They stood facing each other for a moment, David reaching up to straighten Deven’s Signet, then smooth out his lapel, before smiling a little and saying, “Sometimes I wonder how things would have been different if we’d had a chance to do this.”
Deven raised an eyebrow. “Would you have asked?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps . . . or I might have spared myself the disappointment. Even then I knew I was far more emotionally invested in us than you were.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” Deven asked, genuinely taken aback.
“I just knew.” David smiled again, this time with a touch of regret. “Up to that point I had never loved anyone the way I did you. After you became Prime and your Signet didn’t light for me, I knew our days were numbered. If I couldn’t be your Consort, I might have settled for being your husband, whether for a year or a hundred . . . but eventually Jonathan would still have come along.”
Deven caught his hands and held them firmly. “If you thought for a minute that I didn’t love you as much as you did me, then I was a failure from our first night together. I know I never gave you what you deserved. I wish . . . I wish I could make it up to you. I’ve never forgiven myself for hurting you.”
“You never forgive yourself for anything,” David reminded him. “But I forgive you. And the truth is . . . deep down I’ve known since the night I met Miranda that your breaking my heart was the best gift you could have given me. It just took me a while to understand.” He leaned in and kissed Deven softly, and they were silent again for a minute, holding on to each other as they had so many times before, before David sighed and stepped back. “I’ll see you out there.”
He had his hand on the doorknob when Deven said, “David . . .”
David paused and turned back. Deven was smiling almost wistfully, his eyes shining in the candlelight as he said, “I would have said yes.”
Something in David’s heart felt like it let go of a long-held breath. He returned the smile, nodding, and left the room, closing the door behind him.
• • •
Forever is so very long, my love
And ours is not an ordinary fairy tale . . .
The room’s having a piano was a coincidence, but Miranda couldn’t resist sitting down in the last couple of minutes before things got underway.
Then she rose and stood next to Jonathan, while David stood next to Deven—they’d been asked to be best woman and best man, respectively, each handing over a ring at the right time.
She watched, smiling, thinking of that night she and David had stood in front of an old man who looked an awful lot like this one, with Faith looking on. They’d been wearing exactly what they would have any other night, long coats and swords and all. She didn’t remember any of the words; all she remembered was being happy, smiling up into David’s eyes, wondering what she was getting into . . . even though she already knew.
“We are gathered here tonight . . .”
Her face had probably looked a lot like Deven’s did as the justice of the peace began his lines—the Prime looked a little surprised at himself, being where he was, but also much happier than she’d ever seen him. Once or twice, she thought she saw his eyes start to tear up, but it was gone as quickly as it came and could have been a trick of the light.
She glanced down at the rather large gold wedding band she was holding. It was enormous; Jonathan had the sort of fingers usually found on people who ground bones to make bread.
She turned the ring in her hand and noticed for the first time it was inscribed inside the band in incredibly tiny letters:
“Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the Sun doth move . . .”
The second half must be carved into Deven’s ring.
“Doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love.”
That, for some reason, brought tears to her eyes, and she was sniffling when she stepped forward to hand the ring to Deven. He squeezed her hand gently when he took it.
“With this ring, I thee wed.”
Miranda looked over and caught David’s eye. He smiled, and she felt love and appreciation from him, warming her from the inside out. She returned it as well as the smile.
As Jonathan had promised, the ceremony was very short; rings, brief vows, and that was pretty much it. It was interesting watching the officiant—she could tell by the pauses before pronouns that he hadn’t performed a lot of same-sex weddings, but he was perfectly glad to be there, and his smile was genuine as he concluded:
“By the power vested in me by the state of California and the county of Sacramento, I now pronounce you, Jonathan and Deven Burke, joined for as long as you both shall live.” He grinned, the expression lighting up his wrinkled face so much that Miranda started giggling. “Now, kiss!”
Deven was laughing as Jonathan grabbed him and spun him around, kissing him passionately. They ended up standing in each other’s arms, and everyone else came up and hugged each other, then the Pair. They both looked absolutely blissful, neither entirely willing to move away from the other.
