Page 90 of All Hallows Fate

The man’s beard parted to reveal a smile. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Come inside, you can meet the babies.”

Madness

Corgi. Puppies.

We had corgi puppies at our wedding.

I’d just spent hours telling myself I wasn’t going to cry, and now I was a hundred percent sure my mascara was running. Great. I was going to marry the woman of my dreams looking like a raccoon.

Cat looked insane. So good it ought to be illegal.

She floated down the aisle we’d made in Death’s garden, with rows of fancy chairs on either side of it seating our god besties and Cat’s family—my future parents-in-law, her killer cannibal bear brother, and the other, normal brother.

When Cat saw my veil, her eyes crinkled and a soft laugh rustled through the air. Perfect. She was so perfect. Her dress was a waterfall of vintage white lace, with soft grey shadows painted across the bodice and skirt like watercolour. The perfect marriage of dark and light, death and life, sane and utterly insane. I swore one of the dark brushstrokes even looked like a crow, and a lump formed in my throat.

She was the most wonderful, murderous, beautiful, bloodthirsty woman I’d ever known, and I got to marry her for real.

Out of all the batshit things that had happened in my life, this was at the top of the pile. It was out-of-this-world-crazy that this was real. A wedding, a carpet of white flowers, an arch of lime coloured tulips above our heads, and corgi puppies. Tiny, adorably ghostie puppies.

I sniffled, and gratefully accepted the tissue Miz passed under my veil. It was already damp, I noticed. Good. Cat was so breathtaking, we should all be crying. Not a dry eye in the house, as they say. Not that we were in the house. That part would come later.

And by that part, just so we’re clear, I mean we’re gonna fuck like rabbits. No wall, no table, no window, and no bed was safe. Hell, with our shadows in play, no ceiling was safe.

A grin crossed my face when Cat reached us under the tulip arch, her throat rising and falling at the sight of those flowers.

“Hi,” she said quietly, silver lining her eyes as she smiled at each of us in turn. We’d gone for a cohesive colour palette—my genius idea of course. Death wore pitch black, Tor rich charcoal, Pain a smoky grey, Miz the colour of ashes, and I was dressed in an ivory satin suit. And Cat, I realised, wore the perfect blend of all of us.

“You are so beautiful,” I sobbed.

Her smile curved her cheeks, pressed them close to her eyes, so big it barely fit on her face. “And here I thought I’d be the only one crying.”

“No chance of that,” Tor said gruffly, clearing his throat. “You look incredible.”

“Insane,” I agreed, so excited, so happy I vibrated.

“Unbelievable,” Death rasped, catching her hand, kissing her knuckles.

“Magnificent,” Miz breathed, wiping a tear before he kissed her temple.

“To die for,” Pain finished in a whisper. “You look unreal, Cat. Are you sure we get to marry you?”

“Don’t back out now.” Her eyes twinkled. “Or you’ll never get to see what’s under the dress.”

“Is it more puppies?” I gasped.

Her eyes softened, and she reached out to lift the veil from my face, bucking tradition like the wicked rebel she was. “Better,” she whispered.

“God,” Tor grunted, pulling at his collar. “Don’t make me carry you down this aisle before we’re even married, beautiful.”

Cat’s grin turned wicked. I had visions of lingerie, lace that teased, sheer fabric that would drive me to ruin. Would it be bridal white, or the black of death? She saw what she’d done to us, and loved it if her quiet giggle was anything to judge by.

Wicked, devious woman.

My wicked, devious woman.

When Passion moved to stand before us, very seriously opening the leather-bound book and beginning to read, I focused on the ceremony, on our vows, on finally, finally making this woman mine. Even if we hadn’t married in life, we were married in death, and it was a binding that could never be broken.

I tried not to sob my way through my vows, and failed. There were too many emotions stuffed in my chest, and they wanted out, wanted to get to the object of their affections.