Thunder echoed through the chapel’s ceiling, tumbling down to the floor. Sullivan swallowed against the dryness in his throat, his mouth already watering. His tongue grazed the ache blooming behind his fangs, a feeble attempt to quell the storm beneath his skin.

  Though it was hard.

  So very hard.

  His hunger was older than restraint, darker than reason. And for one breathless moment, he could almost feel her pale, pretty skin yielding between his alabaster teeth.

  His jaw locked. His smile fought to surface. He crushed it beneath layers of civility and ritual. He couldn’t afford to bare his nature. Not here. Not now. Not when he had to pretend to be a man worthy of her hand. The mortals would see. Couldn’t afford that.

  He just needed to get married, secure the alliance with the Crystal Forest, and move on with his life. So long as she stayed alive, everything would fall into place.

  The thought should have pleased him, but it didn’t.

  Not much did these days—

  Once the guests had settled down in their seats, the rain fell harder, and the ceremony began.

  Sullivan stood as though carved from the same stone as the lavishly decorated altar before him. Unmoving. Unblinking. Even as thunder rolled in the distance, he was impenetrable, and his marriage unavoidable.

  Through rain, or sleet, or hellfire, nothing would stop this wedding.

  He’d personally see to it.

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  This marriage meant better stability for Sanctum Vespertine, and by God did they need all the help they could get.

  He waited, patience carefully gathered, for his soon-to-be wife.

  He took stock of the guests, eyes sweeping from one familiar face to another. All accounted for. All according to plan. Then there were those in the back, ones he did not know personally, but had shown up nonetheless. Even post Moon Fall, the press had a way of sneaking into places they didn’t technically belong.

  Perfect. It was as he expected.

  He might’ve smiled, if not for the bright, vulgar flash of some journalist’s camera.

  No matter. It was fine. He could endure being watched like some caged animal. So long as all they saw was a blessed union, he’d survive.

  Not that Oliver was making it any easier.

  Sullivan’s next of kin stood by his side with all the loyalty of a man held at gunpoint. Oliver stifled a chorus of yawns, his head lolling forward only to jerk upright just before sleep claimed him.

  The drudgery of ceremony was enough for the younger vampire to wish for death’s sweet, sweet embrace.

  The weary priest stood behind the altar, silent and motionless. It had taken no small amount of convincing, but Sullivan had finally found a mortal willing to honor tradition. The kind observed back when the Old World still breathed, when ceremonies carried weight and purpose, before they were smothered by fire, ash.

  As the organ played, those fortunate enough to attend turned in their seats, waiting in breathless silence for the blushing bride to burst through the doors—radiant and eager.

  As all brides should be.

  Every eye in the room, wide with curiosity, was eager to witness what kind of girl was worth opening the impenetrably tall iron gates. An enigma, whispered to be as beautiful as she was bizarre.

  Delightful.

  The melody did little to ease the guests’ anticipation. Most had been drenched by the sudden downpour before the ceremony began, and their hushed whispers were drowned beneath the swelling notes that hung in the air—waiting.

  Anticipating.

  Heads tilted. Necks craned. Every gaze fixed on the towering oak doors. Each of them desperate to glimpse the Princess of the Crystal Forest.

  The music swelled.

  The crowd waited.

  But the doors stayed shut.

  The bride was missing.