Chapter 13 · The Groom Dies First

The chains burn through my wrists. Silver, carved with moon-glyphs that hum every time I try to pull away. Silas didn't just lock me to the altar. He made sure I'd feel it.

Ronan's cage sits ten feet to my left. The bars glow the same sick silver as my chains, and he's pressed against the back wall, breathing hard. Blood's still dripping from the tear in his chest. The thing that looked out through his eyes is gone now, but the hole it left behind is raw and black at the edges, like burned paper.

"Ten minutes," Silas says. He's standing in front of the altar, hands folded like he's already at a funeral. "Moon hits the glass at zenith. You say the vows, or he bleeds out before it rises."

I don't look at Silas. I look at Ronan.

He's staring back at me, and his mouth is set in that stubborn line I've seen a hundred times in the past two days. The one that means he's about to do something stupid.

"Don't," I say.

He doesn't answer. His hands are gripping the bars now, and I can see the skin on his palms start to smoke.