Lucian’s Reign

by Mason, V. F.

  The A-line, off-the-shoulder wedding dress with a deep V-neck hugs my body tightly, showcasing my breasts and creating a deep curve sliding to my waist and flaring to my hips. The chiffon-silky skirt falls to the floor; however, on one side it has a long slit, trailing from the middle of my thigh to my foot, giving me plenty of room for movement. Tiny crystals catch the sun streaming through the windows and shimmer under it as they draw attention to how the dress complements my paint-stained skin.

  Jaqueline removes the pins from my hair, letting it cascade down my back in heavy waves, adding vivid color to this composition.

  Someone clears their throat, and I glance to the side at the makeup artist, Felicia, who crosses her arms. “With a little makeup you’ll look gorgeous.” She taps on her suitcase. “It does wonders.”

  “No thank you,” I reply, and even Jacqueline glares at her. After a loud huff, she walks away shutting the door so hard it rattles.

  Why they even invited her is beyond me. I’ve never put on makeup in my life and surely don’t intend to start now.

  My skin already bears so much paint on it, it doesn’t need me adding to its suffering.

  “Look at these sapphire eyes. They can be your something blue.” She winks and then picks up a shoebox from the bed. “Lucian requested these in a special color, and although I’m surprised, I understand the reason now.” She takes out lilac stilettos and puts them on the floor. “It gives such a nice balance to your whole bride image.”

  I slip into my shoes, which give the entire ensemble an even more artistic look because the dress is far from ordinary. My heart pangs painfully at how Lucian thought about every single detail to create the illusion of a perfect wedding—where even the dress matches my soul.

  I’d spent two hours studying various chapters on serial killer psychology before Jaqueline came. There was an especially specific one that made me question if all my behavior wasn’t rushed, and maybe I should have listened to Lucian before making judgment on whatever he does.

  Considering his scars… and cryptic past… is it possible all these men deserved to die because they inflicted torture on those surrounding them, and there was no way to stop them but to kill them?

  Just the idea scares me, that I can justify murder, but then my past plays in front of my eyes.

  How the monster came at night, storming into our house and calling my mom’s name.

  How she frowned in confusion as she walked down the stairs and told me to stay in her room.

  How she screamed for me to run and then raced to my room, giving me time to escape from him and then her endless cries while he laughed, laughed, and laughed some more until she stopped making any sounds.

  What if Lucian kills people like that monster who ruined my life and occupies my nightmares?

  My fingers rub over the hickey he gave me on my neck last night, my soft skin contrasting so much with his rugged texture. His embrace was so tight around me while he whispered all these illicit things in my ear.

  This would certainly put a different spin on this situation, never making it okay because we have no right to take away someone’s life. We have the law and a justice system in place for this reason. We can’t be the judges who decide who gets to live or die.

  However, this I can understand, see from his perspective, and maybe discover that the monster is not as scary as I think, and nothing like the one from the past.

  They say psychopaths are excellent manipulators, but the way he held me last night—as if he never wanted to let me go—he wouldn’t be able to pretend that, and even now I’m unharmed.

  Would a serial killer behave like this with his true prey?

  Pushing away hysterics and pain and leaving only rational thinking and hope, I might discover things I never expected.

  “We just need to put the veil on and... Esmeralda!” she shouts when I fist the chiffon in my hand, raise my skirt up, and dash toward the door, too impatient to wait until this ceremony to clear all my doubts and maybe start this marriage on the right footing.

  I can live with a sort of vigilante who has some warped moral code, which has been shaped by his environment, letting the victims of such people sleep peacefully at night. His obsession with me will probably suffocate me sometimes while his control makes us fight, but his possessiveness and protectiveness calm any fears I might have.

  I cannot live with a serial killer though who kills people for fun.

  And how I proceed from now on depends on the answer Lucian gives me.

  Flying through the door, I almost bump into a surprised Harold and pass by him as he calls, “Miss!”

  Ignoring him, I run to the stairs while my heels click loudly on the marble. I halt when I see the man standing by the bottom step, his back to me.

  Sensing my presence or hearing me, he slowly turns around and the air sticks in my throat when all his charming handsomeness comes into view.

  He wears a three-piece suit that emphasizes every rigid muscle and those wide shoulders, which would carry the weight of the world if you let them.

  His brown orbs glow as he sweeps his gaze over me, my skin prickling at the invisible caress he awards me, and then heat scorches them, promising me all kind of bliss. I just need to ask for it.

  However, ownership fills them too, and he says, “Eres hermosa, gatita.”

  You’re beautiful, kitten.

  A dashing villain in shining armor who stole the princess from princes and knights alike.

  A raspy breath slips past my lips, and I slowly walk down the stairs, minding my dress, as his eyes roam over me, drinking in my every feature, but he frowns at my exposed leg in the slit.

  Finally I reach the last step and stand there, and still he manages to tower over me, his dominance shrinking this house—where everything that surrounds me has him in it. “Running away, gatita?” he asks and then catches a lock of my hair between his fingers, tugging on it a little. “I’m afraid this time around, I’m blocking the exit.”

