The Sacrifice: A Dark Revenge Romance
The Sacrifice: Chapter 9

I stand at the front of the Cathedral, my eyes dropping when she pushes away from the railing. I half expected her to jump to her death. But to my surprise, she glared at me as if she’s ready to hand her life over to me.

My eyes drop to scan the rows and rows of pews filled with Lords. I can’t see who is who through their masks and cloaks, but I can hear their gasps and hushed voices follow as they all stare at me, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.

Ryat stands next to me with his arms crossed in front of him. He will be the only other Lord standing with me today. He hasn’t even asked or questioned my motives. It doesn’t even matter, really. He understands I’ll do whatever needs to be done because he’s the same way. He had his own reasons for doing what he needed to do when it came to Blakely. And I was there for him to help however I could.

The pastor I hired to replace the one that Luke had comes to stand next to me at the front of the altar and nods, letting me know he’s ready.

“Wicked Game” by Lusaint begins to play throughout the high ceilings and I smile at the song I chose for her to walk down the aisle to. Luke had something completely different. I thought this would be more fitting.

As the double doors open, the guests rise to their feet to welcome my wife. She and her brother stand side by side. Her long train fluffed to perfection behind her. The dress is form-fitting, showing off her large breasts and thin waist. It flares at the bottom, making it look like she’s walking on a cloud. A veil covers her pretty face. If she didn’t need to say her vows, I’d have made her open her mouth and filled it with a ball gag. Wouldn’t that have been a sight? Her standing in front of her parents with drool running from her painted lips and onto her expensive dress. The thought alone makes me hard.

In time.

The song plays on a loop as they make their way up the long aisle. Miller comes to a stop as the pastor asks, “Who gives this woman away?”

Her brother’s eyes glare at me. “I do, Father.”

I chose him to give her away for a reason. I want to laugh, but refrain. Instead, I hold out my left hand, and he slowly places hers in mine. When I yank a little too hard, she trips over her dress, but I keep her up.

Her brother takes his seat next to their parents. There’s absolutely nothing they can do. The Lords have arranged marriages for multiple reasons, so the fact that I get to have her should terrify them. It proves just how far I’m willing to go to get what I want. I’ve been biding my time. I went three years without sex and then waited three more years for this moment. I’ve always prided myself on my patience.

I reach out and lift the veil, pushing it over the top of her head to see her bloodshot eyes meet mine. She drops them to the floor, and it shows me just how submissive she’ll be. She’ll crawl if I tell her to. Won’t that be a sight? She’s pretty in that fake ‘I’m insecure’ kind of way, so she bleaches her hair, whitens her teeth, and have big fake tits. Too bad Luke made her that way. The Laikyn Minson I remember had more self-respect than that. I’m going to test her every chance I get just to see how much it’ll take for her to break.

It took three years for Luke to make her what he wanted. I’ll do it in much less.

LAIKYN

He holds my shaking hands in his while I try to calm my breathing. My watery eyes look at the floor, unable to meet his or anyone else’s in the building. Shame washes over me like a tidal wave carrying me out to sea with nothing to grab. I’m going to die—a slow and painful death.

I blink, and tears run down my face when I see him slip a ring on my finger. He already wears his wedding band.

The Lords do everything their own way. They are each given a path and are allowed to do whatever the fuck they want with it. Not every wedding is performed this way. Take Ryat, for example. I know from talk that he and his wife didn’t have a big wedding in front of fellow Lords.

We’re only here because this is how Luke wanted us to exchange vows. Tyson just hijacked it.

The pastor steps to the side, allowing Tyson access to a long rectangular wooden table—the Lords’ table. It has a black runner that hangs off each end with white rose petals covering the surface and tapered candles sitting in their own individual crystal bases. The building is so large that the flame gives no light to it. They hold no meaning other than decoration for the table.

Tyson releases my hands and they drop to my side while he reaches out to pick up the dagger that sits in front of the candles. He pulls it from the old worn-out leather sheath with their crest engraved into it—a circle with three parallel lines through the middle—and lifts it to my chin, forcing me to look up at him. The cold sharp edge pressing into my flesh is enough to pinch but not enough to break the skin just yet.

My eyes meet his, and I hold my breath. He steps into me, the tip of the blade gently running along my jawline to the base of my ear. The metal is cold but smooth against my burning skin, making me break out in goose bumps.

“Recite your vows,” the pastor announces, making my heart skip a beat.

“I … vow,” I say with a heavy tongue. My breathing is ragged, and my pulse races.

The tip of the blade punctures my skin, making me hiss in a breath before I feel the warm liquid rolling down my neck.

His baby-blue eyes watch it slowly trail down my chest and fall between my breasts.

Taking the dagger, he pokes the tip of his thumb and cups my jaw, gently running it along my shaking lips, smearing his blood on me. “You vow.” His deep and assertive voice holds power. That thought makes me whimper.

“Together,” the pastor adds.

“We vow,” I whisper to myself, while his commands our audience. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Tyson steps into me, closing the small distance. His eyes stay on mine while he lowers his lips to my collarbone. A tear runs down my cheek when I feel his warm and wet tongue run up my neck, licking along the trail of blood. A shiver runs through me.

I feel his lips slowly running along my jawline as he speaks softly, “As blood is my oath, you will forever belong to me and I to you.” He reaches my lips and captures mine with his.

I taste something metallic—our blood—when his tongue enters my mouth and I swallow, knowing that if I don’t, I’ll vomit. I’ve already embarrassed myself enough.

I go to stop the kiss and pull away, but his hand flattens across the back of my head, holding me in place. The other slides around my waist, pinning my front to his hard body.

I try to fight him, but his lips pry mine open easily and he dominates my mouth, making my body react to him even though I don’t want it to. My thighs tighten and my heart races. My eyes fall closed, and he swallows what I can only think is a moan from me. I’ve been kissed before, but it was different. I actually liked that guy.

His fingers dig into my hair, and I feel him pulling the tight bun loose. Tilting my head, he deepens the kiss, and his tongue caresses mine in the softest way even though I know it’s anything but. Heat runs up my back, and my body begins to tingle with electricity.

When he pulls away first, ending the kiss, I hate that I don’t step back. That I willingly stay close to him. He gives my lips a gentle peck before he breathes into my ear so only I can hear. “Welcome to hell, little darling. You’ll only be able to crawl as far as my chains will allow you.”

I bite my tongue to keep from sobbing. My body is shaking, my heart racing, and my breathing is ragged. I can’t think straight right now. He pulls back and licks his bloody lips while watching me silently cry.

“I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Tyson Crawford,” the pastor announces to the silent audience.

The words are like a door slamming shut, locking me in my cage.

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