Faery Wedding (3 page)

“You!”

“Yeah, doll. You said that.” His grin grew wider, as though he found the whole situation highly amusing. Ash actually lifted a hand, the urge to wipe the grin off his face almost too much. “I know I’m good looking and all, but I didn’t expect to make you repeat yourself. Although,” he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “You can repeat ‘Oh Gods, Dev, yes!’ all you’d like later.”

Ash froze as surely as if someone had poured a bucket of ice-cold water down her spine. He’d lied to her, or rather hadn’t told her the truth even when he’d known who she was. Known she was worried about the wedding today.

Bastard.

Cold, hard as nails, perfect Fae Lady,
she reminded herself. Pulling back just enough to look him in his sexy-as-hell green eyes, she smiled. She’d been told she had a pretty smile, when she chose. This was not one of those times.

Instead, she reached inside herself and sought the darkness in her blood, the darkness that circled through her veins and stole her ability to scream. Releasing her hold on it, she let it fill her eyes and power the smile.

“I don’t think so,
My Lord.
Do you?”

She was pissed. The realization took Dev back a little.
Contrary little madam
. He’d thought she’d be glad she was marrying him, not the old fossil she’d thought she was being shackled to. Where was the delighted, happy little sprite he’d expected to see? Not only expected to see, but expected to be thanking him profusely for saving her from a fate worse than death, preferably showing that gratitude later in their bedchamber.

“Are we ready to begin?” The Priestess in front of them asked, all benign happiness, as she gazed down on the ‘happy couple’ totally oblivious to the fact the groom was perplexed and the bride looked ready to lynch anyone who argued with her. He’d seen it before with his father’s second—or was it third?—wife. It started with sharp looks, and before you knew it, it was all pitchforks and burning torches.

“Yeah, might as well get on with it. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Ash yawned and studied her nails. Dev gritted his teeth and ignored the urge to shake her. What the fuck was wrong with her? Couldn’t she see what an honor he was doing her?

“Ahh…yes. Um, okay.”

The priestess’s smile wavered in the face of the sarcastic comment, but she quickly recovered, the panicked look in her eyes fading once more into the benign joy that was beginning to bug the crap out of him. Not for the first time he wondered whether the Great Mother’s priestesses were on something, or smoked something. They were into all the herbal stuff, and there were some weird-ass herbs out there.

The priestess raised her hands in welcome, looking out over the congregation. “My lords, ladies and…err…gentlemen.” Dev sighed as she caught sight of his father, standing to his right. True to form, Lord Archer had ignored ‘acceptable behavior in company’ and gone right through to ‘the best way to embarrass every member of my immediate family.’

Currently he was making a crude gesture with his tongue at the Rubenesque priestess. Which was bad enough. What was worse was that he’d acquired a tongue piercing since Dev had seen him two days ago. Something which did not make him look hip, happening, or in the least cool. It just made him look more of a pervert than he already was. He sighed and turned back toward Ash. Her back was rigid, and her lips pursed in displeasure.

Wonderful. Between the snow queen and Casanova, this was going to be a great wedding.

Things didn’t get better for Dev. The ceremony went off without a hitch, if you discounted the fact the priestess was blushing so much her face resembled a lobster, and his bride looked ready to commit murder. Her vows had been said in a tight, clipped voice, and when he’d gone in for the traditional kiss the look on her face would have rivalled Medusa’s. Who, as Dev recalled, had been a very nice lady indeed. Just a bit sensitive about her hair.

They posed for the photos in a stony silence that took him aback. And to think he’d been worried about being driven mad by the inane chattering of his Fae bride, he mused as he eyed up the gaggle of gossiping blondes stood off to one side as they waited their turn in the spotlight of the photographer's camera. All Sidhe, and the sort of blonde bimbo that proved the race was way too interbred.

His gaze slid to his petite, curvy bride. She wasn’t Sidhe, that much was obvious. He’d known that as soon as he’d seen her last night. For one thing, there was
way
too much power surging through her veins. Quite what she was he didn’t know, and that piqued his interest.

“You take after your father, don’t you?” he asked as the photographer positioned them for yet another photo. Dev glared at him when his hand lingered longer around Ash’s slender waist than was proper. It was the sort of look that plainly said ‘try that again buddy, and I’ll take it off at the wrist.’

It was no false show of male bravado either. Although he counted himself as—no, prided himself on being a new man—Dev was quickly finding out that his instincts regarding Ash were not only archaic, they were downright Draconian.

She finally favored him with a look. Since she’d managed the rest of the ceremony and most of the photos without looking at or speaking to him, he counted it as a minor victory. Even if her brown eyes lacked the warmth of earlier, and were instead filled with enough ice to freeze his ass at a hundred paces.

“No. I take after my grandmother.”

Dev smiled with genuine pleasure at the crack in her ice-queen façade. Sharing personal information like that was a good start. He scanned the guests around them, trying to spot a lady who was likely to be her grandmother.

“Is she here? I’d like to congratulate her on her beautiful granddaughter.”

Try as she might to maintain the ice queen manner, Ash couldn’t. Her lips quirked of their own accord as her handsome groom looked around hopefully, as if he expected to see her grandmother mingling with the guests.

Just the thought of Babsheba mingling with the wedding guests had a chuckle of amusement just waiting to escape. The only time her grandmother would circulate would be if she could grab an arm or leg as a snack. Not for the first time, sadness welled up and obliterated her amusement. Her grandmother had been absorbed into the Host two years before, and Ash missed her terribly. If Babsheba had been here today then her family, not even her father, would have dared sell her off to pay their debts.

“She…isn’t with us anymore.”

