.
“Blood.” Corinne pitched her voice low, but there was no mistaking the unrelenting surety within her tone.
“Very well.” Marie nodded as she produced a long flat blade that resembled a paper-opener - much like Corinne’s.