Cards of Love: The High Priestess Page 2

  “I am,” I say, taking a step toward Bianka. Her eyes widen slightly as she looks desperately around at the men in her family. I feel for her, because there is no way that anyone from the Braemar clan is going to step in and save her.

  I know exactly how that feels.

  Her father gives her a little push and she stumbles into me. She’s breathing in fast, panicked breaths. I can see her pulse jump at her throat as she stares up at me.

  There is a moment of connection as our gazes meet. I’m acutely aware of how much bigger I am than her, how strange and monstrous I must seem.

  The priest clears his throat. “We are gathered here to witness the marriage of Bianka Anne Braemar and Damen Aetós. Do you Damen, take Bianka as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

  “Yes. I do.” It comes out as a rumble.

  I see the surprise on Bianka’s face at my accent. She probably thought I was from London, but she was wrong. My accent is a blend of my Greek homeland and my years in London, swirled with a little bit of the flat Americanized vowels.

  "Do you Bianka, take Damen as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

  She says nothing. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. For a second, I’m worried that she’s going to say no, or maybe even try to escape. Bianka’s younger sister clears her throat, which makes Bianka jump guiltily.

  “Y—yes,” she whispers, two perfect spots of color appearing in her cheeks. She starts crying again, tears silently streaming down her face. Her last two words are almost inaudible.“I do.”

  “Do ye have a ring?” the priest asks me.

  Shaking my head, I look at Bianka’s face. “No. There hasn’t been time for that yet.”

  Indeed, I’ve only known about this wedding for five days, just long enough to get myself here. Bianka slides her gaze to the ground, her expression unreadable.

  “Fine. Then by the power vested in me by the Lord our savior, I pronounce you man and wife.” The priest makes a hasty sign of the cross, and all of the Braemars bow their heads. The world around us falls silent for a moment.

  That serenity only lasts a second, though.

  “Kiss her!” hoots one of the young men.

  Seamus Braemar steps closer to Bianka and shoves her into my arms. She’s startled and flailing a little. I catch her by the wrists, holding her fast. He makes eye contact with me, as if to say, she’s yours now, no take backs.

  I lean down, cupping Bianka’s jaw and pulling her face up to meet my mouth. Her eyes clash with mine. I can almost feel her glare going right through me, piercing me.

  I kiss her, covering her lips with my own. Her lips are unexpectedly hot, as full and soft as they appear to be. Dominating the kiss, I open my mouth and taste her, vanilla and lemon and cinnamon all at once.

  She lets me, almost sagging in my arms. It’s not likely to be relief, so I figure maybe she’s just overwhelmed. Around us, the men are cheering. Raising flasks of alcohol and toasting each other.

  She pulls back. I allow her, although she’s not getting away too easily. I keep my arm around her waist, casually pulling her in close. Her mouth pulls into a bitter line, but she doesn’t protest. No, her eyes are on her wayward father, glaring daggers at him.

  Do the other Braemars know that Seamus lost Bianka in a bet gone wrong? I’d wager no, based on how many of them are clapping him on the back just now.

  The party moves toward the house. I nudge her. “Are there celebrations?”

  Her eyes are solemn when she stares up at me. I can almost hear her thoughts. She’s thinking, How am I supposed to talk to this complete stranger who is now my husband?

  Her lips part, and she licks them, delicate and nervous. “Yes. There’s food inside the house.”

  My gaze lingers on her mouth. My hands grip her waist, pulling her a little closer. “Good. I find myself hungry.”

  Her lips pull down into a frown. She tries to push me away. “I’m sure you’ll find something inside that satisfies you.”

  I smirk at her rebellion. “No, I don’t think so. After all, I’m a newlywed. It’s harder to satisfy my appetites.”

  She turns her face away. “I want to go inside. This is my last chance to spend time with my sister.”

  Her voice breaks in the middle of her sentence and her eyes fill with unshed tears. This isn’t the reception I’d expected, not at all.

