House of Desespere, Isla De Tristeza, 1899
His reluctances would soon be noticed. He should have said, “no,” when he had the chance. Too late for regrets, his carriage was pulling up to the black stained castle of the Desespere’.
Perhaps, saving the woman he was so worried about had its price. Of course, his lonely, dwelling mind would always be loyal. Especially to beautiful strangers. Miguel laughed a little. Beautiful women were always trouble.
He could hear an organ churning, piping melodic charms as his carriage stopped near the grand entryway. Carved granite gargoyles took up space from above on the water stained stone, as the dark gray of an afternoon storm was swirling in the sky. Miguel sniffed into the air, tasting the rain and perhaps the bitter resentment of the council meeting him.
The carriage door was carefully pulled open, so that his lordship could set foot on unholy grounds. Miguel was above average height, towering over some of the council members. These are vampires? He smirked to himself.
His eyes scanned all he could witness, his expression cold and unrelenting. He didn’t see the girl – woman moreover. He coaxed the idea upon them. Twenty-one was still very young. But not so much that she knew nothing. He hadn’t imagined much – he had nothing else to go by.
“Senor Miguel Cervantez. Welcome,” a raspy voiced woman spoke up, “she is prepped and ready, as I’m assuming you are…”
Miguel looked himself over. His dark red, crushed velvet suit jacket was nice to him. He gathered he was marrying a half bred vampire, on their grounds…they should be grateful he dressed at all. When he saw the top of his chest hair poking out through his cream button down shirt, he realized this could possibly be the issue.
After clearing his throat, he nodded, immediately garnering the attention of his right hand, Milo.
“I packed an extra ensemble sir. Just in case.”
Milo looked over the council members as well, attempting to hide his disgust. Throughout all of this, a fat raindrop fell between the rigid and waning moment. The smell was invigorating to Miguel, as he smiled, all teeth showing. One council member put her head down as if ashamed and blushing.
No one else spoke, but turned as Miguel’s tiny groom party followed the vampires to the church.
Lightning clicked, thunder boomed. Miguel’s thick eyebrows knitted together as he just so happened to look up at the window slightly above the gargoyles, peering through now pouring rain. He saw a silhouette and began to wonder who would be watching him so intently. He smiled again, as Milo urged his master to move quickly, while the downpour ensued.
Now inside, thick spattering, rolling water and the organ were confiscating Miguel’s mind when one of the elders approached him cautiously. He could tell she was pious, yet in awe of him at the same time. She waited for the cathedral seating area to be emptied as her dark red eyes met his deep stare.
Laurel was kempt, not so much plain. She had flax seed colored hair, tightly bound up in a bun. Her red eyes seemed distant, as if focusing would kill her. Her lips were thin…nothing here Miguel would be interested by. She kept frowning a little, wondering if he noticed.
She seemed to be stalling, taking him in. Her kind loathed werewolves to the core…but this wolf was intoxicating. His long, wavy hair was drenched by the rain. As were his clothes. She watched Milo help remove his jacket. His muscles and strength pressed through the soaked linen of his shirt, and she could see the hair on his chest, matting against the wet fabric.
“I am her ladyship, Laurel. I schooled and raised Nia. And still often attend to her needs-“
“And what of your needs, my lady?” Miguel said in a deep, heady tone. Bad enough he had a Spanish accent to accommodate that…
His voice was like the darkest of chocolate, velvety while melting slowly and succulently. Miguel knew his voice and question roused Laurel and he enjoyed watching her shift for comfort in finding a way to react.
“I haven’t had a lover in years,” she said honestly.
“Oh. I meant, you’re staring precariously. I thought perhaps there was a need for me. Other than changing my clothes…”
Milo’s swamped feet skid clumsily on the floor as Laurel realized what she had said.
“No, no. The changing rooms are in the back. Nia will be down shortly…”
Miguel nodded, following to where Laurel pointed. Milo was right behind him, and as the curtain closed, the dim light of the changing rooms caught Miguel’s tickled expression.
“These vampires are quite hasty,” Milo said respectfully.
“Yes, it’s entertaining. They are the plainest and bleakest bunch I’ve ever seen. Nowhere near as decorated as I assumed, given for as much as I have seen.”
“Perhaps the girl is plain, too,” Milo remarked.
Miguel shook his head no. He knew oftentimes, girls took after their mothers. To keep a child locked away for years on end, there had to be other reasons besides her blood. In fact, he was close to hoping the girl’s mother wouldn’t seduce him, and she was taken into custody shortly after he saved her. He never got the full story, but her coven felt they owed him a debt.
