The Demon King’s Bride by Skye Wilson

1

Bea

Weddings are hell. Literal fire-and-brimstone, abandon-all-hope-ye-who-enter-here, demons with pitchforks in Louboutins and Chanel pantsuits hell. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise—they’re probably just trying to sell you an overpriced honeymoon cruise.

It’s a hell most women walk through eventually.

Today, I was doing it in an Italian lace veil that had been in my family for five hundred years, a pair of vintage Salvatore Ferragamo heels once worn by Marilyn Monroe, and with my tits pressed up to high Heaven in a skin-tight Zuhair Murad gown.

Growing up, I’d always known that real life wasn’t made of happy endings. Forget about the romcom stuff. That’s all Hollywood movie magic. Nothing more. For me, the only romantic swell of music after the officiant said you may now kiss the bride would be the one played by a string quartet on loan from Buckingham Palace. My husband-to-be hadn’t won me over after an adorable meet-cute and a grand gesture so beautiful it had warmed even my cynical little heart. There would be no dashing hero to rush in and try to stop me from making the biggest mistake of my life, either.

Even if there had been a man in my life stupid enough to try that kind of thing, my father’s security guards would have tackled and tasered him on sight.

No—everything about my wedding day had been perfectly orchestrated. Timed, staged, and set to run right on cue. Today’s festivities had cost a pretty penny, sure—but when your family owns three islands off the coast of Greece and a fleet of matryoshka yachts big enough to make the US Navy green with jealousy, money isn’t exactly an object. Could you really put a price on getting hitched—without a hitch?

Apparently, no.

And it was all going perfectly, of course. Exactly according to plan.

Except for one thing.

As I walked down the aisle, the man waiting for me at the altar was not my fiancé.

I’d been engaged to Simon Roth since the moment I was born. Not officially, of course. That hadn’t happened until last year, when he put a diamond as heavy as the Holy Bible on my ring finger. But, growing up, we’d always known that our parents intended for us to become husband and wife.

My father and Simon’s owned one of the oldest financial institutions in the world. Through Leviathan Bank, the Argento family and the Roths had been tied to each other since the actual, honest-to-god Crusades. For centuries, our banking empire was passed down from father to oldest son.

Then, I was born.

A disappointment.

A girl.

Believe it or not, feminism never quite made it into old money institutions like Leviathan. The rich and powerful men our bank dealt with tended to see women as expensive accessories, not the managers of their extensive fortunes. To them, it was never going to matter how clever or ruthless or charming I was.

Like it or not, some glass ceilings are bulletproof.

So, a deal had been hatched. I’d marry Simon. We’d run Leviathan together as husband and wife. As far as marriage material went, he’d never been particularly inspiring. He wasn’t hideous or anything. He was tall and broad-chested, with honey-blond hair and cornflower blue eyes. But he’d always had the temper of a petulant schoolboy and the general attitude of a man who hadn’t been told no enough as a child.

I’d spent most of my life figuring out how to manage Simon as I resigned myself to my fate. In name, I’d be his wife. In reality, what he needed was a mommy.

It was hardly a love match, but that didn’t matter when you didn’t believe in love to begin with.

Maybe that was the reason that my heart skipped a beat as I saw the man standing beneath the arbor of roses, waiting for me at the other end of the aisle.

He was wearing Simon’s tuxedo. He was flanked by Simon’s groomsmen.

But his hair was dark, thick and sleek. He had the jawline of a male model, the kind who might have been pulled out of a 1950’s ad for an expensive cologne. Even beneath Simon’s tux, I could tell he had enough muscles to put most Roman statues to shame.

If it was possible to fall in love, I would’ve sold my soul in a hot second to fall for a man like him.

That should have made me suspicious in an instant—except that I was too busy wrangling a completely different confusion.

This man wasn’t Simon.

So why the hell was I the only one who seemed to have noticed?

Halfway up the aisle, I glanced at my bridesmaids with pleading eyes.

Ava wore a red dress that somehow didn’t clash with her copper-colored hair and a smile that said, You can do this, Bea! Even if it fucking kills you. She didn’t look alarmed at the groom switcheroo in the least.

Joan was scowling beneath her black bangs. I knew that scowl well. It said, If Simon so much as thinks about getting handsy with you tonight, I’ll kill him first. But as far as the dark-haired man standing in Simon’s place went, she wasn’t acknowledging his presence at all.

My parents were similarly unperturbed by this error. My mother was doing her best to give me a look of warm encouragement. Not the easiest thing to do through her latest round of Botox, but she managed. My father gave me a dutiful nod. Nothing more.

Not even Simon’s own father was affected. He should have been. My marriage to his son meant the continuation of the financial empire that Levi Roth had devoted his entire life to. But as I passed him, his blue eyes glimmered confidently beneath his thick, salt-and-pepper brows and his lips curled into a suave smirk of approval.

He didn’t

What the fuck.

I clutched my bouquet of roses and blinked furiously as I considered saying something. I didn’t know what—pretty much any words out of my mouth in that moment would have sounded like those of a crazy woman:

“Hello, excuse me, but did someone replace my husband?” sounded just as insane as “Sorry, but who ordered the hunky stunt double?”

