Page 7 of Wedding the Werepanther

A state-of-the-art gaming desk fills the center of the room, complete with two oversized monitors set edge to edge to makeone huge screen. I plop into my comfy ergonomic gaming chair and flick the mouse, bringing the entire system to life. The bare bones of my new game idea taunts me from the screen. All this searching for a roommate has put me behind on work.

I open the pic I just took in a program that will enlarge and clean up the text. In less than a minute, it pings.

“Oh, no,” I moan. “No, no, no.”

“What is it?” Shadow asks.

“I thought we weren’t really married. I mean, nobody filed any paperwork, and we didn’t have an officiant, so what we just did couldn’t be legally binding.” My eyes fly ahead, my finger racing across the screen. “But…” My voice trails off as I finish reading.

Strong hands grip my shoulders and spin me to face him. “But what?”

“I was both right and wrong.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly desert dry. “That might not have been an official wedding, but it was a magically binding marriage contract. We’re in a trial marriage for a month, with several stipulations.” I turn back to the screen and read:

1.)Kayla and Shadow will live together in Victoria for one month.

2.)Kayla and Shadow will go on a minimum of one romantic date per week.

3.)Kayla and Shadow will hold a minimum of one wedding ceremony per week inside Victoria or on the grounds. Participants may choose whether the ceremonies are legally binding or not.

4.)The trial marriage will become magically binding if Kayla and Shadow consummate their relationship at any time during the month.

5.)The trial marriage may be dissolved at the end of the month only if there is no consummation.

Anxiety sends icy fingers running down my back as my heart races. I press a hand to my chest and try to slow my breathing. This isn’t a repeat of my childhood. There’s a way out. No consummation, no marriage. Easy peasy. I haven’t had sex in over a year. How hard can one more month be?

Shadow leans over my shoulder, reading the “fine print” for himself. Even though we don’t touch, the heat of him warms my cheek, and my entire body shivers with awareness as I remember the way he growled the moment his lips brushed mine.

Who the hell am I kidding?

A month is going to be flippingforever.

We pore over the fine print several more times before going back into the entryway to talk to Victoria.

“I won,”she writes, smugness dripping from the air. “I’m going to get so many weddings!”

“Yeah, well, you just got your wedding for the week, and we’ll eat dinner together tonight, so that’ll be one of the dates.” I point at the wall. “So I hope you enjoyed it.”

“That wasn’t much of a wedding.”The pictures slide.“But it locked you into the marriage contract, so I’ll take it.”

“Don’t remind me!” I throw up my hands. “How could you do this to me?” Ugh. The thought of having no control makes my chest tighten. It’s pretty much the worst thing she could ever do to me. If there weren’t a way out, I don’t know if I’d be ableto handle all of this. I keep reminding myself that I just need to survive the next month, and this will all be over.

The photos on the wall move, spelling out the beginning of a sentence.

“You know what? We’re going to find a better way for you to talk than this.” Or at least faster.

“Yay!”The sound of applause echoes from the kitchen.

“Which also means no more of this fine print BS like you just pulled.” I level a finger at the wall. “You have something to say to me, you say it straight.”

“I did what I had to.”

I snort. Why didn’t I get a sentient house without a personality? Or at least without a personal agenda.

Shadow’s rich chuckle pulls my gaze to where he leans up against the wall, looking effortless and relaxed. But his green eyes watch me closely, and his shirt stretches tight over his shoulders, highlighting his strength. He’s a predator, coiled and waiting to pounce.

I hurry into the kitchen and dig out one of those poetry magnet games I haven’t played since childhood. Half the words are missing, and the selection has always been a bit lyrical instead of practical, with an overabundance of words like “delicious” and “throb.”

I shudder. No flipping way do I want Victoria to use the word “throb” in a sentence about me and the werepanther.