Chapter 108 — The Wedding, Part 2
Amara
He begins talking about love and marriage, but I’m not really listening. My attention is on the weight of the dagger at the side of my dress, the cool press of metal under silk. I wait for the final words—’til death do us part’—to fall from the man’s mouth. That’s when everything will change.
“Does anyone have any objections, or any reason why this woman cannot marry this man?”
Silence stretches like a held breath. The officiant pauses, the crowd leans in. I draw my hand closer to the seam, to the pocket where the blade hides, my fingers finding the leather-wrapped handle. My pulse thuds in my throat. I can already taste the copper of his blood on my tongue in imagination.
Before my hand reaches the seam, the ground roars.
A blast rips through the garden. Sound shreds the air—bone-deep, furious. I wobble; the world tilts and the aisle becomes a corridor of flying petals and scattering guests. Killian catches me before I can fall, his arm a vise around my waist even as he fights to stay upright. Around us, the crowd screams and chaos explodes into motion. Guards shout, boots pound. Somewhere the dome that kept the real world out—his little world—tears open and shreds into smoke.
Smoke climbs in thick, black fountains. Fire licks the sky where the outer wall used to be. I press my forehead against Killian’s shoulder for balance and squint through the haze. Three figures step out of the smog like ghosts.
“Yeah, I have a few objections.” Liam’s voice booms through the garden, stripped raw and real. Two men stand at his side—brothers, I think, backlit by ruin. My breath stops altogether.
He came. He found me. He’s here.
Killian’s face contorts—rage and disbelief churn across it. His hand darts for his gun. Now. Now is the moment. The shot I’d planned for, the angle I’d rehearsed a thousand times, will not line up the way I imagined. Liam standing here changes the choreography, but not the ending.
I clamp my fingers around the dagger like a lifeline. Steel is cold and steady in my palm. Before Killian can wrench his attention down to the sudden motion at my side, I move. Fast. Pure reflex and will.
The blade slides home.
He howls—half a shout, half a curse—when steel finds flesh. Blood blooms hot and immediate, dark against his suit. For a heartbeat his eyes stay fixed on Liam, then roll back to me. His expression shivers; I can’t tell whether he’s furious or amused. It’s dangerous to be so uncertain of him.
His hand closes over mine. His grip is iron—so tight I think my fingers might snap. He rips the knife free, and the force jerks my arm. Pain lances up into my shoulder, but I don’t let go. He yanks me forward; the dagger is slick, his blood sliding down the blade, and then he does something I didn’t expect: he presses the edge against my throat.
The tip kisses my skin, a hot, searing line. Blood beads and threads down my neck in tiny, trembling drops. Time fractures into fragments—the ringing in my ears, the slap of distant screams, the taste of metal at the back of my mouth. Killian’s other arm clamps around me, pinning me close so the blade and my pulse are one.
“Hello, Liam,” he growls, breath ragged and reeking of whiskey. “Nice of you to join us.”
Liam steps forward, all hard angles and care in his face. “Let her go, Killian.” The voice that’s always been soft with me now cuts like an edge. “I’ll make your death quick.”
For a wild second, I think of letting him take it—letting Liam be the one to end this—and then something inside me pushes back against the thought like a hot hand. This moment was carved out from me. I am the one who planned it, practiced it, bled for it. Not even Liam gets to steal the last breath of this night from me.
Killian presses the blade a little harder into my skin. Pain flames bright and immediate. I lock my gaze on Liam—on that familiar silhouette, on the person who taught me what safety could feel like. Liam looks back, fury and something like grief in his eyes. He’s not asking for mercy; he’s promising it.
Killian’s grin splits his blood-smeared face. “Now why would I do that, brother?” He laughs then—short, contemptuous. “She is, after all, mine. You’re about to learn what that means.”
Around us the guards form up like a snapping net. Orders barked in clipped voices. Men surge forward, a dark river of uniforms and rifles. Killian drags me backward, feet pounding on the stone—faster, farther into the fortress, the blade at my throat still hot and slick. I stagger, the world narrowing to the scrape of his boots and the wet warmth seeping down my skin.
The door slams and locks behind us with a final, stomach-dropping clang. Gunfire thunders through the halls, a savage percussion that chases after us. Voices scream, someone curses, and the distant echo of Liam’s shout fades as Killian hauls me deeper into his lair.
I taste blood, the stern tang of iron and adrenaline. My knees wobble, but I keep walking, driven by something colder than fear. This isn’t the end. Not yet. Not until he is.