The candles flickered a little as air from the front door pushed along with it those who would be in attendance. He sighed, knowing this is where the trick lied.
“Some small ceremony this will be,” he said, noticing how thick the crowd was growing.
***
Nia was marveling at her gown, dreaming of what her betrothed looked like. All she knew was that he was Spanish, with dark hair. And that was it.
Her dress was black, covered in black pearls imported from Thailand, of course. Lace, empire waistline – age and ceremony appropriate. Her corset was stinging into her back. Like any young woman, she was hoping that would be fixed in a matter of hours. Sheer, flowing sleeves – apart from the corset, adorned her long arms. She was a sight to behold.
“Tell me again, what does he look like?”
Her keeper snarled, he was tired of repeating himself.
“Remember, illicitly if you please. You’re marrying for duty…”
Nia rolled her eyes, staring into the mirror at herself again. There would be duty tonight. Her senses were running wild. Members on the council claimed that because she was half vampire, half human…she would never fully amount to what she needed to be. However, she had experienced all forms of lust, even that of blood.
And of flesh. However, there were no men around to fix that issue. Almost everyone surrounding her was damn near ancient – centuries old. She couldn’t fathom it. Wrinkling, cold skin. Thrusting, heaving, heavy breathing. She laughed to herself, knowing that Paul knew what she was thinking.
“What if he isn’t handsome, seeing as you are promised to him. He is a lonely, old wolf. Heard he too…is centuries old. And you’re to do his bidding?”
Nia stopped smiling, and whipped around, catching the most distinct odor she had ever smelled in her life. That of leaves, cedar, musk, fresh rain, some type of cologne…it smelled intimate and sweet. Most of the vampires smelled like their victims, or powdered rose perfume…as if nothing else existed. She had come to almost hate roses.
Almost.
“That, Nia, is wet dog,” Paul shot out.
“I like dogs,” Nia said boldly.
“Good! You’re stuck with this one for the remainder of your days.”
Cruel. Paul was doing his best not to show how he really felt. He had watched over Nia since the day she was born, had even cared diligently for her, unlike the rest of the council. And he was the only one who took the time to tell her the truth about her mother and her timely death. He saw the pain on her face now, saw her trying to will it away. So he rose from the black and gray baroque embroidered chair to meet her eyes in the mirror.
His hesitation gave Nia a moment to view him, peering through Paul as she always had. He was tall, slender with mid length blond hair. His eyes were a piercing grey, his flesh so pale and thin, she could see the veins underneath. Nia never thought Paul was handsome, but she had come to respect him.
“You will make an amazing partner. And you make a gorgeous bride. I am sad to see you go, because I don’t feel like you’re safe unless you’re with me.”
Nia had never been one to cry, however she was definitely reflecting on what he just recited and why he was being so mean.
“I’m not being dissonant because I hate him, or anything going on. You would’ve had a better life without all of this-”
“The council loathes me and my very existence. Any place other than here would be better. You can’t always protect me…”
Her voice echoed off, the trailing end of her statement as sad as everything Paul was thinking would go wrong. Would Miguel Cervantez be as good as his word? Would he abuse his position?
Or, would he neglect her every need, leading her to hunt…when she should be treated like the royal she was born to be? There were things Paul couldn’t discuss with Nia, because some things had to be learned. He, however, made sure Nia understood that her needs came first – and not the other way around. If Miguel for any reason couldn’t see to them, she was better off returning home.
Nia was also right about how the council felt about her presence here. They considered her unfit, and unclean. Some even went as far as to call her an abomination. Paul imagined how Nia would have fared if it was just Laurel taking care of her. He knew she meant well, but she didn’t know how to stand up to oppression, or raise her voice when she may not be heard. Of course, Nia always had a feisty temperament. Perhaps she would have done well after all.
The young woman was admiring herself in the mirror again, taking in the beautifully decorated lace. Then she marveled at her makeup, and hair. A lot of effort went into her look today – a French twist, with amiss tendrils. Black crystals crested the sides of her updo, and could be found in flicked places on her collarbone and shoulders. Her makeup was soft, done by herself. She used a pale pink lip shade, and only added smokey eyes to finish off her look. Despite how much full blooded vampires around her despised her existence, she was very well taken care of – as was her birth right.
Paul began to feel emotions he hadn’t for a long time. Resentment, pain, and here certainly not wanting to let her go. Altogether, she was far too beautiful as outward and inward, and to allow himself to witness her departure was painful. But marrying a man, whether he was a beast…one who kept his word.
There was no better place.
