by Dark Angel
“Thank you,” I offer up, voice strange to my own ears, “Yes, I’m sure we’ll be very happy.”
I turn away before any more well-wishers can appear, eyes searching desperately for an escape. They settle on an unmanned exit, and my feet move before I even bid them to. I race across the room, head down, hoping not to draw any notice.
I manage to go unseen, only pausing long enough to grab a bottle of champagne from a nearby table. I have no destination in mind, only away. My shoes click across the well-polished floor of the hallway, heart still hammering in my chest.
I can’t go back in there.
I can’t face him again.
I have no idea how I’m meant to get through the next several decades, waking up next to that man. Even his arm hung across me felt like an invasion.
To actually sleep with the Governor?
I picture my balcony.
I will myself to find the courage to jump.
Even now, I know I won’t. There’s no escape for me, not even death.
I come out of my thoughts suddenly, seeing that I’ve made my way to the main lobby.
It’s blessedly empty.
The corner of the room draws my attention, and I walk over to it, dress swishing around my feet as I go. Here I am, draped in white.
The Governor’s bride.
Never has my predicament felt so real as it does in this moment.
I fantasize about ripping the garment from my body, fragile fabric giving way, tearing in loud gasps. In my mind, I stand triumphantly, cloth pooled around my feet, before heading for the door and whatever awaits beyond it.
Instead, I find myself in the corner, folding myself into its protection the moment I arrive.
I take a long drink from the bottle in my hand, bubbles burning down the length of my throat. The fact of the matter is there’s nowhere to go.
I can’t possibly escape this life on my own.
Walking through the door now would accomplish nothing. I’d only be dragged back in tomorrow. If I even managed to stay gone that long.
I’m utterly hopeless. Lost.
I feel my mind opening up, a great dark void looming in the background. It would be so easy now to fall into that place. To never come back out.
I can practically feel myself leaning into it, utter desperation drawing nearer—but the sound of shoes on the wood flooring draws me back from the edge.
Was it the Governor coming to find me? My skin breaks out in goosebumps.
I breath a sigh of relief when he comes into view. Definitely not the Governor.
He looms above me, incredibly tall—six five, at least. His body is clearly muscular; even his steps convey great strength. His black hair shines brilliantly in the reflected lighting.
My eyes stop short at his face. Covered, hidden behind a mask.
“Can I help you?” I ask, unsure of what else to say.
His hand snakes up toward his face, removing the mask in one swift movement.
Green eyes—dark and foreboding—stare back at me.
My breath catches in my throat.
“I was hoping to ask you the same,” he says. “Why is it that the bride to be is hiding in a corner?”
Lies come flashing into my mind, excuses to justify my behavior. It definitely doesn’t look good, me hiding in a corner with a bottle of champagne. Father would be livid.
I open my mouth, still undecided on which lie suits best.
Something about his eyes stops me. I can’t stay for certain what it is.
The man is intimidating.
He looks at me now with a smile so charming as to be almost predatory. I feel my excuses die on the tip of my tongue. I’m inexplicably comfortable under that gaze.
His eyes continue to examine me in my silence. They run down the length of me, sending chills down my spine. My heart beats harder in my chest, in a way far different than it does around the Governor.
“I don’t love him,” I say, shocked as the words tumble easily from my lips.
He inclines his head, encouraging me to continue.
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go through with this! The thought of being his wife, of being…I just can’t.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks me, genuinely seeming curious.
It’s a question I’ve been asking myself for some time now.
“I have no idea. I know I can’t marry him, but I just don’t see a way out of it. I’m trapped.”
My words hang in the air between us, the silence stretching until I worry that I’ve said too much. Just as I’m beginning to feel panic bloom again in my chest, he lowers himself to the floor beside me.
“I see,” he says seriously.
He studies the floor for a moment, hand reaching up to rub against the stubble on his chin. After what seems a very long time, those eyes find my own again, his face breaking out into a mischievous grin.
6
Tristan
She’s a vision in white, slumped down on the floor.
She holds a bottle of champagne in one hand, and her eyes look sad.
Earlier, I watched her up on stage with the Governor, and then I watched her leave the room. People were more interested in the man of the hour, the Governor himself, than this stunner in white lace.
But to me, she’s a fucking angel.
And from the moment I set eyes on her, I knew my world would be different.
I saw her walk along the edge of the party, grab the bottle of Dom, and head out the door.
Likely, she came out here to drown her sorrows in the liquid bubbles. But now, I’m here, and all that’s changed.
She’s gazing into my eyes like I’m her fucking prince charming, and in a lot of ways, I am, because I already know that I will never let her go. And more than that, I’ll never let her marry that bastard, the Governor.
He can have a lot of things in this town…but not her. Never her.
She’s mine. She may not know it yet, but she is.
