Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
When the time came and organ music filled the air, Draven offered me his arm with a genial smile. “Ready?”
I nodded, my throat tightening as he led me forward. My heart pounded as we approached the altar, and there, standing at the front was Alexander.
The moment I saw him, time seemed to slow. He was breathtaking. The tuxedo he wore matched my gown perfectly, the deep burgundy and black lace complementing each other in a way that made the entire moment feel unreal. His eyes locked mine, and for a brief moment, the world around us faded. It was just him. Just me.
My heart twisted painfully, still aching from the way he had left me the night before. He had left me wanting, longing for him, for his touch. And yet, even now, standing before him, I felt a desperate need to be close to him. To prove myself to him. The congregation—disciples, masked and unmasked—stood watching. Their murmurs filled the air, but I couldn’t focus on them.
My mind was entirely consumed by Alexander. He was the only one who mattered. Esther carefully adjusted my train as we moved forward, but I barely registered her presence. All I could think about was him. As we reached the altar, Draven placed my hand in Alexander’s. The moment his fingers curled around mine, something inside me shifted. The grip was possessive, commanding, as though reminding me that I was his. Always his.
The Magistri stood in a semicircle before us, Draven joining their ranks. The air grew heavier as they began to speak, their voices low and resonant, echoing through the Chapel. This wasn’t just a ceremony. This was a binding, something far deeper than any traditional union.
“This night, we witness the union of Diabolus and his chosen,” the lead Magistri announced, his voice dark and booming.
“This is not a union of mere mortals. This is a bond that transcends the flesh, that binds in spirit and in submission.”
My breath hitched at the word submission, the weight of it settling over me like a shroud.
“Lolita,” Draven’s voice cut through the air, pulling my attention to him. “Tonight, you become more than yourself. You become one with him. You will submit to his will, his needs, his desires, and in turn, you will find strength in his power.”
The words felt heavy in my chest, but instead of fear, I felt a strange calm wash over me. This was what I wanted. This was what I had chosen.
“Do you, Lolita, submit to Diabolus, to his will, to his command?” the Magistri asked, their voices blending together in a dark harmony.
I swallowed, my eyes locking with Alexander’s. “I do.”
Alexander’s gaze darkened, the intensity of his stare sending a shiver down my spine. “And do you, Diabolus, claim her, not just as your wife, but as your own in every way?”
He didn’t hesitate, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “I do.”
A murmur of approval rippled through the congregation. The words spoken between us weren’t just vows—they were a binding contract, a submission of wills, a promise that I would be his forever, in every sense of the word.
“Carnalis Dominus,” the congregation murmured in Latin, their words blending together in a haunting chant.
The words struck something deep within me. The weight of them hung in the air, sinking into my skin.
“We will tie them by blood and submission,” the Magistri intoned.
I felt Alexander’s grip on my hand tighten, a subtle reminder of what was expected of me tonight.
I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest. The lead Magistri stepped forward, holding up a ceremonial dagger, its blade gleaming ominously in the candlelight. My pulse quickened as he approached us.
“Diabolus, will you offer your blood to bind this union?” he asked, the ritual words heavy with meaning.
“I will,” Alexander replied, his voice unyielding. He took the dagger, slicing it across his palm without hesitation. Blood pooled in his hand, dark and crimson before he held it out for me.
The congregation repeated the words, “Sanguis est vinculum,” the chant growing louder, more intense. Blood is the bond.
“And do you, Lolita, submit to him, to this binding, body and soul?”
My breath caught as I looked into Alexander’s eyes. He watched me with an intensity that burned, a fire that made my knees weak. I wanted this. I needed this.
“I do.”
The Magistri offered me the dagger, and I took it, my hands trembling slightly as I made the cut across my palm. The pain was sharp but quick, the warmth of the blood following almost immediately.
Alexander raised his hand to meet mine, our blood mixing, sealing the bond. “Sanguis est vinculum,” the congregation chanted once more, their voices rising in a wave of dark reverence.
The moment our blood touched, something inside me shifted. It felt like a chain locking into place, a connection so deep, so unbreakable, that it consumed me. It was as though the rest of the world had disappeared, and all that was left was him and me, bound together by blood and fate.