Laurel knocked gently, knowing she had already been heard. She stepped in, smiling sweetly at Nia. When she stepped away from the mirror, Paul moved quickly to place her tiara upon the crown of her head. Then, he fixed her veil, before looking at Laurel.
Unlike Paul, Laurel wasn’t as patient. Nia knew she had seen Miguel, and was fighting the urge to ask what he looked like.
“He’s quite nice,” Laurel said softly, “a bit more manly than I anticipated…”
Nia snorted. She knew exactly what that meant. Laurel kept going on for weeks about how passionate Spanish men were, but that they were often short in stature. Laurel had never taken a mate, and was prude as she was shrewd. Nia knew Miguel must be good to look at to warrant a comment like that.
As if the organist and band knew Nia would be coming at that moment, the instrument started up again, and Nia gracefully and carefully walked down the cold, stone spiral staircase. The halls, furor and living room areas were empty, and a nasty storm was still going on outside. Lightning clicked and flashed again, the thunder followed, rumbling the walls of her dark dwelling. She could smell the rugs and leather couches had been cleaned, and as she continued her waltz, she took note that the servants had already begun setting out wine glasses, and lighting candles in the eating hall.
This is when she realized there were dark red roses lining the tables in the halls, their petals littering the floor…in a good way. Wasn’t this to be a small occasion? It smelled sweet, romantic. Through all of that, it was this werewolf’s scent she couldn’t get over.
She caught glimpses of her dress in leaning landscapes and age old portraits of passed, sleeping or killed leaders of her coven. Her dress was a bit much for a “handful of guests.” Just as she suspected, the front doors swung open, as the billowing and chilled winds pushed a few fat drops of rain inside – enough that goosebumps appeared on her arms. She was turning right, towards the stained glass halls of the waiting area – that of the church…connected to the coven.
How dare they be lifeless…and without their god. Nia chuckled to herself, still swiftly and carefully maneuvering in her floor length dress. Then she stopped, remembering what was rehearsed, when the scent she caught earlier wasn’t as muted now. Clearer, closer, and much more tantalizing. She almost felt like bursting through the doors, and running into Miguel’s arms.
The music changed, as the organist could hear Nia at the door. Laurel moved in front of her, smiling a little, yet looking worried. And Paul carefully grabbed Nia’s arm from the right, ready to walk her down the aisle. Pushing the doors open, Laurel stepped aside as Nia’s small procession made its way down the aisle. Even amidst all the foul stench of rotten blood, and attempting to cover it with perfumes or oils, all she could smell was Miguel. He moved slightly, his broad shoulders wrapped in black crushed velvet. Then her eyes noticed a head full of long, wavy hair, with slight graying at the front.
The seating area was decorated supremely well. Dark red roses for each row of pews. Tall candelabras hosting thick black candles, the scent of blackberries and vanilla. Someone had taken the time to scatter rose petals where her feet would prance. The finishing touch were black velvet ribbons, intertwining on each side of the walls. It was perfection.
She was hoping he would turn around just a little bit…
And as he did, her heart nearly lept from her chest. He was gorgeous, dark, mysterious. Thick eyebrows that were knit together until he looked upon her. A well groomed beard as well. What was him casually turning around out of respect, turned into Miguel engulfed in Nia and her dress. He couldn’t make out her face, but he also could not stop staring.
The procession ended, as a sickly and gaunt priest stepped forward, nodding at both. Miguel was staring at Nia from the side, who was grinning from ear to ear, trying her best to behave. He smelled heavenly, and was far more attractive than she was led to believe.
As the priest droned on in Latin, she could feel his warmth radiating next to her. He swayed a little, then fingered for her hand. Sweetly and quietly, they locked pinkies for a moment, as a jolt of unimaginable pleasure pulsed through Nia. She couldn’t put her finger on it, it wasn’t sensual, or erotic. It felt intimate…childish. But absolutely necessary.
“I do,” his deep voice echoed, quickening through his bride.
“I do,” she said, a voice as sultry, matching his own in opposites.
Miguel smirked to himself when they turned, and he gently removed her veil. Nia was absolutely breathtaking. Her eyes were like silken caramel, her skin just a shade lighter. The curls in her hair were neatly tucked up, but enough to show and hide her face all at once. His eyes traveled to her lips as they were allowed the moment to kiss…and everything seemed to melt away.
He wanted to sweep her hair up, cup the back of her head, and kiss her more passionately than he was allowed. Remembering his manners, he stopped, taking a deep breath and gazing lovingly at Nia’s beautiful smile.
“You are now husband and wife.”
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