Married

by Lola White

  Georgie’s thighs tensed and relaxed, her fingernails excavated themselves from his skull. Her mouth went slack before finding a gentler rhythm, licking his tongue lazily while her body flowed onto his. She drooped to his chest, her spine going soft beneath his hand.

  He held her, taking care of her in her most vulnerable moment, pleased that she trusted him enough to support her while her thoughts were disorganized and her body was too weak to defend itself. Her pussy gave a final squeeze around his finger as he withdrew it.

  A moment later, tension returned to her frame. She pulled from his kiss with clinging lips, her wide eyes lifting to meet his. Subtly, she shifted over his still-rigid cock. The expression in her eyes changed, solidified into devious intent.

  “Your turn, Silver.” She pushed off his lap and bent over, shuffling backward as her hands stroked over his thighs.

  Profound gratitude filled him when she didn’t tease him. Her lips slipped over the head of his dick, her tongue laid against him, and she took him deep, the way he’d taught her to. Silviu curved his fingers around Georgie’s skull, needing an anchor but fighting to keep his hold gentle.

  She wrapped him in wet silk with tight lips, a clever tongue and cheeks hollowed with the force of her suction adding to his pleasure. He slid deep, she pulled back, then drove down until the tip of him slid against the softest tissue at the back of her hot mouth. It was heaven, it was hell.

  It was too much. Silviu was too close to the edge, too well-primed by the feel of her slick folds sliding over him, her swollen clit digging into him and the surrender of her trust into his keeping. He would have loved more time to savor the heat of her mouth, to appreciate the texture of her tongue against his flesh but she sucked hard and moaned, sending soft vibrations too close to magic to be anything less than suspect down his length. The pleasure and pain of her—of her dominance and her resolve to stand apart from him—collided. She’d given him as much as she was able to right then, he would have to be patient to earn the rest.

  It was enough. He wanted her, claimed her, had her. Silviu felt Georgie’s responding claim in every inch of his cock and knew she felt her power over him in that moment, by the look in her eyes and the motion of her lips on him. The physical plucked at emotions he didn’t dare examine too closely, heated them, added pressure and shot them into the base of his spine.

  Pleasure took him in a roaring wave. His back muscles convulsed, his balls clenched and his cock flexed hard. Ecstasy tunneled down the length of him to explode on her tongue as she swallowed and moaned for more. Milking him, gripping his pulsing balls, Georgeanne took all he had to give and stayed with him while lust destroyed his bones and love remade his body.

  Silviu’s lungs labored, his throat closed. He forced his fingers to release her hair and dragged her against his chest once more. She snuggled close and held him while he searched for his strength.

  Then Georgie shocked him. She put her lips to his ear and whispered, “I’m afraid to go to this wedding tonight. I’m afraid bad things will be waiting for us. But I also know you’ll be there with me, and that we’ll get through whatever comes.”

  Silviu’s heart twisted, his soul eased. He closed his arms around her and held her tight.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tulah

  The ballroom was a fantasy land. In addition to the decorations of the previous night’s dinner, a profusion of white blooms turned the space into a veritable garden, the heavy scents of orchids and magnolias competing for dominance. Candles were scattered everywhere, on the tabletops and in beautifully ornate candleholders lining the walls. The round tables to either side of the dance floor were covered with crisp white linens, and a rectangular table had been added at the far end of the room.

  The head table. It was reserved for Constance and Graves, Daniel and Muso, Anne and Warner. Tulah sat back in her seat at the Davenold table, unspeakably relived she wouldn’t be forced to share elbow room with Graves at the celebration. She refused to feel guilty over the place card switch, either—Adam had very casually exchanged her name with another’s, forcing a lone, unfortunate Levy next to Charles.

  Who watched her without blinking, but she couldn’t read the emotion in his eyes. It was enough to send chills up her spine and have her leaning toward Adam’s heat. Next to Charles, the single Levy valiantly tried to make conversation, frustration evident on his face as the head of Graves’ security ignored him. There was still an empty chair to be filled at the Levy man’s side and Tulah wished him luck in gaining a more agreeable dinner partner.

