“Enough …!” a familiar voice roared, pulling me away from Valamir.
“No!” I protested, flailing my arms against the man who dared interrupt the most sensuous experience of my life. “Valamir!” I cried, returning to my senses just enough to see Zane snarling at the vampire, whose lips were now curled back revealing his own fangs. He crouched, arms extended, ready to strike Zane, who’d pushed me behind him.
Zane started to vibrate. The atmosphere around him shimmered.
Responding to the escalating crisis, a group of security guards surrounded our table like a wall, blocking us from the curious crowd.
“Both of you! Stop!” Logan stepped into the circle, grabbing Zane. “Control yourself, friend. This is not the place.”
“You!” Logan turned to the vampire. “Leave this place. Now!” His eyes glowed crimson.
“I will return for you, Chloe,” Valamir promised, before dissolving into a cascade of silver stardust. No one else in our little group appeared surprised by his vanishing act.
I half heard Logan instruct Zane to get me upstairs. Zane was disagreeing about something I didn’t understand. Their voices sounded like they were coming from underwater.
“She’s mine! The mark, it’s been revealed,” Zane argued.
I was baffled as to why these men continued to refer to me as their possession. The whole “she’s mine” thing was annoying. Last time I checked, I wasn’t a belonging.
Logan sounded equally agitated. “How can that be?”
“I don’t know, but it’s there. Do you want to see?”
“I believe you. Find a way to make her understand,” Logan commanded.
“There’s one thing I can think of to keep her safe,” Zane replied with certainty.
Logan nodded. “You have my blessing.”
In an alcohol-induced haze, I let Zane support me against his side. He led me from the hotel into the breezy Vegas night. He motioned for a nearby taxi.
Careful not to jostle me, he lifted me into the cab, joining me in the backseat.
“Charity Chapel,” he instructed.
“How nice,” I slurred, “we’re going to church.” I was surprised that werewolves attended church, especially in Vegas. Since Monday, my life had been full of unexpected surprises.
Feeling seasick, I leaned my head against Zane and watched the blinking lights speed by. “Where are the lights going?” I heard myself ask in a faraway voice, certain we were now riding in a boat.
“Goodness, Chloe; I can’t leave you for a minute,” he grumbled. “We’re the ones moving, not the lights.”
That made sense, sort of.
Uncertain how long we’d traveled, I found myself struggling to see through a misty veil that cloaked my vision. No longer moving, I was standing at the front of what appeared to be a chapel. Zane gripped my hand. A moment later we were facing an elaborate altar overflowing with floral arrangements. The room smelled sickly sweet like stale perfume which made the inside of my nose tickle.
I suspected now that I’d passed out and was dreaming.
“Is this an evangelical church?” I asked, trying not to sneeze. The Baptist church back home was nothing like this colorful place.
A man, I assumed was the pastor, approached and stood in front of us on a little platform. I couldn’t quite hear what he was saying — something about in sickness and health and for better or worse.
“I do,” Zane said.
Next, the man asked me a question and Zane nudged me. “Say I do, Princess.”
“I do, Princess,” I repeated, too disorientated to question his strange demand.
The pastor-man’s mouth continued to move in a rapid blur; I still had no idea what he was saying. I didn’t care. Another wave of nausea threatened to drown me. Zane held firm. At last, the man stopped talking and smiled.
Zane bent down and kissed me tenderly on the lips.
* * *
“My head,” I moaned, not used to the pounding of drums between my ears. “O-h-h-h … I hurt.”
I forced one eyelid up. The brightness spilling through the windows was more than I could tolerate. I pulled the blankets over my head.
Where was I? The hospital seemed likely considering how ill I felt.
“Good morning, Mrs. Marshall,” Zane whispered in my ear. “You celebrated a little too hard last night,” he chuckled.
“What are you talking about?” I gasped, very aware of his warm skin against mine.
“How soon you forget something as important as our wedding.”
Fighting the throbbing pain, I opened my eyes to see if what I suspected was true. “You’re naked!” I screeched.
So was I.
“You’re my wife. Of course, I’m naked. Our honeymoon night was fantastic.” He moved to kiss my cheek. “Don’t worry; we’ll have an extended