  I turn her chin back toward me. She faces me, high color in her cheeks, working to hold back her tears. She doesn’t seem to be pouting. Her concern seems genuine.

  “Very well,” I say, releasing her. “But just so we’re clear as crystal, this only buys you a little time. Later, you can be sure that I’ll kiss you again, that I’ll strip you and fuck you, and make you scream my name.”

  Bianka’s eyes go wide. Her lips part, uncertain. I smile, because that’s exactly that reaction that I wanted.

  “Lead the way, kitten.” I wink at her, making her color even more.

  She makes a growling sound, almost to herself, and whirls to follow the crowd inside the house. I look to my right and see the priest still standing there, waiting.

  “Aren’t you coming inside, padre?” I ask, motioning toward the house.

  “No,” he says sternly, shaking his head. “I’ve been to a few gypsy weddings. There is always a lot of foolishness. Drinking and fighting. They are a rough lot, the gypsies. But I suppose you know that?”

  “Go on, then,” I say, flapping my hand. “Take your bitterness with you.”

  He just snorts and walks away, toward the road where the cars have been parked. I turn toward Bianka, and see her disappear inside the house.

  Standing just outside the back door is Tamlin Braemar, Bianka’s uncle. Big and brawny and drunk as piss, there isn’t much likeness to see between him and B. He lights a cigarette, exhaling a big stream of smoke.

  Seamus comes out of the house, already lighting his cigarette. He looks just like his brother, only smaller and sharper-witted. He’s graying at the temples, which combined with a permanently pinched expression gives him the look of a weasel.

  I walk over to him, sizing him up. “Seamus.”

  He takes a puff of his cigarette and blows the smoke away. He slides a glance at his brother. “Deal’s done, Aetós. She’s your problem now.”

  My brows rise. “Do any of your relatives realize what you have done? What you’ve gambled?”

  His weathered face goes red, his expression darkening. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. As far as I’m concerned, we’re square now. Come on, Tamlin, I have something to show you.”

  He leads his brother toward the cars, muttering under his breath. I look at him for a second, wondering how such a sketchy man managed to get as much power as he did.

  Heading inside the cramped little house, I tolerate the slaps on the back of the Braemar men. I hunt down a plate of food, mostly kippers and crackers and cheese. There is lamb pie too, but I don’t want anything heavy. I’ll be on the road soon, Bianka in tow. I don’t want a piece of pie to weigh me down.

  “Come drink with us, yeah?” a lad asks. But I just smile and move on, from the kitchen to the dining room. My smile drops off my face when I realize I can’t find my new bride.

  Discarding my plate on a random table, I look for her. Mounting the stairs, I finally find her in one of the upstairs bedrooms, lying on the bed, dissolved in tears.

  She looks at me as I enter the bedroom. I don’t say anything, just look down at her with a puzzled frown. That only makes Bianka cry harder, curling up on her side.

  She’s so tiny. She seems to frail, lying there sobbing. Seeing her cry gives me an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel... I don’t know, protective almost.


  “Bianka,” I say carefully, stepping toward the bed. I skim my fingertips over her slender hip, noting the way a tiny row of pearl buttons goes all the way up her back.

  My touch makes her sob harder, wracks her body with emotion. I’m not inclined to help a crying woman, but there is something about this one… something odd that moves me.

  “What do you need?” I ask, my voice coming out gruffer than I mean it to. This isn’t the way I saw my wedding going, that’s for damned sure. “What will make you stop crying?”

  She shakes her head and covers her face with her hands, crying harder. My frown deepens.

  “If you tell me the problem, I’ll solve it.” I’m an Aetós, it’s what I do.

  Bianka moves her hands and wipes at her face. “My Da is going to take my sister with him. He’ll find another way to gamble her freedom away and… and I won’t be around to save her next time.”

  I’ve never seen anyone look quite so miserable. I cross my arms, thinking. If it honestly distresses Bianka so much, I can get her sister from her father. There is a price for her, just as there was a price for Bianka.

