by L. C. Moon
The priest recited more prayers in Russian. Laura kept her eyes trained on Kayne, finding solace in the flames dancing in his eyes, mirroring the ones burning within her. She felt her heart flutter when the priest finally joined her right hand to Kayne’s.
When the crown was finally placed on each of their heads, she sensed her inner transmutation nearing completion and with a tender heart waved off Laura Spencer. Their right hands intertwined, candles in their left, Mrs. Kayne Malkin stood next to her king, proud, willing to stand by him, rule with him, in whatever kingdom he offered.
They still hadn’t exchanged a single word when the priest instructed them to share the wine from the common cup, symbolizing their commitment to share equally all burdens, all treasures, all of themselves. She squeezed Kayne’s hand as they followed the priest around the sacramental table. He quickly looked her way, an indiscernible expression on his face before turning away.
The final blessing was uttered, the crowns removed, and they headed back to the waiting limousine, still holding hands, still silent, surrounded by countless blessings from the attending guests.
At last alone, Laura turned to Kayne and smiled. She wanted to tell him something, everything, but didn’t know where to start. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Malkin, I’ve arranged a separate room for you.”
The first words her husband spoke to her cut through her like a knife. She recoiled from him, didn’t respond, and didn’t look his way for the rest of the ride. They spent the entire time looking out their windows in an oppressing silence neither acknowledged.
Kayne knew the day would be horrific to Laura, knew it was the furthest-possible scenario she could have ever dreamed of. He felt a pang knowing he even managed to betray a young Laura, a Laura he’d never met, who fantasized about Prince Charming and romantic happy endings.
He knew she deserved far more than he could ever offer her, far less than he would inflict upon her. In an isolated selfless impulse, he vowed to himself the marriage would only be a cover, just for her protection, for her freedom, for her. He would not drag her down to his debauchery, would not take what he manipulated her into offering willingly.
He could sense her hurt as they rode silently to the Drugov mansion. He resisted the urge to reach for her, take her into his arms, and kiss her with desperate passion until there was nothing left of her.
Hundreds of guests cheerfully greeted the newlyweds as they arrived in the gardens for the reception. Both offered a plastered smile to the countless faces smothering them in unwanted embraces. Separated by the sea of anonymous arms reaching out, they went their separate ways, neither looking for the other.
The celebrations began with an orchestra playing traditional Russian folk music. A beautiful singer offered a haunting rendition of “Oy da ne Vecher,” which Olga explained to Laura was a popular folk song that told the story of a famous soldier and his premonitory dream of his own death. In his dream, he envisioned his horse going wild, a dark omen, and the loss of his head. That soldier, who had truly existed, was later decapitated in battle. Laura felt her tears well up, enraptured by the captivating melody. She felt she’d known it all her life, somehow understood the lyrics, the tragedy behind them, without understanding a single word.
Eventually, the couple was called to the banquet. According to tradition, they had to down a shot of vodka and wash away its bitterness in a lingering kiss. Facing each other, Kayne clinked his glass to Laura’s. They threw their heads back and consumed the first toast. The wedding guests cheered “Gorko” in unison, crying the word “Bitter” in Russian, egging on the first kiss.
His eyes smoldering, Kayne pulled Laura possessively to him. Before she could realize what was going on, she felt his lips crush hers, his tongue prying her lips open. Her heart beat madly in her chest, her senses both numbed and awakened simultaneously.
The second toast, usually reserved for the parents, was made to the Drugovs. The couple was to open the dance floor with the latter. The whole dance, they stared at each other in silence, swaying in unison, their mouths unable to speak the truth their bodies shouted. Loud applause finally reached into their haze. They had not heard the music stop, still facing each other in complete silence, oblivious to the world around them.
As more upbeat music broke through, families and couples took over the dance floor. Kayne nodded to Laura, solemnly excusing himself, without a word. His hand abandoned hers, and she didn’t see him for the rest of the night.
The sun had long since set, the moon was reclaiming its throne. The celebration raged on. Some of the men had retreated to a private party. A few had remained at the reception, along with all of the women and their children, still awake. They danced, they drank, and always, they laughed. Sometimes children’s cries and screams were heard, under the watchful, loving eyes of their parents. The atmosphere was uniquely alluring, the chaotic bursting of life contagious, to all but Laura, and Lucas, whom she found while trailing off on her own.
He was hanging by the side of the house, far from the crowd and ongoing celebration. His knee folded against the wall, he was smoking a cigarette nonchalantly when Laura approached him. “Would you have an extra one of those?” She smiled despondently, pointing her head toward the cigarette.
He smirked, pulling his pack out. With his finger, he lifted one so it stood out in the pack and flicked the lighter once the cigarette was between her lips.
“How are you holding up?” he asked with a knowing smile.
She just shook her head, warning him she would not answer, would not follow this line of questioning.
He chuckled. “Frankly, I think it was a beautiful wedding. Though you might just be the saddest-looking bride I’ve ever seen.”
“You’ve been to many weddings?”
“No,” he conceded, which made them both share a chuckle.