  She turned her gaze toward the head table. Muso slouched in his chair, ignored by Daniel, Anne and Warner, who were in deep discussion. In front of them, a small stand held three candles, decorated with deeply etched scrolling designs and cobalt ribbon. To the left, Madeleine looked shaky on her feet, her face pale but determined, her magical power still strong enough to feel from Tulah’s seat.

  “She doesn’t look too hot,” Adam murmured. Tulah turned to him, noting the dullness in his blue eyes and the downward set of his lips. He reached for her hand under the table, linking their fingers. “I’m worried about her.”

  “Madeleine’s strong.”

  “She’s old,” he shot back. “God, you sound like Georgie. She’s convinced Madeleine is immortal, I think.”

  “Maybe you’re too protective.”

  Before he could answer, there was a small commotion at the door. The sharp rapping of his emerald-tipped walking stick preceded Graves into the ballroom. He was dressed entirely in white, his tuxedo sporting tails. It was odd to see him without his signature green accents.

  He came through the doorway without pause, his gaze locking on Tulah. Around the table, the Davenolds, Lovaszes and Eliasz stilled. Adam got to his feet slowly, his features shifting into wary protectiveness as Graves headed straight for them.

  Graves held out his hand, nothing but polite until he snarled, “You’re in the wrong fucking seat, pet.”

  “She’s fine where she is,” Adam stated flatly.

  Graves didn’t spare him a glance. “Come.”

  Tulah lifted her chin and dragged in air, forcing it past the constriction that banded her chest. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”

  Graves smiled and shook his head. Cold terror sliced through Tulah’s brain. She’d seen that same look before, the very moment Graves slammed his palm to her father’s chest and stole his life. “No, pet. You see, if you sit here, who will keep your mother company? Edward!”

  Tulah barely heard him scream for the chief bellhop. Her heart beat too loudly, her thoughts rioted too madly, for his bellow to register. But she saw the other man enter the ballroom immediately, her mother’s arm locked in a grip that paled her skin.

  Tulah jumped to her feet, Adam swore. The others went so rigid Tulah could feel their tension feeding into her own. Her knees threatened to give way, forcing her to clutch the table as her brain filled with a thousand tingling emotions, none of which were useful. She couldn’t think, couldn’t reason.

  Her mother’s face was bone-white. Her eyes were too large, her lips trembled. She wasn’t dressed for a wedding, the dull, age-softened caftan floating around her ankles better suited to laundry day than a formal celebration. Nothing like the gold sheath Muso had provided for Tulah.

  “I’m sorry,” her mother whispered.

  Tulah shook her head, biting her lips as she fought to drag oxygen through her nose. “Are you all right?”

  “I was careless.” Tears pooled and flowed over Chelsea’s cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

  Graves held out a hand. Tulah had no choice. With a glance at Adam to silently beg his compliance, she took the offered hand of her malicious host and allowed him to lead her to the other side of the ballroom. Charles got to his feet, his lips splitting in a grin that had acid bubbling in Tulah’s stomach.

  Graves bowed to the Levy witch. “My apologies, there must have been a mistake. You were to sit with the Davenolds and
their tablemates.”

  With a flash of relief lighting his eyes, the Levy male rose and skipped across the dance floor. Edward pushed Chelsea into her seat roughly, holding her down with his hands on her shoulders as he moved behind her. Graves gestured to the recently vacated chair.

  Without a word, Tulah sat. Graves stared at her for a long moment, his lips pulled into brooding lines, before he spun on his heel and stalked away. Charles slid his seat closer the moment the groom reached the head table, leaning in until his breath wafted over her face. Tulah drew back, but there was nowhere to go. Edward’s sentinel stance blocked her.

  “Mama?” Tulah spoke over her shoulder but kept her eyes glued to Charles, distrusting the expression in his gaze. “What happened?”

  “Daniel Levy caught me in mid-transformation. He told Graves.”