“All right,” Jacob said, “What sort of amusements did you have in mind for the rest of the evening? A champagne toast followed by moderately awkward ballroom dancing?”
Deven’s smile turned mischievous. “Not a chance,” he said. “You all brought a second set of clothes—go change. We’re going clubbing.”
• • •
The others had already walked out of the room, but Jonathan lingered to pay the JP and have him sign the marriage license, and Deven stood there watching him for a moment before lowering his gaze to his left hand, where the ring now encircled his finger.
David had suggested platinum, which was what his and Miranda’s were made from, but Jonathan had made one of his few serious requests in the whole situation and asked for gold. Theirs was already a nontraditional wedding, he had explained; he wanted one traditional thing.
The officiant left with a parting grin and wave, and Jonathan came back over to where Deven was standing, holding up the calligraphed piece of paper. “Look,” he said. “We’re official.”
“There it is, in black and white,” Deven murmured, touching his name . . . his old name, then the new. It was going to take a while to get used to the change, but he’d been adamant about it—that, he said, was
his
traditional thing.
“Come on,” Jonathan said. “We should get changed—let’s just grab the little waiting room next door.”
Deven tucked the license in his bag and brought it along, shutting the waiting room door.
He had his coat and shirt off before he felt Jonathan’s eyes on him and looked back over his shoulder. “You’re getting distracted, husband.”
Between one breath and the next Jonathan had hold of him and shoved him back against the mirror—not hard enough to break it, thank God—and was kissing him hard, hands already trying to get the rest of Deven’s tux off.
Jonathan said in his ear, “Say that again.”
Deven knew exactly what he meant, and grabbed the Consort’s hair and pulled his head back so their eyes met. “Husband,” Deven said.
A growl, and they were kissing again, this time headed down toward the floor—it was probably filthy, but neither especially cared in that precise moment. That was why soap, and dry cleaning, had been invented.
“We do have someplace to be,” Deven panted, though it took quite an effort to remember how to speak English with Jonathan doing what he was doing.
“They can wait a few minutes.”
“Just a few . . . we’ll have to hurry.”
“Then shut up and let me get down to business.”
Deven laughed, rested his head back against the dingy industrial carpet, and surrendered without a fight.
Fourteen
The club was called La Caccia, and it was similar to the Black Door in both form and function, just a bit smaller. Even half a block away, waiting for the limo to make its way through traffic up to the front doors, Miranda could hear pounding bass, and there was a line outside that snaked around the building.
David was tense next to her. He claimed he was only worried about the security plan. She let it go at that but said, “Oh, come on—it’s their first quickie as a married couple. Cut them some slack.”
The plan wasn’t going to collapse from a half-hour delay arriving at the club; a far bigger hazard for the vampires was the trip back to the Haven. Not only was it possible for Morningstar to attack the limos and take out enough tires to cause an accident and leave them vulnerable, it was imperative that no one find the Haven itself.
Dozens of Elite had been deployed for tonight, and the club itself, which was already watched over by tight security to make sure its human patrons weren’t injured by its vampire patrons, would have fifty extra guards inside and outside the building, even on the roof.
“Baby, relax,” she said. “You’re making me twitchy. I just want to let my hair down for a couple of hours, and I can’t do it with you throwing off sparks.”
He leaned his forehead on his hand. “I’ll try. But this is a—”
“Bad idea,” she finished for him. “I heard you the first twenty times. But we’re not in charge, remember? We’re here for our friends.”
The other occupant of their limo smiled at Miranda. She had a sneaking suspicion that Olivia wasn’t fooled by David’s behavior either; yes, he was worried about their safety, but there was more to it than that. The look on his face when Deven reappeared freshly changed and pretty obviously postcoital was a dead giveaway that the wedding had affected David more than he’d let on . . . just as she’d warned him it would. He probably didn’t even realize it.
