Page 4 of Fanged Secrets
The weight of my father’s expectations lay heavy on my shoulders. Don wanted me to be perfectly pleasant, but I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage that when I was being married off to someone like this. Her eyes screamed ‘I’d rather be watching paint dry’ louder than any words could.
When I finally tore my gaze away and quit staring daggers at my bride, I noticed Carlo had begun his speech. His lips were harder to read than most – he mumbled out his words, his mouth moving indistinctly and barely forming the shapes I needed to understand. Something, something, we are gathered here today…
I stole a glance at my father. He eyed Jordan Lane with the keen awareness of a predator, and I felt a pang of guilt at the role I was playing in taking the woman down. But that couldn't be helped. I wanted,needed, my freedom and I could not give it up for some stranger and the infuriating woman standing before me, especially not for her.
I turned my gaze back to Carlo who prattled on about our union and how it would unite our two “organizations” – a generous way of describing the two criminal mob groups. I narrowed my eyes at my new bride who haughtily raised a manicured brow in response. She had definitely killed people. A chilling thought.
Carlo had clearly gotten to the vows part because I watched her lips purse before shaping out the words; “I do.”
The statement seemed to leave a sour taste in her mouth.
And then it was my turn. Despite my best efforts, Carlo’s mumbled words blurred together and I was left with a patchwork of vowels that made little sense. But I knew it was time to make my vow when his lips stopped moving and his gaze met mine expectantly.
I faced my new wife, pointing to myself before presenting both hands, palm down and moving them forward slightly. The standard American sign language version of “I do.”
I watched with smug satisfaction as the woman blinked once, breaking her apathetic facade as the realization dawned on her. My father, ever the inconsiderate parent, probably hadn’t told her I was deaf. It felt good to take the other woman by surprise and I gave her an obnoxious smirk for good measure.
It took her a brief moment to rearrange her features, switching from parted lips in what was likely an “oh”, to a scowl most likely in response to my smirk, before finally settling back into a cool, passive expression. She gestured for Carlo to bring out the rings,ornate silver pieces my father insisted on for reasons one could attribute to his incessant need to flaunt his wealth.
I held out my hand, scorned by the slight quivering of my fingers that she definitely noticed. She hesitated for a flash, apprehension in her violet eyes, before taking my hand and sliding the glistening ring onto my finger. Something strange happened in that instant, a spark at the skin-on-skin contact like a jolt of electricity. My heart gave a wild, off-beat thump in my chest.
From the way she dropped my hand and snatched her own away, it was clear she had felt it too. Rather than handing the other ring over, she slid it onto her finger herself, eyeing me suspiciously like the strange phenomenon was my doing.
I ignored her accusing stare and inspected the ring on my hand. A silver band adorned with diamonds, far too fancy for my liking but perfectly aligned with Don’s extravagant taste. I wouldn’t be wearing it for long. Aside from the excessive decor on my finger, there was nothing out of the ordinary about my hand. Nothing that alluded to that strange spark that had coursed through my veins a moment ago.
There wasn’t time to ponder it though, as the signing of the official marriage certificates happened quickly after that, with Jordan and my father acting as witnesses. It was only then, when she indelicately scrawled her signature on the dotted line, that I learned the name of my new wife. Dylan Wood.
She glanced up from the papers and caught me staring. Her smile was disingenuous, scornful rather than sincere, and I couldn’t help but notice her canines – unnaturally pointed like a predator’s would be. I was reminded then exactly what I was getting myself into when I agreed to this marriage.
The shiver in my spine confirmed my earlier notion; surviving the Leyore gang, and surviving Dylan Wood, was going to be harder than I thought.
Chapter 3
Dylan
The married life, I learned quickly, was much harder than I anticipated. Already I had caught myself trying to speak to my new wife, only to realize that not only could she not hear me, but she hadn’t noticed I was trying to speak to her in the first place – leaving me rattling on for far too long before realizing I was talking to myself. There were to be many such occurrences.
After the brief but painful wedding ceremony Jordan had driven us newlyweds back to my apartment, only to leave at once with a half-baked excuse and insincere apology. Most likely to escape the palpable tension between me and my new housemate. The two of us were left alone, standing in awkward silence in the center of my living room while I internally cursed Jordan’s name for abandoning me to this cruel fate.
It was odd seeing a stranger standing in my space, looking around my apartment with mild curiosity. I was not one for visitors, and very few had set foot in my den in the many years I had lived there. This woman — mywife– Amara, looked outof place amongst my belongings. There was the blue suede sofa and the dark mahogany coffee table with a single water ring on the polished surface. There was the Persian carpet I had rescued from Jordan’s place during one of Sky’s yearly renovations, and Amara. She shivered in her sundress, shifting uncomfortably in silver kitten heels.
Behind her, the living room gave way to floor-to-ceiling industrial windows, and through them, New York City’s lights blinked to life as dusk approached. I strode past Amara, shutting an open window to quell the draft that raised goosebumps on her bare arms. With that out of the way, I was once again at a loss on what to do next. The silence stretched on.
Amara’s belongings would be arriving the next day, delivered by her father’s mountain of a right-hand man. Until then, all she had was on her person, and considering her dress didn’t even have pockets, she didn’t have much.
With that in mind, I hightailed it to my bedroom to find her something warmer to wear, uncomfortably aware of the silent woman watching me go. When I was out of sight, muttering a string of profanities vile enough to disgust a sailor, I gripped the godawful silver ring on my finger and yanked it off. My fingertips tingled at the memory of that strange spark between us and I cringed away from the thought, discarding the ring on my nightstand.
Digging through my wardrobe – Jordan was right, I didn’t have any clothing that wasn’t a shade of black – I found a sweater and a pair of loose-fitting flowing pants. With nothing left to do in there, I reluctantly made my way back to the living room. Amara was unaware of my return, inspecting her surroundings intently. I watched as she tugged a book from a shelf, scanned the cover, and carefully put it back again.
With my wife preoccupied, I took a moment to contemplate her. Back at the ceremony I had been hellbent on paying her aslittle attention as possible, only for my gaze to drift back to her again and again.
She was beautiful, dainty, with shoulder-length curls the color of toffee and shortbread and a small beauty spot near her ear. She was also incredibly annoying considering how many times I had caught her rolling her eyes at me in the short time we’d been married. The first instance happened upon arrival when I clumsily tried to offer her coffee with various ridiculous gestures. She had given me an imperious stare in response, rolling her eyes before tapping her lips to show that she could read mine. I decided to brew a pot anyway just for a slight reprieve from her condescending frown.
Don Leone had not told Jordan that Amara was deaf. Whether he hadn’t thought to mention it or simply didn’t care I had no idea. Probably the latter. Either way, I wasn’t sure how to communicate with her. She couldn’t hear me, and lip reading was only so effective – but then again, I had never been fond of chatting anyway.
I was hauled out of my musings when I noticed Amara fiddling with the latch on a large trunk in the corner. A trunk that happened to house an impressive collection of deadly weapons.
“Shit!” At least she couldn’t pin me for swearing.
