After Angelo’s quiet exit, Judge takes his place beside me to the right of the altar. Before us, the rest of the witnesses are already seated in the church pews. The building is dimly lit with only a soft glow, and though I’d still prefer not to be standing here in front of everyone, it is made easier by the fact that they can only see faint glimpses of me.
Within a few moments, the organist begins to play the music chosen for the ceremony. Ivy appears in the doorway with Abel at her side. I glance at him long enough to see the stone set of his jaw as he meets my gaze, but already, my eyes are drifting to my bride. A silhouette of black lace and roses. She is a haunting thing of beauty, and I almost expect her to disappear like an apparition, never to be seen again.
Abel guides her down the aisle, not exactly dragging her but urging her forward with a firm grip on her arm that continues to provoke my last nerve. His mouth is clearly swollen, and dark bruises are starting to form beneath the tight muscles in his throat. And still, he chooses to deliver his sister to me so willingly.
My heart beats in time to the music, and I don’t draw in a single breath until Ivy stands before me. Abel releases her, and she sways a little on her feet. Annoyance festers inside me as I consider the reason. Is it nerves, or has she been drinking?
When she has settled into her place, she tilts her chin up to look at me, and it’s impossible to miss the startled gasp that falls from her lips. The glow of the candles dances over us, highlighting my features in distorted shapes. Almost immediately, her eyes are drawn to the half-skull, and the roses slip from her hands to scatter around our feet. She looks startled, slightly embarrassed, and morbidly fascinated as she continues to study me.
I regret not allowing her to see me until now because more than anything, I wish we were alone for this moment. In my mind, I had played out this scenario so many times. I imagined all the ways it might unfold. Fear. Anger. Terror. I could easily see her running from me. Throwing herself in front of a car on the street rather than go through with this. I never imagined she might look at me the way she is right now. That she would want to study me. That she would find me so… intriguing.
I’m not certain how long we stand there like that. I don’t even realize I’ve reached for her wrist, anchoring her to me, until my thumb grazes over the warm pulse beating wildly there. Perhaps that is why she hasn’t moved. Her eyes drift to the large fingers wrapped around her, examining them as if they are a weapon. It’s tempting to release her, to see if she might still consider running, but I find that I don’t want to.
Regardless, there isn’t time to consider it. The music draws to an end, and we are both forced to focus on the priest. He instructs us to sit in the designated chairs on the platform, and so begins the traditional ceremony.
We open with a hymn, followed by readings from the Old Testament and the New. The priest speaks at length about marriage, gospel, and reflection, but I hear very little of it. When Ivy and I are united in front of the altar and asked to join hands, she offers them to me stiffly.
My fingers wrap around hers, noting she has grown cold and pale as if her reality is finally settling over her. She swallows and looks up at me from beneath her lashes, and I catch a glimpse of her oddly shaped pupil. Something she often tries to hide with her hair. That pupil was the source of much torment when she was a child, and the humiliation from her school days still lingers with her. When she is my wife, she will come to understand that I will not permit her to hide it from me or anyone else.
The priest begins the vow ceremony as I requested, opting to skip the formalities about coming into this marriage free of coercion and promising to love each other until we turn to dust. I don’t miss the uncomfortable glance he casts in my direction, but I choose to focus on my bride instead of whatever opinions he may have on the subject.
Ivy and I start by declaring our intent, and then I repeat the sacred words that include the only promise I can keep. I will take her as my wife. I will be faithful to her in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. The intensity in my declaration burns my voice and heats my gaze, seeming to unnerve my bride as she casts her eyes to the floor several times before returning them to me.
Her voice is a mere whisper when she repeats the same vows, yet she promises herself to me with a resignation I find equally frustrating and fascinating.
The priest acknowledges our consent and proceeds to bless us before we move onto the ring ceremony. Ivy receives my ring with my repeated promise of fidelity in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. When I slide the matching band to her salt and pepper diamond ring onto her trembling finger, I feel a sick sense of satisfaction. That feeling only amplifies when she does the same to me.
Following my requests, the priest does not direct me to kiss her before he pronounces her as mine. That is something to be saved for the privacy of another time, where her disgust cannot be so visible to all my brethren.
We are united in prayer and then greet the witnesses to exchange a sign of peace, followed by communion. After our last nuptial blessing, we are dismissed with the intentions of meeting our guests back at the compound.
When I reach for Ivy’s arm, wrapping my cold fingers around her skin again, she shivers. She keeps her gaze forward, but it is impossible not to notice how slight she feels in my grasp. As we walk down the aisle and out to the street where a driver is waiting with a car for us, I can feel the unsteadiness in her gait once more. It is only when she climbs into the car that I see she is still barefoot.
Marco shuts the door after I’m securely seated next to my bride. The privacy divider is already up, sealing us into a tomb-like silence.
Ivy wrings her hands together in her lap as the car lurches forward. She appears nervous, as she should be, but her fear does not satisfy me quite as much as I’d hoped.
