The Wedding Death
She looked in the mirror. She didn’t want to do this.
Her reflection stared back with the strange glaze that she was used to. The image was surrounded by flares of hurt and anger, crushed in at the edges by sorrow. Did he think she was a tame beast?
She leaned closer to the glass, flexing her jaw, gaze fixed on her canines as they sharpened and then relaxed. He was a snivelling mortal. He’d pay for Christophe’s death.
The wedding dress clung tightly to her skin like a morgue bag. She would burn it when she was through with him, but she had to stay cold for now. If fire and hate turned her stomach she would lose everything to him. Loathing itched beneath her skin.
She would kill him for what he’d done.
The veil fell forward to cover her face. Flexing her teeth again, she knew he wouldn’t see it coming. At the altar is where she would strike. ‘Til death do us part…
Death would part them quicker than he realised.
The doors fell away at her touch, sending hundreds of terror-ridden eyes her way. Vikram had to have his silly little peasants watching. It had to be a big show. It had to be humiliating for her. He wanted to bring her down in front of these pitiless creatures. He wanted to make her his bride and force her to hand him mortality on a blood spilt platter.
How stupid he was. He’d thought that killing her lover would make her his, make her think that he was far too powerful to resist. He’d spent time on her, learning what she craved most of all.
She’d always wanted power, sought it out from a young age and embroiled herself in anything that could give her more. It was this that Vikram had settled on. He’d thought that if he frightened her and offered power as his wife she would take it and be happy.
Vikram didn’t know her very well.
He waited at the end of the aisle as she strode towards him with a deadly purpose in her step. He had no idea what was coming. His greedy smile greased his lips. Her eyes crossed to the fearful vicar and then back to Vikram.
“I have a present for you, my love, before we begin the ceremony.”
She wanted to hiss and scratch his eyes out, but she kept her cool. Fake adoration crossed her face. “Yes? What is it?”
Vikram flourished his hand. Men in the vestry pulled back the arras so that only she and Vikram could see. She felt her jaw stiffen, her canines sharpening. They pulled back an unconscious head belonging to a bloody mass. Dusky fringe flushed from the beaten face and dark, shuttered eyes of her Christophe.
Vikram leaned close to her ear and whispered, “I know you’re planning something… I’m not a fool, my love. Don’t make me kill him.”
She clenched her hand, nails lengthening and stabbing into her tender flesh, but she didn’t feel it. She only felt the crushing anger and hatred filling her eyes with scarlet fire. The veil shredded in her nails as she tore it away, sinking her teeth into Vikram’s throat with her own high-pitched scream of pain.
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