  Tulah groaned. Daniel couldn’t possibly have known how imperative it was to keep Chelsea’s presence secret. He probably worried about security and thought the kitsune witch was a spy or posed some danger to his Family. Of course he would take the matter to Graves.

  “So Graves knows about your magic now.” It wasn’t a question and Chelsea responded with nothing more than a pained groan.

  Charles became impatient with the women’s conversation. Tulah saw the intent flash through his eyes a moment before he swiped a finger over her cheek. Her spine jerked straight as if on a puppeteer’s string. He leaned closer, sniffing the air around her.

  “You will be mine, Tulah,” he growled.

  Her eyes flicked over him, darting away from the raging erection filling the front of his dress slacks. He was utterly serious, completely determined. Tulah’s skin crawled.

  “I won’t. I’ll never be with you willingly, Charles. One of us will die first.”

  He surged forward, half-rising from his chair, his cheek sliding against hers as he dove for her ear. His teeth closed over the lobe, his tongue swirled. Tulah threw herself back, her chair wobbling on its hind legs. Edward’s knees were all that kept her from crashing to the floor.

  Across the ballroom Tulah saw Adam leap to his feet, but Georgie clung to his arm and held him back.

  “If you had power,” Charles growled, “it would be different. Perhaps I would take your boast seriously. But you have none.”

  “Is that all you respect?” Fear clogged Tulah’s throat and strangled her vocal cords. “Physical strength, magical influence?”

  Behind her, Chelsea made an odd noise as her chair scraped. Tulah could imagine why—Edward held her mother down, keeping her from interfering.

  Charles’ voice softened. “I want you, Tulah. I was very angry when Graves hit you, when he touched you. You were always meant to be mine.”

  Oxygen was in short supply. Tulah became lightheaded, her vision growing dim around the edges. She was too close to Charles, all but trapped in her seat by his bulk. Fear burned through her belly and hot denial welled up in her soul.

  “I’m not yours and I never will be.”

  Charles gave a low laugh. “Before the happy couple lights even a single candle on that fucking table, you will be mine and there will be nothing to keep me from taking you.”

  Tulah didn’t know how it was possible to grow colder. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Graves is playing a deep game, fucking whoever he has to, doing whatever it takes to cozen Daniel and gain more influence for himself. Muso is much more straightforward, and through him, the power will be mine. Everything I want will be mine.”

  Charles nuzzled Tulah’s neck below her ear. His hand drifted over her ribs, shocking her into momentary stillness at his boldness. It passed in less than a heartbeat and Tulah exploded from her chair. From behind, Edward caught the nape of her neck in a hold that nearly brought her to her knees.

  Then Constance stepped into the ballroom, looking like a fairy tale princess in a fluffy gown, bringing a momentary reprieve.

  All eyes turned toward the bride. Tulah took the moment to collect herself—to gather her strength, try to formulate a plan and try to understand what Charles was talking about. She glanced at the head table but they were all patiently waiting with no hint of distress.

  Tulah took a step forward without realizing but Edward shoved her back into her chair with a grip on her neck that had tears filling her eyes and her shoulder going numb. She looked toward Constance, who seemed almost as miserable as Tulah.

  An instant later, the misery fell from Constance’s face and she lit up, glowing from within. She was an amazing actress and Tulah wished she had half that talent. With small steps but no hesitation, the bride walked herself up an imaginary aisle, stopping in front of the stand with the candles. She dipped her head to Madeleine, smiled at the occupants of the head table and turned to Graves.

  Muso stood up. Though Madeleine had vowed to confront Graves before the Bestowal, Tulah understood that there should be no interruptions in a typical ceremony, no speeches or congratulations until after the candles were lit. Daniel straightened in his chair and Constance paled. A promise of death flashed across Graves’ face and a spike of adrenaline surged through Tulah’s veins.

  “Honored guests,” Muso smiled at his audience, “welcome. You’ve traveled many miles to be here and have suffered unnecessary indignities to witness this ceremony. Unfortunately, it’s been in vain.”