  “Why do you kill all those people?” He stills, his body growing tense while the air around us electrifies, and his entire demeanor changes from playful to aloof. “Did they deserve it?” Licking my dry lips, I desperately try to control my rapidly beating heart that squeezes so hard, expecting his answer, because no matter what transpired between us earlier, it still has a hope.

  A hope that should have been the first sign to me that I started falling in love with him.

  “Have they done such hideous crimes that the only choice was to punish them in the ways you did in those pictures?”

  The silence stretches between us as emotions play on his face. They change so quickly I cannot name any of them, and then he cups my cheek, brushing his thumb over my skin and temporarily soothing the chaos seething inside me. “Once upon a time there was a princess who fell in love with a villain,” he says, gliding his hand around my neck, pulling me closer to him until our chests bump against each other and our lips connect for a second before we share a breath. “The villain corrupted her mind so much she started to believe goodness resided in his soul.” He grabs my hand and places it over his heart. “Gatita, darkness possesses my heart. Not every villain was a hero once. Some of us are destined for hell, thriving among the chaos.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” I whisper, clenching his vest in my hand while silently pleading him to give me something to hold on to. To accept the olive branch I’m extending to him and open up about this madness that’s his life, and the whole wedding charade.

  To give me one reason to believe in him and that what we had wasn’t just a fantasy created by a psycho.

  He squeezes my nape and then drops his hand by his side, rocking back a little and leaving emptiness with his retreat that sinks me into an even bigger coldness than before. “I murder whoever I see fit.” Ice coats his voice while anger laces his tone; clearly, thinking about his victims doesn’t bring out the best in him. “I’m a villain who does not need redemption.” Our gazes
clash. “That’s your answer, Esmeralda.”

  A single tear slides down my cheek while my heart shatters inside my chest like the rarest porcelain, the thousand sharp pieces bruising every organ in my body as the hope I harbored disappears too. “Thank you,” I whisper, and he raises his hand to wipe away my tear, but I take a step back, avoiding his touch. “Now I can hate the villain without any doubts.” His hand hanging between us fists while he grits his teeth, and I do my best to ignore the pain enveloping me because the wedding is about to begin.

  And I have to concentrate on my escape.

  The fairytale has come to an end.

  Heavy footsteps echo in the space, and Jacqueline breaks the silence settling upon us. “A bride needs a veil.” She breathes heavily as she runs down the stairs and then stands in front of me.

  She puts it on my head, clips it with a few pins before throwing it over my face, covering me from prying gazes as another tear falls. “Now it’s complete.” She turns to Lucian. “My job here is done. I’ll send you an invoice.” With this she blows me a kiss and then jogs to the door and disappears behind it.

  He extends his open palm. “Let’s go get married, gatita,” he says softly.

  Ignoring his outstretched hand, I walk past him, heading to the door, already expecting the car that will take us to the church or courthouse to be waiting there.

  Thank God I slipped my credit card and ID inside the pocket when Jaqueline wasn’t looking.

  Bursting through the door, I stop abruptly when I see a flower-covered wedding arch standing several feet away where a priest stands, flipping through the Bible as he adjusts his glasses.

  He raises his gaze, spots us, and straightens up, closing the book.

  Another man walks around the property, snapping a few pics here and there, and it doesn’t escape my notice how they choose the prettiest part of the garden where rose bushes and orchid are in the background.

  No.

  No. No. No.

  He plans to have the wedding here?

  Although I should have seen it coming, right?

  Why would he give me an opportunity to escape or even talk to other people when he needed me trapped?

  His nature is ruthless toward anyone standing in his way; that’s how people describe his character in business.

  “Checkmate, darling,” he whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

  “Those who announce their victory too fast tend to be disappointed,” I tell him and then march to the priest who watches me with a curious expression. The closer I move toward him, the more I’m convinced he just might be the one who can take me away from the corner I’ve been put in.

  Despite being hidden by thick glasses, his eyes are kind as he smiles gently at me, and then he glares a little at Lucian, which hints at his displeasure at this situation.

  If there is a crack in someone’s resolve I will use it to my advantage.

  Besides, this wedding would be easy to annul.

  The photographer mutters, “Oh shit,” and runs to us, snapping more pics and then says, “Hello. Would you like to a have photo before the wedding?”

  I’d laugh if the situation wasn’t so tragic.

  “No,” I say, and his brows rise, but he nods, stepping away. “Can we start the ceremony now?”

  Lucian chuckles. “Eager, are we?”

  I shrug, stepping closer to the priest who opens the Bible and once again his gaze lingers on me.

  Oh yeah.

  Definitely traces of guilt in there.

  “No point in prolonging the inevitable, right?” Besides, acting like a willing bride will fool him enough to loosen his guard.

  “Paul, let’s start.”

  He nods, but then his brows furrow. “I think we need a second.” He motions with his chin behind us. “The old folks have a hard time catching up.”

  Half turning, I see Harold and Ricardo racing to us, the former waving a small bouquet in his hand. They both have changed into black suits and even combed their hair differently.