“Where are the shoes I bought you?” My voice booms through the space between us.
She peeks up at me from beneath her lashes and begins to study the artwork on my face again. I watch her carefully for signs of her true feelings, but I only see her curiosity. It perplexes me beyond measure, and it irritates me more than I could have anticipated. She is supposed to be disgusted by me. She is supposed to hate me. This is the natural order of things.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she asks quietly. “In the confessional. Your cologne—”
The muscles in my spine turn rigid at her observation. I did not expect her to be so… perceptive. She should know better than to ask me such a question.
“Do you mean when you begged God not to let you marry a monster?” I sneer.
“That isn’t what I meant—” She sucks in a breath and shakes her head. “You’re twisting my words around.”
I turn my gaze toward the window, stewing in my aggravation. What a disobedient little surprise she has turned out to be. Challenging me already. Refusing to wear the shoes I bought her. Questioning me as if she has a right to do so. As if a Moreno could ever possess the authority equal to a Sovereign Son. In her mind, she is probably glad for the match. This is, after all, what her family wants. Elevation. Money. Power. Attaching herself to me will give her all those things. And at her core, I have no doubt Ivy is just the same as her mother. She may have toyed with the notion of a different life, but she chose to marry me just the same. It would be foolish of me not to believe she has her own motivations, and whatever they may be, she will never have my trust.
I am relieved for her reminder of our respective roles. It is up to me to let her know this behavior will not be tolerated, and there is no reason it should wait. Ivy may have readily attached herself to me, but she will come to understand the only wedded bliss she is to receive are the punishments I dole out.
The ride is over after a few brief moments, and when Marco turns off the ignition, I tap on the glass and instruct him to leave us. He does.
The street is dark outside, only the lamplight filtering into the car. But it does little to hide the tremor in my bride’s body as I turn to her and reach for her face. I’m determined to put her in her place at once, but when she tries to hide her strange eye from me, my intentions are momentarily displaced.
“Don’t,” I warn her as she tries to adjust her hair. “I want to see it.”
She freezes, and our gazes collide. And for the first time, I realize that perhaps Angelo was right. It is difficult to hold onto my anger in the face of her beauty. As my fingers drift down to the beating pulse in her throat, I can’t decide if I want to kiss her or strangle her.
“Never hide your defects from me,” I tell her. “They are mine to enjoy now.”
“But… I hate it.” Her voice wavers.
A hollow laugh echoes from my chest. “Perhaps I quite like it.”
She seems taken aback by my strange response, as am I. My grip tightens, and then I release her. I don’t understand what she’s doing to me.
“Please,” she begs, her hand hovering near her hair.
“You seem to be under the impression that you can do as you like,” I answer coldly. “Do I need to remind you of the basic rules of The Society? The rules you swore an oath to?”
She sucks in a sharp breath and unconsciously curls into herself. She understands the meaning of my words quite clearly.
“I don’t need a reminder,” she answers softly.
“Yet, you will receive one regardless.”
Outside, I can hear the footsteps of members passing into the courtyard. The marking ceremony is set to begin momentarily. But I have a promise to keep, so it will have to wait. I open the door and gesture for Ivy.
She steps out of the car and lets out a small shriek when I hoist her up over my shoulder, her bare feet dangling beneath the fabric of her dress. We receive a few curious glances as I enter the courtyard and veer away from the chair and table waiting for her in the center. My footsteps are swift and certain as they echo down the corridor to the small, private chapel for members only.
The door creaks shut as I step inside and stalk toward the altar, where I deposit my disobedient wife onto her feet. A warm red glow from the glass votives illuminates her face as she dares a glance up at me. Frustration breeds my dark desires, blood coursing violently toward my cock and hardening it to the point of pain.
I have thought about punishing her since the temptation of marrying her sowed itself in my mind. Patience has been the only virtue I’ve possessed since the explosion. The notion that someday, every Moreno would suffer as I have. So it is difficult for me to reconcile that more than anything, right now, I want to feel her.
Once will not be enough to satiate my needs tonight. Her scent intoxicates me. The warmth of her flesh beckons me in the strangest way. I need… something from her, but I can’t even be sure what it is.
The intensity of her gaze feels like a violation, so I spin her in my arms, making her gasp. One arm hooks around her waist and bends her over the wooden altar while the other comes to rest on the delicate lace covering her back. The veil is obscuring all that I want to see, so I rip it off and discard it onto the floor. She falls into complete stillness as I trace over the black satin buttons adorning the curve of her spine, pausing to appreciate the beauty of her form cinched up so elegantly in this dress.
“You should know if I give you something, I expect you to wear it,” I tell her roughly.
“I couldn’t,” she whispers.
My hand falls away from her back, and I gather up handfuls of the fabric skimming over the wooden floor. When I tug it up to reveal her bare thighs, her body goes rigid beneath me.
“What are you doing?” She peeks over her shoulder, daring a glance at my face.