Luckily for her, I’m here to wipe away her tears. And she seems ever ready to reveal her secrets to me, the Montague spy.
Even though I know it’s love at first sight, I’m just not quite ready to admit that yet.
Tristan Montague doesn’t believe in love. He’s a lone wolf. He’s a player.
He doesn’t fall for anyone.
And yet here I am, sitting on the floor with this angel, hanging on to her every word.
“I just can’t get out. I’ve dreamed about it my whole life. My father doesn’t let me leave this building. And now that the Governor’s in the picture, I just have to find a way,” she says to me, the perfect stranger.
Yeah, her father, my sworn enemy. I’m surprised she even made it out here. The girl’s usually flanked by security guards at all times.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she continues, taking a long and steady drink from the bottle.
She hands it over to me, and I smirk as a take it. This girl is pretty fucking cute. She has attitude.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the proffered bottle. “Do you want me to tell you the truth?”
She looks up at me with wide eyes and says, “Please do. No one ever tells me anything.”
“Well, the world out there is bleak. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s dangerous, and people are fake. Everywhere you look, people are trying to get ahead with money and power and greed and seduction.”
Her eyes widen even more at the word ‘seduction’. Something tells me this girl has never even been kissed. And oh, how I would like to be the one to do that.
Suddenly, all I can see are her lush, pouty lips. Suddenly, all I can think about is how much I want to taste her and be with her and crack her wide open to me.
Yes, it feels like fucking love at first sight. But what do I know about love?
Nothing. It’s totally unfamiliar to me.
And so maybe what I’m feeling for this girl is just, say, a step up from lust. Mayb
e something about her saddened expression and beautiful face has me feeling more exposed than I should be.
Internally, I remind myself to make this all about business. I came here with a plan after all. Now is the time to make it happen.
In my mind, the pieces are already coming together. Does she want an escape? Well, I’ll give her just that.
Tristan Montague kidnaps Capulet throne heir.
What a fucking headline.
And then I’ll have her father right where I want him—within my grasp, eating out of my hand.
Would he wage war for his princess? I can tell he doesn’t love her, or else why would he marry her to such a creepy guy as the Governor? No, he’s doing it for favors.
But if and when I take her, he’ll be concerned about the family name and honor. It won’t look good to have a Montague stealing the family treasure, this beauty.
And that makes me want to make her mine all the more.
But first, I have to get her to trust me. Sure, I feel a little bad about the betrayal, but I don’t even know her…yet. And I don’t owe her a thing.
“So, who are you anyway?” she says. “I’ve never seen you before. I think I would remember if I saw you.”
I smile at her vague attempt at flirting. She’s fucking adorable and gorgeous, and my cock is getting hard just looking at her, just being in her presence.
“Me? I’m nobody. I just came here for the free drinks,” I say, joking.
“Well, I don’t know how you ended up in his darkened hallway with me, but thanks for listening,” she says, her voice sincere.
Fuck me now. Her innocence is overwhelming, captivating.
I want her like I’ve never wanted anything before.
“You deserve better, Isobel,” I say. “You deserve a life, more than just marrying that guy, that snake old enough to be your father.”
“Yeah? Tell that to my father, I dare you,” she says.
I like her spirit. There’s a fire inside of her that’s waiting to be unleashed. Oh god, how I wish I could be the man to unleash it. There’s nothing that’s gonna hold me back from her now.
I’m hooked and getting deeper by the second. I continually have to remind myself that this is not real; it’s in my goddamn head. Keep it to business.
I gently try to pry, “I know about your father. Everyone does. He’s an infamous criminal.”
She looks hesitant for a moment before saying, “Please don’t tell me you’re one of his business associates. Please tell me you’re better than that.”
I gaze into her arctic blue eyes and say, “No, I definitely don’t work with him.”
Hey, it’s the truth, right? I don’t work for him. I might work against him, but there’s no use in telling her that now. I need her to trust me.
We sit for a few moments in total silence. And yet there’s an electricity humming between us.
I know she feels it, too. It’s sexual tension mixed with lust and passion and ultimate fucking desire.
It’s love, and I know it. And something inside of me wants to dominate this girl and make her submit and make her be mine.
And the thing is, even if somehow she were to reject me, I would still look after her. From a distance maybe, but I already know that I’ll forever have eyes on her—Isobel Capulet, making sure she’s safe and sound.
She puts her hand down, and I place mine on top of hers. As soon as we touch, the sparks turn into fireworks.
She looks up into my eyes, and I stare back down at her.
When I look at her, I see nothing but innocence and vulnerability—traits that have long been gone from my life since my family made me the killer that I am.
I am Tristan Montague, crime lord and hardened killer. If she knew that, she’d probably run away from me right now.
She’s the antithesis of me, and that’s what draws me in. She’s good and unadulterated—I can see that not just with her white outfit and stunning blonde hair, but by the beauty and purity of her soul.