  My God, they do consider this wedding real, and they want to be part of it.

  Apparently, even if your boy is a killer, you still wanna watch him get hitched.

  “Miss, here.” Harold practically shoves the bouquet at me, and I wrap my hand around it. “Would you take a picture, please?” He addresses the photographer and then stands closer to me while Ricardo does the same on the other side. “We welcome a new señora today.” Happiness laces his tone, and by how excitement flashes on his face, I don’t have it me to tell them no.

  At least someone will have a good memory of today.

  So, plastering on a smile, I let the photographer click a few photos before Lucian grabs my elbow and growls “Enough” and drags me to stand back in front of Paul. “Comencemos.”

  At his command to start, everyone springs into action. Harold and Ricardo stand behind us, the photographer adjusts the camera lens, and Paul clears his throat, rolling his shoulders back.

  “Dearly beloved…”

  The wind whooshes over us, rustling over my skirt. The birds chirp loudly as the sun begins to set on the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow on us all. Nature herself mocks us by giving us a picture-perfect wedding that’s nothing but a farce.

  I think how all of this could have been different if several minutes ago, he’d just answered differently.

  That a villain can have a heart, and his crimes are not driven by hate but by something else.

  I would have hugged him close, urged him to tell me about his past so we could share each other’s pain, and start a new life together.

  I’d be the happy bride marrying the villain who might not be perfect, but he was mine.

  Why couldn’t he say yes?

  Paul clears his throat again, and I realize I’ve zoned out and allowed the ceremony to pass in a blur. Both men look at me expectantly.

  “I do,” I whisper, guessing what they all needed to hear.

  The minute the words slip past my lips, a collective exhale comes from behind me. They held their breath it seems, expecting my answer, and Lucian shifts me to face him.

  His arm wraps around my waist, bringing us impossibly close, even though I try to push him away, and then he removes my veil, hooking it on the top of my head. His brown orbs glisten in satisfaction while mine still have traces of tears in them. “I pronounce you husband and wife,” Paul says and then hesitates a little before continuing. “You may now kiss the bride.”

  Lucian leans toward me, and I hiss, “Don’t you da—” He swallows my protest with his mouth, giving me a hard, short kiss. “—re.” I finish on an angry huff when he separates our lips.

  “Bienvenida a mi vida, mi amor.”

  Welcome to my life, my love.

  My betraying body flutters at the new endearment while I allow myself to wonder if that’s how he feels about me now.

  His love?

  However, a rational mind and anger sweep in quickly, calling me all kinds of stupid, and I finally wiggle free of his hold.

  Amusement flickers in his gaze. “Is this how you treat your husband, mi amor?”

  “I’d like to talk to Father Paul. Alone.” I emphasize the last part, and Paul frowns in confusion while Lucian stays absolutely freaking relaxed! “You married me. You won.” Urgently searching for an excuse, I spit out the first thing coming to my mind. “I have a confession to make.”

  He runs his knuckles down my cheek, and his warning gaze makes me stand still. “Ah, the guilt.”

  Never.

  A means to survive.

  But I keep this to myself.

  “Exactly that.”

  Although I have no doubt everyone here except the photographer knows about his dark deeds, they did not promise to serve God and help those in need like Father Paul did.

  His conscience and morals hold my future in their palm.

  “Okay. I’m gonna go to my office. Harold, pay the photographer and tell him to get the fuck o
ff my property.” The butler nods and immediately goes to the man who heard Lucian just fine.

  Ricardo heads to the house too while Lucian places a kiss on my forehead and whispers over my skin, “If we do not answer for our actions, someone will.” A lethal promise stains this statement, letting me know in no uncertain terms that someone will have to pay for my tricks.

  And as bad as it sounds… I don’t care.

  They chose his company willingly. I haven’t.

  The minute they all leave us alone, Paul smiles at me and asks, “What is it, Esmeralda?”

  “I need to get to the airport and go back to New York.” He blinks several times, barely comprehending what I’m saying. “You probably know he blackmailed me into this marriage.” His cheeks heat up, red stains smearing them. “Father Paul, please help me.”

  “Esmeralda, Lucian might not be what he projects to the world, but—”

  “Spare me the details about his heart. I gave him a chance, he blew it. I cannot stay married to him. I will not be anyone’s captive. Help me.” He clasps his hands together, twisting them while shifting from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable with my request. Desperation grows inside me at not seeing how I can run away from here without someone’s help. “You serve God. How can you be okay with this? Please, Father.”

  His jaw moves from side to side while his gaze hardens, and to my utter relief, he finally nods. I hug him, wrapping my arms tight around him. “Thank you so much.” In a mansion where everyone tries to convince you a monster has a heart, it’s a blessing to find someone who would choose to help you, even if it means going against their friend.

  He awkwardly pats me and murmurs in my ear, “Let’s go farther into the garden. We need to talk all the time so no one finds it suspicious. There is a backdoor no one knows about, but I do.” Hope blooms more and more with his words. “It leads to a main road where we will find you a car. Do you have money?”