“Were you ever in love, Lucas?” she asked, out of the blue, without staring at him, watching the dancing, celebrating crowd, further ahead. The groom was long gone, having retreated to the men’s private party. The bride was nowhere to be seen, but the guests didn’t ask. With music, vodka, and some good food, the feast would never end.
He considered her for a moment. “Yes. I believe I was.”
“What happened?”
“Well… I didn’t marry her…” He replied, trying to get his message across.
“Kayne doesn’t love me...”
Though she still avoided his gaze, he could sense the pain in her eyes at the admission. He lifted his brows, considering her statement.
“Do you know Tanya?” she asked, her voice flat, her stare fixed in the distance.
He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah… I knew her.”
“I think he loves her.” She felt the stab in her chest pronouncing the words but somehow felt immune to the pain.
Lucas’s expression betrayed his surprise. “Loves her? I highly doubt that…” He shook his head again.
“I hate her.”
“I could see why,” he answered, a telling smile on his face. “But... you know... she’s gone… Kayne took care of her.”
“What?” In a second, he commanded her full attention.
“He didn’t tell you, did he?” He shook his head in indulgent disapproval of his friend. “Yeah… you were still bedridden...”
“He... killed her…” Laura reiterated, more for her own benefit, realizing it was the third time she had caused someone’s death. For the first time, she fought the urge to smile.
Lucas nodded, his gaze meeting Laura’s.
“Because... of what she said to me?”
“Maybe you should ask your husband that, Mrs. Malkin.” He smiled.
She returned the smile, she liked the sound of that. Even if Mr. Malkin was currently at a private party, and she could only imagine what he was doing there. Her eyes hardened. “How come you’re not at the party with him?”
“Not really my scene.” He shrugged his shoulders.
She smiled bitterly at
him. Just her husband’s.
“I’m no angel.” He was quick to add. “That’s just not my poison. The real question is, how come you’re not with him?”
Her eyes shot him daggers for an answer.
He chuckled softly. “It’s none of my business… But… if I were you, of all nights, I wouldn’t want to spend my wedding night chatting it up with the head of security.”
“The best man,” she corrected.
“Just go get your man. With all due respect, Mrs. Malkin,” he added, in mock politeness.
She considered him for a second, then her eyes lowered. “You know I can’t go in there.”
“You’re Mrs. Kayne Malkin. Who would stop you?”
She nodded slowly, a sad smile on her face. She already knew she would not follow the advice.
It was already past midnight when they parted ways. She withdrew to her room and remained sitting on the couch in her wedding dress, watching the hypnotic fireplace. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that. The whole day had felt surreal. She replayed the kiss in her mind, could still feel his lips against hers, feel his gaze boring into hers. She opened a bottle of red wine and started drinking alone, her cold bitterness coming to life with each sip, her cold rage enflaming along with the fire burning in front of her. She would not spend her wedding night alone. She would find him, in hell if necessary, and bring him back to her.
She left her room and walked straight toward the forbidden private party, her walk resolute, her feet carrying her despite her frantic heart. The doormen eyed her apprehensively.
“Mrs. Malkin. It’s a private party,” one of them stuttered uncomfortably.
“Step away.”
“Mrs. Malkin, I’m really sorry about this. Our instructions are clear—”
“I need to speak with my husband. Move… or answer to him.”
They looked at each other, disconcerted.
“Maybe we can get him for you?” the other added, his uncertain tone already betraying his weakness.
“Move!” She raised her voice, her eyes cold as stone. They stepped aside, each pulling open one of the doors.
She walked past them, her head held high. The party was held in one of the lower-level reception halls. There was a vast room with many corridors leading to smaller private rooms. It was lit by thousands of red candles spread throughout. Everyone was dressed in black, most wearing capes. Men and women swayed their bodies to Khachaturian’s spectral masquerade waltz, bonded in the same lustful opulence. All were wearing masks; some being held in place by a stick, others secured with an elastic band.
It was very different from the party Kayne had brought her to. There was no established hierarchy, no organized sexual abuse and degradation. This was pure chaos. Men and women equally partaking in hedonistic decadence. A woman was riding a man on the floor who neighed wildly like a pony. Another was dripping wax onto the chest of a blindfolded man strapped to a table. One was being showered with champagne, while black-caped men leaned over her body like vampires and drank it off her.
Orgies were happening left and right. Everywhere she turned, masked faces looked her way, stopped for a moment, and cackled at her horrified face. She had thought she could handle it, but her head began to spin. Everywhere, masked faces, everywhere, madness, and no Kayne to be found. She stumbled forward in her white gown, with every step separating the black sea of masked faces, which would gather back behind her, like a drop of oil seeking itself, finding itself. She wanted to scream for him. Couldn’t he sense her presence? Why didn’t he come for her? Why couldn’t he find her?
She finally leaned on a wall for support, gasping for air that made itself scarce. She felt uncomfortably hot and light-headed. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She’d come all this way, crossed the River Styx, and paid the ferryman, only to land in a Kayneless hell, her one true hell.
As her tears finally spilled over and she felt her knees give out on her, she was pulled backward by a strong arm hooked around her waist. She wanted to scream in panic but couldn’t make a sound as she wrestled vainly out of the firm hold.