  But it won’t be free for Bianka. Nothing in this world is free.

  “Tell me something,” I say, scrubbing at my chin. “If I am able to take your sister with us, what would you do to repay what it will cost?”

  Bianka sits up, hesitating. There is fear in her big blue eyes. “What… what do you mean, take her with us?”

  “I mean just what I said. I could secure her, make sure that she leaves here today, just as you do.”

  She’s starstruck by that. “You… you don’t mean to lie with my sister, do you?”

  I give her my blackest look. “She’s only a child. Besides, I already possess one of the Braemar sisters. The question is, will she behave if I bring the other along?”

  Bianka launches herself off of the bed and hugs me fiercely. I’m taken aback by her sudden, lunging movement, but that’s okay with me. “You swear?”

  My arms come down over her small frame. For a moment, I let myself relax and enjoy her gratitude. Her small body pressed against my own is strangely sweet.

  Then I straighten my spine. “I do. But you will have to do as I ask. Whatever I ask. In or out of the bedroom. You understand that?”

  Her enthusiastic nodding makes me suspect that she doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to. After all, they don’t call me the Madman for nothing.

  I smile at that thought, disentangling myself from her.

  “Find your sister. Get her to pack a bag. We’ll leave as soon as I’m done talking to your father.”

  She looks up at me, those big blue eyes shiny with tears once again. She nods. I turn and let myself out of the room.

  I have a deal to make with Braemar, and I don’t think it’s going to be exactly bloodless.

  3

  Bianka

  We’re in a very posh private plane, Damen and Cass and I. Cass is across from me in one of the oversized beige leather seats, crumpled to the side, fully asleep. Damen took a call on his cell phone as soon as we stepped onto the plane, so he’s in a seat at the other end of the plane.

  Looking out the window at the Isle of Man disappearing behind me, I can hardly believe that Cass and I are here right now. I’ve got no idea what kind of voodoo Damen has to work to make my Da agree. But after about twenty minutes of negotiating, Da came over to us and threw Cass’s birth certificate in her face. Cass was nearly in tears by that time, after I had gently explained to her what was happening.

  That Da had gambled using me as a pawn, and he’d used Cass as the bait to make sure I did what he wished.

  So when Da had approached, flung her documents in her face, and spat on the ground… that was too much for Cass. Damen had picked her up and started carrying her to his car.

  I followed him, eager to see the back of Peel. Everyone watched us go, confused and puzzled. I looked back only once. Making eye contact with Uncle Tam, I shrugged.

  It was better to roll the dice with this perfect stranger than to trust that drunken bastard that called himself my father.

  Then I’d climbed into Damen’s sleek black SUV, swallowing tightly against the lump of emotions in my throat. Cass had cried almost the whole way here, inconsolable. She probably knew on some level that what was happening was for the best, but it was a lot to take in at once.

  Da was a complete bastard. He’d basically given me away to make up for his gambling debts. And with some pressure from Damen, he’s given her up too.

  Now Cass is across from me, still wearing her off-white bridesmaid’s dress. She’s sleeping. I can’t help but wonder what she’s dreaming about. Her face is red and blotchy from crying, and a lightweight blue blanket is thrown over her body.

  I use the plane’s tiny lavatory to change out of the wedding dress and into a pale blue top and a black skirt. They’re plain, but serviceable.

  The stewardess casts a suspicious glance at me when I reappear in my own clothes. As if the old-fashioned wedding dress wasn’t enough, then I had the nerve to look poor. Heaven forbid!

  But the stewardess still has to smile and serve me refreshments, so I have two glasses of the finest champagne she can offer me.

  Now I am just staring out the window at the dark blue sea, wondering how the hell I got here. Whatever the bargain I made with the devil, it is certainly worth Cass being here.

  But that doesn’t negate the terms of the deal. I’m all too aware of that fact.

  Speaking of the devil, Damen stands up as he ends his phone call. I can tell that he’s angry from the way that he hangs up, all but throwing the phone on the floor.

