Caleb's breath stilled as her scent enveloped him—jasmine and something indefinable, like sunlight on dried herbs. Not the cloying perfumes choking society events, but something raw, unguarded. Her.
He leaned in, linen veil brushing his cheek. "What do you wear?" The question escaped rougher than intended.
Luna turned, amber eyes narrowing behind the fabric. "Dust. Horse liniment. The usual."
Their faces grazed—a whisper of contact where her lips might've been. Caleb froze. Her first kiss, stolen by accident through a shroud.
"My mistake," he lied, throat tight.
She jerked back, veil swirling. "Do it again and I'll neuter you with salad shears."
His laughter followed her out of the car. "Six o'clock, wife. Don't flirt with stableboys."
—
Claire's manicure cracked against the window sash. Below, Luna trudged up the drive, that damned veil fluttering like a surrender flag. The Rolls-Royce idling at the curb bore plates reserved for parliamentary elites—black enamel with gold numerals that made Claire's molars ache.
"Rented," she hissed to the empty room. "Stupid bitch took out a loan to fake status."
—
Grandfather Carter's chamber stank of decay and betrayal. Luna pressed silver needles into his papery wrists, the motions honed through midnight vigils.
"Wake," she whispered, adjusting the third needle. "Tell them I didn't push you."
His eyelids flickered—a moth's dying spasm.
—
Margaret stirred arsenic into the tureen, humming a bridal waltz. Claire skidded into the kitchen, breathless.
"She came in a Thorn car! Custom plates! What if—"
"Hush." Margaret tapped the powder jar. "Wang pays triple for virgins. By dawn, she'll have earned her clinic."
Claire's giggles curdled. "Should we invite photographers? A live stream?"
—
The soup tasted of almonds and lies. Luna forced a third spoonful past smiling lips. "Delicious, Auntie. Just like Mother used to make."
Margaret's smile stretched. "Rest now, dear."
—
Wang's sausage fingers tore at his belt buckle. "Pretty curse-bride," he slurred, bourbon breath fouling the air. "Gonna make you bleat—"
The door exploded inward.
Caleb filled the threshold, moonlight carving him from shadows. "Touch her," he said, too softly, "and I'll feed you your own tongue."
—
Luna surfaced through fog to screaming. Margaret's howls harmonized with Claire's as Caleb cradled her against his chest, his heartbeat a war drum under her cheek.
"You… followed…"
"Always." His thumb brushed her temple, gentler than she'd thought him capable. "Sleep. The wolves are leashed."
—
Dawn found them in the solarium, Luna wrapped in Caleb's overcoat. He studied the empty syringe in her hand.
"Strychnine?"
"Peony root extract." She met his gaze. "Next time, I'll use the real thing."
His smile could've lit catacombs. "My fierce wife."
Somewhere below, lawyers arrived to the sound of shattered china.
Luna leaned into his heat, letting the lie settle. For now.
Luna's eyelids lifted with reptilian languor, amber irises glinting in the gloom. Mr. Wang's bourbon-sour breath hitched as she smiled—a baring of teeth better suited to wolf traps than bridal chambers.
"Awake already?" His sausage fingers fumbled with his belt. "Don't fret, sweetness. Uncle Wang'll make it quick—"
Her wrist flickered. Poppy-dust bloomed in the air, cloying as funeral lilies. The trafficker's knees liquefied, ropes biting into suddenly boneless limbs.
"Auntie didn't mention our guard dog, did she?" Luna dangled beef knuckles above his crotch, voice syrup-thick. "Brutus gets so excited about… treats."
The Rottweiler's claws skittered on marble downstairs. Wang's scream curdled as she stuffed the bones down his trousers.
—
Margaret's champagne flute shattered when Wang careened into the parlor, trousers damp and reeking of fear. "The bitch is a shenjingbing!" he howled, flinging a knucklebone at her Prada pumps. "Keep your clinic! Keep your cursed spawn!"
Luna's laughter rained down from the mezzanine. "Really, Margaret? Roofies in bird's nest soup? Your imagination's as stale as your face creams."
The matriarch's composure ruptured. "Seize her!"
Guards swarmed—thugs hired for bulk over brains. Luna's fingers found the scalpel strapped to her thigh, but shadows shifted behind the goons.
Caleb materialized like vengeance personified.
The first guard's radius snapped with a sound like kindling. The second caught an elbow to the larynx, gurgling crimson onto Margaret's Aubusson rug.
"You dare?" Caleb's voice could've frozen hell. The remaining four fled, crossing themselves.
Margaret gaped at the carnage. "What gutter bred you?"
Caleb's smile made vultures seem warm. "Allow me to introduce myself properly, Madame Carter." He tossed a embossed card at her feet—Thorn Consolidated Holdings, CEO gleaming in blood-spattered gold. "My lawyers will spend your inheritance on parking fines."
—
Tires screamed as the Rolls peeled onto the highway. Luna inventoried Caleb's knuckles—skin split over metacarpals, violence thrumming beneath the surface.
"You'd have fought them barehanded," he said, not a question.
She shrugged. "Scalpel between the ribs works faster."
His laugh was a dark melody. "Remind me never to divorce you."
The car swerved into a rest stop. Caleb's palm cradled her jaw, callouses catching on linen. "Time to collect my fee, wife."
The veil tore.
Their second kiss tasted of blood and bergamot, teeth clashing before gentling. Luna's fingers found the bullet scar under his collar—a raised hieroglyph of survival.
When they broke apart, her mouth burned. "That wasn't a thank you. That was a declaration."
Caleb restarted the engine, eyes glowing feral in the dash lights. "Wait till you see what I do for birthdays."
—
Dawn found them in the Thorn conservatory, blueprints spread between toxic orchids. Luna traced the clinic's expanded floor plan—Caleb's midnight gift, annotated with her grandmother's herbal formulas.
"Partners?" he asked, offering a dagger instead of a handshake.
She tested the edge against her thumb. "Until the poison kicks in."
Somewhere in the city, Margaret's shrill sobs echoed through bankrupt boardrooms. In the gardens below, wolves chorused approval.
Luna smiled.
The game was just beginning.