I want her to be mine. I need her to be mine.
She’s just looking at me, gazing into my eyes, and I can’t seem to break away. I don’t want to break away. I want to be around this girl forever.
And before I know what I’m doing and before I can stop myself through reason or intellect, I find my lips crashing down onto hers—and she returns the affection.
She moans gently into my mouth as I take her, claim her with my lips. This is only the beginning. I already know that I want her, and I always get what I want. She’ll be no different.
She draws me in. Her taste is tantalizing.
I kiss her, and it’s fucking intense. I know this is real. I’ll be damned if she ever kisses another guy again.
Something inside of me feels this is right. I find myself wanting to consume her.
And I do.
7
Isobel
His touch is like liquid fire. It warms me. Spreads through me.
It burns away until there is nothing.
No me, no Capulets, no fucking Governor.
I exist at the tips of his fingers.
His tongue slides into my mouth, caressing my own.
It sends shockwaves racing through my body.
I moan into his mouth—primal, full of desire and promise. It’s a sound I never knew myself capable of making.
His hands find my wrists, guiding my arms above my head to pin them against the wall.
I feel the strength in his grasp, the power in his hands.
My own hands in comparison feel frail. My entire being small.
This man is an absolute force.
I’ve never in my life felt so helpless as I do now, clenched in his embrace. My chest heaves against him.
The fire that is him rushes through me, burning me to within an inch of my sanity. It licks through my core. It pools between my legs.
I feel his force in every nerve. I taste his strength.
With just one kiss, I belong to him.
The thought draws me back to panic, mind racing.
I break away from him, withdrawing further into the corner, staring into his eyes. They meet me, frenzied, full of heat.
“I have to go,” I mutter, not fully committed to the idea myself.
This is too much.
He’s too much.
“Now?” he asks, incredulous.
“I—I’m sorry. I need to go back.”
He looks are me levelly. “What do you have to go back to?”
The question hits me like a punch to the gut.
I have no good answer. I have no answer at all.
“I have to go.” I say feebly, pushing past him and back towards the hall.
I expect him to call after me, to beg me to come back. I may not get out much, but even I know that kiss was something special. Something different.
He’s completely silent as I make my exit, though, brooking no further argument.
Really, what more is there to say? I have nothing to go back to.
We both know it.
I resist the urge to look over my shoulder, head held high as I navigate my way to the ballroom. Back to the Governor and my gilded cage.
I enter the ballroom with steadfast determination. I don’t know why I’ve come here, but I know it’s where I have to be.
The doors swing open in a rush, a sad imitation of announcers at royal balls long gone.
Still, the effect is the same. Hundreds of eyes turn to meet me.
The smiles are instantaneous, masks firmly in place.
“Isobel!” a stranger shouts. “There you are!”
The rush is just as before. Countless well-wishers swarm around, each looking to bestow their good tidings.
The champagne has definitely helped this time around. On steady feet, I face them.
“I’m SO happy for you!” says a woman in a peacock mask.
“Yes, such a match!” pipes a man in a top hat.
Someone should really tell him th
at masks are the order of the day.
“The Governor is a great man.” a silver masked woman adds.
I take it in stride, my mind millions of miles away.
In my head, the sea of faces is reduced to one. I see only forest green eyes.
I taste his tongue in my mouth.
My wrists ache with the pressure of his grip.
I can feel my skin flushing, heat searing it’s way into my body.
I can’t stop picturing my masked man. I can’t stop feeling his touch.
“Isobel!”
My mind comes screeching to the present.
My mother stands before me, eyes full of worry.
“Where have you been, dear?” she asks, words dripping with honey.
“Here,” I lie. “Just making the rounds.”
She looks sideways at me, clearly not convinced.
“I just needed a moment,” I add hastily.
My mother can’t find out the truth. I might as well go and confess my whereabouts to my father.
For all of her decorum, the woman’s mouth is a running faucet. I won’t slip up now.
I think again of the stranger in the lobby.
It’s unendingly stupid, I know that. If my father were to find out about the kiss, he’d have the man killed in a heartbeat.
A wise person would know that the risk is just too great.
But his touch.
But the feel of his hands.
I glance across the room to where my fiancé stands. He roams about in all his corrupted glory.
Whatever happened before and whatever comes of it, I can’t just let it go now.
I give my mother my most winning smile. “So when does my dance start?”
It’s enough to distract her. She turns from me, promising my moment is soon to come.
The very thought of the Governor’s hands on me again makes bile rise in my throat, but at least my mother is happy.
For now.
I turn my attention back to the crowd, their blessings washing over me like water off a duck’s back—unwanted and ineffective.
My smile is cemented to my face, never wavering.
When my mother gestures me to the dance floor, I go without complaint, countless eyes following my progress.