He slid a sideways look toward her, and reached out for her hand. Even though she’d hardened her heart against him, after all he’d lied to her about who he was, she couldn’t resist that small gesture of comfort.

She opened her mouth to thank him, but didn’t manage to get the words out before a familiar figure stepped into her line of sight. Even though she tried to control the reaction, her body instantly stiffened as her father stopped in front of them.

His ice-blue gaze flicked over them both. The familiar hint of contempt was in them as he looked her over, but warmed considerably as they reached Deverell.

“Good show, old chap.” He thrust a pudgy hand in Dev’s direction for a handshake. “Welcome to the family and all that. Damn glad you came along. We were worried we’d never get her married off. Thought she was batting for the other team at one point.”

Her father’s harsh words didn’t surprise her, and Ash was far too used to being the butt of her parent’s jokes for it to sting too much. Usually her family allowed it. Pack mentality, which ensured that they all turned on the ‘runt.’ What did surprise her, though, was Dev’s reaction.

He shook her father’s hand firmly, with a decidedly masculine shake, but then didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned in, power coiling around him and sending the witching into a frenzy. For an instant, she caught sight of his dragon armour as his anger cast scales over his skin.

“If you
ever
attempt to embarrass my wife like that again, De Silve, I’ll drag you through so much shit your family will be a laughing stock for years,” he promised in a cold, clipped voice. “Never forget I hold you and yours in the palm of my hand. Especially as you modified our original agreement.”

Her jaw dropped open, surprise running rampant through her veins, as her father went beet-red. Dev growled, an honest to goodness growl, as his hand all but crushed the older man’s.

“Well?”

De Silve looked at her, his eyes full of resentment and humiliation. “Lady Hunter, I beg your apologies, my comments were out of line.”

She didn’t know what to say. Not once in her entire life had her father apologized to her. She’d long ago developed a thick skin to cope with his and her mother’s caustic comments, which meant she had no defence against his apology. The floor underneath her feet yawed under her, and her heart pounded in her chest. Everyone was looking at her…

Dev’s hand squeezed around hers again; a gesture of support from a surprising ally. She treated her father to a cool look and inclined her head graciously.

“Apology accepted.” She thought about adding ‘Lord De Silve’ to the end, to further emphasise, as he had, that she was no longer part of his family. A moment’s debate later and she realized she couldn’t do it. Despite the fact she disliked him intensely, he was still her father, and it wasn’t in her nature to cause pain intentionally.

Her father didn’t hang around to chat. Not that she’d been expecting him to, not after Dev had shown him up and threatened him like that. If his attitude and greeting were anything to go by, her father obviously wanted to brush the uncomfortable truth that he’d sold his daughter to pay off the family debts under the carpet.

Of course, there were two sides to every story. Her father had sold her, yes, but Dev had also bought her. Had they haggled over the price, each trying to get the best deal? Just the thought made her want to kick her handsome groom. She turned to him and stalled. For some stupid reason, despite what they’d done earlier just yards from their guests, she felt shy talking to him.

“Thank you.” She finally settled on, shifting a closer to him to avoid the guests around them. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He still had hold of her hand, his thumb stroking idly over the back. His green-eyed gaze caught hers, and instead of the arrogance she’d seen earlier, she saw only understanding and support. Then it hit her. He was arrogant when he was unsure, or maybe nervous. Offering a small smile, she squeezed back. Although the idea of Dev being nervous was almost ludicrous, she was sure she was right.

“You’re welcome. And I did. You’re my wife now, Ash, and anyone who upsets you has me to deal with.” He smiled, which made her heart do a little flip-flop in her chest, and nodded to his father. Lord Hunter Sr. was currently ogling the deep cleavage of a female guest so closely Ash was surprised he didn’t fall into it nose first.

“I know what family can be like. Mind you…” His voice was low as he pulled her into his arms.

A thrill of awareness shot through her and her determination to be the perfect ice queen disappeared as though it had never been.

“Since he made the deal that brought you to me, I can forgive him a lot.”

She froze, her world turning on its axis for the second time that night.

“Wait. What?
You
didn’t demand a perfect faery princess?”

His expression was unreadable as he looked down at her. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her snugly against his solid body. She let him. Despite all her anger and bravado earlier, being held by him felt good. Her body warmed and softened as need and its twin, longing, threaded through her veins and reminded her that they were married.

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even demand a virgin sacrifice.”

Color hit her cheeks in a tidal wave. So he’d heard that scathing comment.

“In fact, I didn’t demand anything. I didn’t even want to get married. Not two weeks ago, anyway.”

A gasp of disbelief escaped her lips before she could stop it. First off, he demanded a virgin princess—well, someone had at least—and now he was telling her he hadn’t wanted to get married. Her fingers closed into a death grip on the handle of her bouquet as the temptation to shove it where the sun didn’t shine almost overwhelmed her.

“That’s it, darlings! Just hold it there. Perfect shot, perfect shot! That’s it, glower for me sweetheart. You look so sexy like that.”

The photographer, forgotten when he’d bustled off to snap the giggling bridesmaids, made an unwelcome reappearance, camera in hand and already clicking away. Not taking her eyes off her bridegroom, her body tight with tension, Ash turned her head slightly to address the photographer.

“Unless you take that camera and go get click happy somewhere else,” she ground out. “I will—and this is a promise, not a threat—go Fae bridezilla on your ass. Do I make myself clear?”

Reacting to her anger, the witching coiled around her. It whispered across every inch of exposed skin and lifted the loose strands of her hair into a tumultuous display. Dev chuckled as the photographer muttered his apologies and beat a hasty retreat.

“Remind me not to piss you off,” he said in a soft, warm voice that made her think of long summer afternoons in a hammock together.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but her anger was already abating, the witching-driven storm dissipating as though it had never been.