“So how’s the Elite-building going?” Miranda asked, hoping to change the subject. “I heard you found a Second.”
“Yes,” Olivia confirmed. “Her name’s Regan. For some reason—and I know this will surprise you—I’ve been getting a ton of female recruits.”
“That’s awesome.”
“It is. We’re about sixty percent women right now, but Regan’s running another trial this weekend and she said it’s all men. I’m hoping we’ll be up to the numbers I want in another month.”
Miranda frowned. “So you don’t want so many women?”
“All things being equal, I couldn’t care less what sex they are. I don’t hold a sword with my vagina, so why should it matter? But I’d rather keep a fairly even ratio for now so that people don’t accuse me of preferential treatment of women because I’m a woman.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s already talk that I’m building some kind of Amazon army. You know, aside from all of us, the Council is nothing but a bunch of useless old morons.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Miranda said. “Besides, in battle I think a vagina would be a much better weapon than a penis. They’re way less fragile and most men are already afraid of them.”
Olivia laughed. “Point taken.”
The car pulled to a stop, and one of the Elite waiting outside the club opened the door for them; here the doors and the street were much closer together, and it was just easier to walk in than to Mist. Olivia had expressed relief hearing that part of the plan.
Miranda’s main worry for the time being was Cora; she didn’t know how the shy Queen would react to a place like La Caccia with so many people in such a tight space. But as soon as they were in the building, Deven gestured for them all to follow, and he and Jonathan led them through a door to the left of the main entrance, where a long hallway wrapped around the side of the club and brought them to a back room up on the second floor.
Outfitted with comfortable chairs and a couple of tables, it was the ideal place to leave Vràna, who obviously couldn’t come out into the crowd. There was even a small bed in the corner and a door she suspected led to a private bathroom.
Jonathan saw Miranda looking around and leaned close to say, quietly, “We’ve fed in here quite often, among other things. Dev has this tendency to try every drug that crosses his path, but his favorite tends to make him . . . affectionate, let’s say.”
“Which one is that?”
“There’s a designer brand of Ecstasy called Euphoria Twenty-one that’s made specifically for vampires.”
“That door leads out into the club,” Deven was saying, indicating the one on the opposite wall. “Cora, you’re welcome to stay here the whole time, or come and go as you please if you find the crowd overwhelming.”
The Queen, who had been visibly nervous, relaxed immediately. “Thank you,” she said, kissing Deven on the cheek. “I knew you would think of me.”
He smiled at her. “If there’s anything we can get you that will make your evening more comfortable, just say the word.”
Jacob took his Queen’s hand and said, “Why don’t we go out with the others for a few minutes, so you can see what it’s like in there, and then we can come back if you like. I’d hate for you to miss out.”
She nodded. “I will go . . . as long as you stay with me.”
“I always do,” Jacob replied, kissing her hand. Miranda loved the way Cora smiled at him; when they’d first met, Cora had been so terrified of everything, especially men, that Miranda had wondered how she would ever be able to love her Prime without fear. She should have known that Jacob would be so good for her—not only was he a gentle man with a quiet disposition of his own, he had limitless patience and understood that in their lives there was no need to hurry. That patience had paid off beautifully for them both.
Jonathan opened the door, letting the noise of the club flood in, and they left the room and ventured into the fray.
Just like the Black Door, La Caccia had two levels; looking out over the first level, Miranda saw that the dance floor was packed and the bar a whirl of activity. She glanced over at Cora—the Queen’s eyes were wide, but she held on to Jacob’s hand and didn’t bolt.
Jacob apparently caught Miranda’s thoughts; she’d forgotten he was a telepath. “Don’t worry,” he said as he led Cora past her toward the stairs. “She’s braver than she lets on.”
He winked at Miranda, and she noticed that while Cora still looked like she might jump out of her skin, the closer they got to the dance floor the more she perked up.
“Well, come on,” David said over the noise, wrapping an arm around his Queen’s waist and kissing her ear. “Let’s get that hair of yours down.”