“Punishing you.”
The moment the words leave my lips, she tries to jerk away, but I press her down firmly with my palm in the center of her back. Her face is mere inches from the heat of the candles, her chest heaving as she glances around for an invisible savior. There are none to be found for her here.
I shove the fabric up around her waist, revealing the perfect curves of her hips and ass on display in a tiny scrap of black lace. My eyes roam over the untouched landscape of her body, and I stifle the agony building in my throat, forcing myself to remember why we are here.
I reach for a candle, and Ivy’s breathing escalates as she tries to crane her head back.
“Santiago.”
The plea in her voice rips through me with surprising efficacy. My fingers are wrapped around the candle, frozen. I blink at her, stunned by my reaction, and then shake it away.
Dragging the glass across the wood, I savor the way her body trembles beneath my palm. When I am satisfied that I have sufficiently drawn out the anticipation, I slip my fingers beneath the delicate band of her panties and tear it into two pieces. Repeating the process on the other side, I let the scrap of fabric fall to the floor until she is bare for me.
My palm curves over her ass, and I silently shudder as my fingers knead into the warmth of her flesh. I could take her now, but it wouldn’t be enough. I need so much time for the things I want to do with her.
I dip my palms down to her inner thighs and force them farther apart until I have a beautiful view of her pink pussy glistening in the candlelight. The sight of her undeniable arousal makes my breath hiss between my teeth. I know it must be a fear response, but I’m aching to touch her there, to see it for myself, and I almost do. But first, I have a promise to keep.
I drag the glass votive over the curve of her spine and into the dip of her lower back. The warmth against her delicate skin makes her arch for me, and she sucks in a breath and begins to plead with me in earnest.
“You don’t have to do this, Santiago.”
“Yes. I do.”
I hold her firmly in place with one hand and tilt the jar with the other. The first drop of wax splatters against her ass, making her hiss. I watch in fascination as it drips all the way down to her thigh, hardening within seconds. She jerks beneath my palm, and I press more of my weight into her, tilting the candle again on the other side. Another river of wax bleeds down her flesh, and I find that I could do this all night.
Ivy’s breathing gradually begins to settle as I pour another drop. She stops fighting me altogether when my free hand snakes up her back to settle on the nape of her neck. Warm fingers caress her there as I paint the lower half of her body like a canvas. Scarlet blooms across her ass as I repeat the process over and over again, creating long meandering streams all the way down to her calves.
She is obedient and still, nails digging into the wood when I finally set the candle aside and admire my work. I have no doubt it stings, but she did not shed a single tear. I drag my palms over her ass, brushing the hard wax away, and in the process, it exposes her pussy to me again. When the cold air hits between her thighs, she squirms in my grasp and then nearly jumps out of her skin as I slide my fingers over the moisture gathered there.
“How strange it must feel to like such a punishment,” I murmur.
Her voice is strangely absent as I slide my fingers back and forth through her wetness, toying with her clit with torturous slowness. After a few passes, she begins to melt onto the table, her body going slack as her eyes shut. She is no longer arching to pull away but arching into my touch instead. I press my body against her, playing with her pussy as I drag my fingertips through her hair, gathering a fistful and tugging until her head bows back. My lips hover over the skin of her neck, inhaling her. A shiver moves through her and my teeth graze down over the length of her shoulder before I bite into her skin, marking her. She whimpers as I press my hardness against the soft flesh of her ass and dip a finger inside her.
“Never forget who this belongs to,” I growl into her ear.
She moans as I tease her so slowly it must feel as agonizing for her as it does for me.
“Say the words.” I tighten my grip on her hair, disregarding the unrecognizable roughness in my voice.
“Santiago,” she pants. “Santiago De La Rosa.”
I groan into the sweetness of her skin, my fingers working without mercy as I bring her to the edge of sanity. It would not take much to make her come. Already, she is biting her lip, trying to contain the strangled noises in her throat. I bring her so close she can taste it. Every muscle in her body is tensing. A few more strokes and she could be free.
Right before she falls, I stop and pull away, leaving her aching and swollen for me. Agony is the only gift she deserves. When she opens her eyes and glances over her shoulder, she looks confused and frustrated by her own response. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t too.
I drag the fabric back over her hips and cover her. Slowly, she brings her body upright, and I pull her toward me. My fingers come to rest on her jaw, our breaths only an inch apart.
“Close your eyes.”
She does as I request, and I tilt my head down to meet hers. She does not recoil as I’d expect when my lips graze hers. It is only a second and nothing more, but it’s enough to feel what it’s like before she truly learns to hate me. She opens her eyes and peers up at me, studying me too intently for my liking.
“Now, thank me for being so lenient,” I tell her.
“Thank you,” she answers bitterly.
The torment in her eyes unsettles me, and I’m not sure why it compels me to stroke her cheek, showing her a softness she doesn’t deserve, at least for a moment.
“Prepare yourself,” I order. “The time has come for you to bear my mark.”