  I guess whoever he talked to didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. I realize that I still haven’t had any feelings about him, which is odd. There’s just an odd buzzing sensation when I try to reach out with my mind, to try to get a better perception of him.

  Nothing. Where there are normally what I would describe as sensory whispers around a person, around Damen there are none. It’s just quiet.

  His head swivels toward me and my heartbeat picks up. He motions for me to come to him. Sparing a glance at Cass, I get up and make my way down the cabin.

  Damen looks frightening right now, his expression gone as black as a starless night sky. All the kindness that I’d imagined he felt earlier has long since vanished, along with the Isle of Man.

  He points to an empty seat. “Sit.”

  The champagne sloshes in my otherwise-empty stomach as I take the seat. My heart beats out a persistent tattoo in my ears. As Damen takes the seat across from me, the trembling begins in my hands again.

  Damen stares at me as though those perfectly blue-grey eyes could cut right through me. Weighing me, measuring me up to some standard I couldn’t hope to reach. Whatever news he’s just gotten,

  “We are going to have to go to America,” he says at last. “To New Orleans, to see my brother.”

  My mouth opens. Of all the things that I expected him to say, that was not among them. And the fact that the Madman has a brother? That is news to me. “I—”

  He holds up a hand. “That wasn’t a request. I don’t have to make those any more. Isn’t that right, wife? I believe that our deal says that you will do whatever I ask. Is that not so?”

  Wife. The word sends an electric current shuddering through me. I bite my lip and nod.

  “Good. Good girl.” His lips curl up faintly. “Your sister doesn’t have a passport, I’m guessing?”

  A huff of laughter escapes my lips, both at his nickname for me and his comment.

  “No. She’s a traveller. She wouldn’t even have a birth certificate if it wasn’t for our Ma.”

  He looks away, out the window, his brow pulling down. I look at him for several seconds, licking my lips nervously. Whatever is on his mind, I cannot guess at it.

  He clears his throat and looks at me, shifting in his seat. “Do you know why I wanted a wife, Bianka?”

  That cool ga
ze pins me in place. I notice that he has taken off his tie at some point and left his collar unbuttoned. Part of me wonders what is underneath that black suit and pressed white shirt.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  As he considers me, the stewardess brings over a drink. Some amber liquid with a couple cubes of ice. He accepts it, not even bothering to look at her. His eyes are focused on me just now, and I feel the tiniest thrill in the pit of my stomach.

  That a man like him should look at me with that expression… like he’s a hungry tiger, prowling, scenting its prey. It’s exciting to be considered by a man like Damen.

  Finally, he leans forward. I find myself leaning forward too, mirroring what he does.

  “I don’t believe in god,” he says, canting his head. “Religious ceremonies mean nothing to me. A wedding ordained by a priest is just a bunch of words, repeated in a certain order.”

  My brow knits. “I’m not sure what that means.”

  Damen sips his cocktail, taking his time. “As far as I’m concerned, that wedding means nothing. For you, or for me.”

  My heart drops. “Oh.”

  “Don’t tell me you thought that ceremony was well thought out?” he says with a low chuckle. “No. But I sense something, something is in the offing right now. We can’t see it, but it is about to become important. And I think that you are a part of it. Do you understand?”

  “Not at all,” I confess. But at the same time, I sort of do.

  He considers that for a moment. “It’s not entirely necessary for you to understand it, I suppose.”

  I look down at my lap, knotting my fingers together. “Maybe you could explain another way.”

  “I’m not known as a nice man,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “They call me the Madman. Did you know that?”

  There’s not really any reason to lie. Hesitating, I nod. “Yes.”

  “It’s a well deserved nickname, I’m afraid.” He sips his drink, then puts it aside. “My brothers consider me to be a mad dog, something vicious and untamed that they have in their corner. But I need them to trust me, to give me my own city to rule over in the States.” He leans forward again, tenting his fingers. “I need to prove to them that I’ve calmed down. And I think that having a wife is a good first step. To prove that I’m civilized.”