  Tulah blinked, then shot a glance at Charles from the corner of her eye. He was tense, on the edge of his seat, his erection lengthening as she watched. His eyes glinted with humor, a spine-tingling combination of dangerous amusement and secret knowledge.

  Graves banged his stick on the floor. “Shut up, old man. This is a wedding, not a fucking lecture.”

  “No, that’s the point, brother.” Muso smirked and shook his head. “There won’t be a wedding. I won’t allow it.”

  Daniel shot out of his chair. “There is a contract, Father Ngozi. You can’t break it.”

  Muso snatched his wine glass off the table and hoisted it toward Daniel in a mocking salute. “I would welcome an alliance with the Levy Family. Such a thing could only benefit me and mine. But I respectfully inform you that the contract is not binding, as it was never sealed with blood and was never given my approval. It won’t stand up before the Council, should you wish to take matters that far. Will it, Mother Davenold?”

  Daniel’s face mottled with fury before he wiped all emotion away. “That contract took a long time to work out. My own grandfather deemed this alliance worthy, all but demanded Constance marry Graves. If you had an issue with it, you had years to lodge your protests.”

  “But it wouldn’t be nearly as dramatic. It wouldn’t be nearly as productive, either.”

  Daniel’s face became a perfect political mask, filled with nothing but calm persuasion. “Father Ngozi, let’s not be hasty. If there are terms in the betrothal contract you disagree with I’m sure we can work something out. I would have preferred to be informed before the ceremony began, but I’m certain we can take a moment to—”

  Muso cut the Levy Father off with a quick wave of his wine glass. “There never should have been a contract in the first place. Graves knew it. He should have told you I don’t allow the men of the secondary branch to marry.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Daniel’s voice deepened dangerously. “Why on earth would you make such a—”

  “It’s punishment”—Muso stabbed his finger in Graves’ direction—“for killing my son.”

  Tulah’s scalp prickled as Graves’ laughter swept through the ballroom. “Is that what you’ve been telling people?”

  “You killed him just as surely as you killed my nephew,” Muso screamed.

  “Him, I’ll admit to.” Graves shrugged. “But we both know why your son died, brother.”

  “Because you abused him.” Muso’s head lowered, disfiguring his spine and giving him an air of terrible malevolence as he kept his eyes on Graves. “Just as you tried to abuse Georgeanne Davenold. Isn’t that right, Silviu Lovasz?”
>
  Tulah dared to look at the Davenold table, surprised to see Silviu leaning back in his seat, completely relaxed. With one ankle resting on his opposite knee and his arm stretched along the back of his betrothed’s chair, he almost looked bored. The tone of his voice only furthered that impression.

  “Do leave me out of your Family squabbles,” he said.

  Muso’s eyes widened. “You and I had a deal.”

  “Did we?” Silviu’s shoulder lifted.

  “Yes, damn it, we did.” Muso slammed his glass down on the table and braced his hands on the surface as he leaned forward. “You promised to help me kill Graves and rid the world of his evil.”

  Graves spun around to face Silviu. Constance and Daniel gasped in unison. The ballroom was already silent, but now a fine shiver passed through the audience as if they were all connected. Only Silviu and Georgie seemed unaffected.

  “I would never agree to be your hitman. That would imply that you are unable to take care of the Ngozis spread throughout the world. Although,” Silviu paused for dramatic effect and smiled thinly, “since I know what happened to Jerin, how you and Graves plotted to kill him and use his magical strength to bolster your own, perhaps mine is a fair assessment.”

  “No.” Muso shook his head rapidly. “It’s not true.”

  Graves narrowed his eyes, evaluating Silviu’s mood. “Did you promise Muso you’d kill me, Lovasz? How very rude of an uninvited guest.”

  Silviu inclined his head as his smile grew sharp edges. “I never make sweeping promises.”

  Graves’ hand tightened around his walking stick. “What makes you think you can best me?”

  “What made you think you could best the future Davenold Mother?” Silviu lowered his arm from Georgie’s chair to capture her hand and raise her knuckles to his lips. “What made you think you could successfully attack the current Davenold Mother?”