Page 26 of Mortal Desires

It was every Morales' destiny to be cursed with a cruel husband.

At least mine never pretended to love me.

Vicious watched me during the whole ceremony. The officiant never took a breath, his words mashing with one another, creating a symphony of evil with his lips.

When he finally took a breath, it was to hand me a feather. I gulped, taking it between my fingers. Vicious moved fast, producing a dagger and cutting through his pale skin before I could ask about ink.

Syrupy black blood dripped from his wrist. While his eyes never left mine, Vicious offered me his blood. Without a word, I dipped the feather in and signed my name onto the scroll.

The blood soaked the paper, my writing spilling into small veins running through the whole scroll. A second later, my name appeared again, and the page returned to its original form. The officiant nodded and turned his attention to Vicious.

He took the feather from me and offered me the dagger.

“Afraid of a little blood?” he mocked.

I was afraid of many things. I was afraid of the ghost who went mad from sadness, overwhelmed by their death. I was afraid of becoming like them, even in life, just a shell of a person obsessed with nothing but my own demise.

I was afraid of things I couldn’t control. But mostly, I was afraid of myself and the times I shut my mouth instead of speaking up.

The cold metal from the dagger’s handle greeted my shaky hand. I lifted my chin, not giving Vicious the satisfaction of seeing me tremble.

I cut my wrist carefully, hypnotized when the blood ran free, perfect, and bright—so different from his. He grumbled something under his breath, nostrils flaring making me think he could smell better than the rest of us.

My lips parted when he dipped the feather. I watched my blood when he signed the scroll, not with the name he liked to be called but with a single word in Latin.

Omnia.

I chuckled under my breath as the scroll sucked the blood again, sealing the deal.

The officiant wrapped up, taking the scroll under his arms and nodding at Vicious without sparing me a glance.

“Seven days of obedience,” he said in English, making me wonder why he wanted me to understand that and nothing else.

Vicious nodded and flicked his wrist dismissing them.

The guests rose in applause, their happy grins confusing me.

“What did he mean by that?”

Vicious’ eyes darted from my face to my bloody dripping wrist. I almost forgot I was still bleeding. With a wince, I brought my arm up to examine the wound better, but he was quicker.

Vicious took my hand in his, flipping my palm up, the blood now running and dripping into his opulent marble floors.

I said nothing, not wanting to give him a reason to think I was weak. So when Vicious took my wrist into his mouth and licked the blood away, I just stared.

A gasp broke free, the voices around us quieting like the world was on pause. He sucked in the blood, and my knees faltered making him smirk.

“I got you a throne, little queen,” he said mockingly, dropping my hand with disdain, Vicious turned and took his place on the throne. With a nod of his head, he showed me the new chair he conjured just beside his.

With my wrist still tingling, I lifted my skirt and followed his lead, sitting on the throne and holding my breath.

Bessie quickly came to me, taking my wrist and dressing it with salve and a bandage. Before I could even say thank you, she disappeared like she was afraid of being seen.

“Now what?” I asked with my lips parched.

“We celebrate,” Vicious replied, not looking at me.

I focused my attention on the party, trying to understand better what was happening now that my fate was sealed. The royal court seemed excited, much more than the bride and groom. Food and wine were being served and soft music played. Everyone’s expressions seemed exaggerated, their voices shrill. I watched a man slap a maid’s ass, then she giggled and fell into his lap letting him bury his face between her breasts.

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