“We are vampires, Drake. The only way you will ever find peace is to embrace what you are. No way of life is perfect. Do you think all mortals find happiness in their marriages?” She shook her head. “Happiness lies in family, in tradition, in shared beliefs. I stay because my sons and daughters are here, because this is my home.”
“This was never my home,” Drake said bitterly. “It never will be.”
“I would spare you this, if I could.” A sigh of regret whispered past Liliana’s lips. “Your bride awaits.”
With a nod, Drake followed his mother down the corridor to the Council chambers.
Weddings among his kind were not romantic affairs. There was no music, no flowers, no guests other than the bride and groom, their parents and siblings. As Master of the Coven, Rodin would perform the ceremony.
Drake glanced briefly at his brothers as he entered the chamber. Notable by their absence were Vardin, Andrei, and Stefan. Earlier that evening, Vardin’s body had been disposed of, the ashes buried in the small cemetery located in the forest behind the Fortress. Drake assumed Andrei and Stefan were still at Wolfram with Elena. He would have given everything he owned to be there with her.
Liliana took her place beside Katiya’s parents.
Drake took a deep breath. With Vardin’s death, he had hoped for a reprieve, but he should have known better. His people had no mourning period. They burned their dead and never spoke their names again.
His last hope was that Katiya would find the courage to defy her father’s wishes. If she refused to go through with the ceremony, Rodin would have to accept her decision.
Taking his place beside Katiya, Drake reached for her hand. Her skin was cooler than usual. He could feel her trembling. She didn’t look at him; instead, she stared at the floor.
Rodin’s gaze moved over those assembled in the room. “You have been called here to witness the union of Drake Sherrad and Katiya Belova, here present. Drake, will you have this woman to be your life mate, to care for her and protect her so long as you shall live?”
Drake thought fleetingly of the nights and days he had spent with Elena, of the love they had shared, the light she had brought to his life, her willing acceptance of what he was.
It was his undying love for her, the very real fear that Rodin would make good on his threat to do Elena harm, that made Drake say, “I will.”
“Katiya Belova,” Rodin said solemnly, “will you have this man to be your life mate, to care for him and bear his children?”
Drake held his breath as he waited for her answer.
Katiya stared at Rodin and then at her sire, her eyes wide and scared, like a doe caught in a trap. She swallowed hard, then lowered her gaze and murmured, “I will.”
Drake blew out a sigh of resignation. There would be no reprieve.
Rodin pulled a small golden goblet from inside his jacket and placed it on the table in front of him. Taking Drake’s hand in his, he used his thumbnail to make a shallow cut in Drake’s palm, then held Drake’s bleeding hand over the goblet. He made a similar cut in Katiya’s hand, adding her blood to the cup.
Lifting the goblet, Rodin offered it first to Drake, who took a swallow, and then handed the cup to Katiya. She closed her eyes, drank quickly, and returned the goblet to Rodin.
“By the exchange of blood,” Rodin intoned, “and by my authority as Master of the Carpathian Coven, I hereby decree that from this night forward, Drake Sherrad and Katiya Belova are life-mated.” Rodin embraced the bride and then the groom. “May you be blessed with many healthy sons and daughters.”
Drake endured his sire’s embrace in taut silence; then, holding Katiya’s hand, he walked out of the chamber, his back rigid.
One of the drones had moved Katiya’s belongings into Drake’s quarters earlier that evening. His rooms, once spare and uncluttered, were now littered with female paraphernalia. Colorful pillows were scattered across the sofa. Half the wardrobe held her dresses and shoes. Bottles of perfume, sweet-smelling shampoo, brushes and combs occupied half the countertop in the bathroom. Flowered towels hung on the rack beside his own navy blue ones. He had seen a sheer black nightgown, most likely bought by the bride’s mother, spread across the foot of his bed. He grimaced at the memory.
Closing the door, Drake shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it over a chair, then turned to face his bride, his hands clenched at his sides. “Why did you not just say no?” He bit off each word.
“I was going to—I wanted to, but I lost my nerve when I saw my father watching me.”
Drake blew out an angry breath. Why was life never easy? If she had just refused to accept him, he could be on his way back to Wolfram Castle and the woman he loved.
Dropping down into the chair in the corner, he stretched his legs out in front of him and regarded his new wife over his steepled fingers.
She stood in the middle of the living room, looking lost, obviously as unhappy about their union as was he.
So. He had kept his word. He had wed Katiya. Elena was safely away from the Fortress. As far as he was concerned, she was still his wife and always would be. Rodin might have the power to perform weddings and proclaim annulments here, in the Fortress, but that authority carried no legal weight in the outside world. According to the laws of Transylvania, Elena was still his wife. And would remain so, if he had anything to say about it.
“What are we going to do now?” Katiya asked.
A slow smile spread over Drake’s face. “I have a plan. We are going to spend as much time as needed pretending to fall in love. Once we have convinced Rodin that we are happily married and have accepted things as they are, we are going to leave the Fortress for a belated honeymoon.”
“Leave?” She shook her head. “I was told you were going to take a seat on the Council.”
“One of the terms of my agreeing to this marriage was that Rodin find another to take my seat in the chamber.”
She considered that a moment before asking, “How long must we pretend to be happily wed?”
“That, my dear unwanted bride, remains to be seen.”
Elena had expected to be unhappy without Drake, but she hadn’t expected to feel so empty inside, as if someone had ripped out her heart and left a bleeding, gaping wound behind. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, but she had expected that, had known she would miss him, that she would grieve for him almost as if he had died. She had expected that, too. It was the depths of her misery that surprised her. She told herself she hadn’t known him very long, that it wasn’t as if they had been in love for years and years. And yet it felt as if she had lost a vital part of her being.