“Laura. It’s me.”
His voice was hoarse, vibrating so close into her ear. In an instant, her whole body relaxed against his. Her tears flowed with relief, air finally reaching her lungs.
She could feel his heat radiating behind her; she could breathe now. Everything is going to be okay. Master is here. She closed her eyes, could finally see the shore, and knew she would reach it safely.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was calm, though intense, did not threaten.
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know if her voice would obey her command. She was still gasping for air, having spent too much time underwater. She turned in his embrace to face him. It wasn’t his beautiful devastating face she found; it was the mask of the Beast. A mask that revealed his true nature more than his spellbinding features ever would. She was ready to face her beautiful monster, not the beast she knew lurked underneath. She covered her eyes with her hands in a childlike gesture. Kayne exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders shake with her soft sobs. He lifted his mask, letting it rest on the top of his head, and gently nudged her hands away.
His beautiful bride, in his cruel world. Tanya was right, he thought, she would not survive him. Maybe he needed someone like Tanya, who would’ve gladly accompanied him to the parties, who would’ve offered him women and watched with animalistic hunger as she forced their heads onto him, forcing them to take him in completely. Who would’ve whipped a woman bloody at his single command and would’ve devoured every instant of overpowering other women, avenging her own treatment at his hands.
Laura… his beautiful bride, his innocent girl. He had stolen her, had fought for her, killed for her, all because of her. Laura, who to this day managed to surprise him, who showed strength and resilience, who sacrificed everything, because of him. He wondered how she did it. The more he took from her, the more power she held over him. His little white lamb, who willingly penetrated the lions’ den, for him. He would slaughter them all for her, would paint the world red and lay its carcass at her feet.
She looked up at him, her eyes tentative, and smiled feebly at finding the familiar face. Tears fell down her face as she held his stare; she didn’t bother to wipe them.
His eyes penetrated hers. He wiped her tears with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. He took her hand and, without a single word, led her away from his world of depravity.
They walked in silence, hand in hand, as he led her to her designated room.
“Take me to your room,” she whispered softly as they reached the third floor, approaching her room.
He stopped for a second, looked her in the eye, and kept walking. He pulled her along, past the door to her room, all the way to the end of the corridor.
He opened the door and motioned her in. His room was huge, far bigger than hers. She walked to the center of the room and stopped in the middle, between the couch and the burning fireplace. She looked around, watching as Kayne entered, and walked past her. His eyes remained fixed on her as he made his way to the bar and poured two whiskeys. He walked up to her, his body so close, almost touching hers, and handed her a glass. They tipped their glasses to each other without clinking them.
She felt the alcohol burn in her throat, liquid fire rushing through her veins. She carefully placed the glass on a table nearby, then turned back to Kayne, still silent, still watching her intently. Without a word, she placed her hands on his chest, looking up to see his reaction. No help would be found there, his expression remained inscrutable. With shaky fingers, she began to unbutton his shirt. She felt his chest rise and fall under her fingers, felt his ragged breath on her neck, yet he remained silent, not moving a muscle. Once his shirt was completely open, she leaned in, softly kissed his chest, and with subtle fingers, removed his jacket then pushed his shirt off his shoulders.
She moved to his belt and struggled with the buckle. Wi
th a smirk, he patiently waited, letting her discover his body, and watched her furrowed brows, amused, as her trembling fingers tugged and pulled on his belt.
The belt unlocked at last. With utmost care, she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled the zipper down. She met his gaze as she pulled his briefs down and over his growing erection, lowering herself to the floor. Her eyes were determined and hungry as she leaned in and took him in her mouth. She wet the skin first, covered her teeth with her lips, and wrapped her hand around him, slowly taking the whole length of him.
A rough groan escaped his lips. He brought his hands down on her shoulders and closed his eyes, consumed by the pleasure she gave him. But it wouldn’t take long for his nature to break the spell, forbidding him a pleasure he did not control. His hands wrapped around her wrists, pulled them apart and away from him.
She looked up inquisitively, afraid she’d done something wrong. He pulled her to her feet and gently caressed her, reassuring the nervous face in front of his. He circled around, his eyes on her, once again, reminding her of a tiger on the prowl. She felt her stomach knot, her heart flutter in her chest, as she lay waiting, trying to anticipate his next move. He settled himself behind her and impatiently unlaced her gown. He tore the dress off her back, pulling it roughly to the floor. When he came around to face her, she shivered in her white corset and garter, feeling shy and vulnerable under his wicked stare.
He picked her up and carried her to bed the way he knew grooms did; he could at least give her that. Her eyes never left his, her nervousness creeping in. He leaned in, gently kissed her on the lips, and swiftly turned her around, laying her flat on her stomach. He stripped her naked and used her garter to tie her wrists together above her head.
Her breathing quickened, she turned her head and kept her eyes on him, not as a loving bride, but as fearful prey realizing the trap was set, carefully monitoring her predator’s movements. He removed his remaining clothes and returned her gaze with unabashed hunger. He smirked at her nervousness, at the desire he knew overpowered her apprehension. He missed their old games. Tonight, lion and lamb would meet again.