Even just a simple, “Where the fuck is Simon?” would have earned me some crazy looks in that moment. No one else had noticed but me.

As I opened my eyes, I realized the reason why.

The dark-haired man was gone, and Simon was there again. His blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at me and offered me his hand.

I hesitated before I took it.

God. Had I been hallucinating?

Apparently. That handsome replacement groom was nowhere to be seen anymore.

“Bea,” he whispered, glancing down at his hand then meeting my eyes again. “Take my hand.”

I was still too stunned to say anything back. Too stunned to move.

If I was hallucinating other men on my own wedding day, I was even more stressed than I’d previously thought.

“All right, then.” Simon reached out and curled his fingers around mine, his hand was warm and solid. Definitely real. “Come here.”

He drew me toward him with a gentle but firm tug. As I stumbled forward, my heart skipped yet another beat. He caught me against his chest before I lost my balance completely.

His arms wrapped around my body, comforting and strong, as our guests chuckled, and a single wolf whistle cut through the summer air. I knew how I must have looked: so overwhelmed by the sight of my husband-to-be that I’d gotten entirely caught up in the moment. Like a smitten, awe-struck schoolgirl.

In a way, it was how I felt, too.

Simon was here again, but that intense, heady rush of desire I’d experienced when I first saw the figment of my imagination that had briefly replaced him still wasn’t gone.

We said our vows with my veil still between us. I stayed on script for mine: love, cherish, obey. But the whole time I repeated the officiant’s words, I stared up at Simon through the lace with suspicion in my eyes.

What was that? I wanted to ask him. Am I crazy, or were you someone else for a second there?

They weren’t questions I could get away with asking, though.

Neither was the most important one of all: Why haven’t I ever felt like this around you before?

My heart was racing by the time my vows were over. It wasn’t just skipping beats anymore. It was playing hopscotch with them.

Suddenly, I was thankful for the cover my veil provided me with.

It hid the way I sniffed the air, trying to catch the scent of burned toast. If anyone heard me, they probably would have assumed I was trying to fight back tears of joy.

In reality, I was trying to make sure I wasn’t having a stroke.

It was going to be a relief when all of this was over. I was just on edge. That was probably it. Weddings were hell, sure, but they were still big occasions.

Maybe my body was just confused enough about marrying a man I didn’t love that it was trying to make up the difference.

Once we were done tonight, I would get to go to my own suite at the hotel we’d booked for our honeymoon, and Simon would go to his. I’d lock the door and take off this stupid dress and these uncomfortable shoes.

I’d pour myself into a plush king-sized bed and sleep until it was time for our private jet to leave LAX tomorrow. Then I’d spend the next month of my life on a white sand beach in Greece relaxing and trying to forget whatever stupid things I was feeling right now.

That was the plan, anyway.

But then, it was time for Simon’s vows.

He didn’t stay on script.

“Beatrice Argento.” He positioned a thin, golden wedding ring against my fingertip and squeezed my hand. He spoke in Simon’s voice…but in a different tone. One that I’d never heard Simon use before. “With this ring…”

Say the words, asshole. My shoulders were tense. My entire body was wound tight like a wire spring. I bit my tongue as Simon allowed the silence to linger for several seconds too long. Come on. Say them. Stop wasting time, bucko. Let’s get this over! Go, go, go!

Instead of repeating the officiant’s words, Simon breathed a laugh and shook his head.

Nope. He wasn’t planning on staying on script at all.

“I still remember the first time I saw you, you know.” I didn’t know how that was possible. The first time we met, we’d been babies. During our parents’ dinner parties, we’d shared the same crib. “You were wild and fierce and beautiful. I knew in an instant that I had to make you mine.”

In the crowd, a few of our guests murmured with approval. There were breathy gasps and quiet hums and even a few saccharine awws.

You’re laying it on pretty thick today, buddy. I didn’t buy it for a second. It helped, knowing that his words were lies.

Except that in my chest, warmth was stirring.

In my head, I knew what he was saying was bullshit.

But in my heart…it didn’t feel like a lie.

Why?

“I’ve loved you for longer than anyone could ever imagine,” Simon went on. His gaze bored through the veil, like he was searching for something behind it. Not my eyes, though.

Something deeper.

It felt like he was trying to stare straight into my soul.

“With this ring, I make you my wife.” He smirked with a charming sort of wickedness that I’d never seen before. Not on Simon’s lips. “And I make myself the luckiest bastard in entire world, too.”

More laughter from the crowd. Louder, this time.

They were really eating this shit up.

To my horror, on some level, so was I.

Maybe after all these years of knowing Simon…maybe today was the day I realized I’d never actually known him at all?

Maybe I really could come to love him.

I almost laughed.

Maybe Simon was spouting beautiful words right now, but twenty-seven years of knowing him had informed me well of the man he actually was. Arrogant. Mercurial. Selfish.

Come to love him? Not fucking likely.

The fact that I was even considering that possibility reassured me that all this wedding nonsense was making me lose my damn mind.

“I pledge myself to you, Bea.” I didn’t believe his words, but they kept stirring that warmth in my chest anyway. Now, it was burning hot like flame that threatened to become a wildfire. “I promise you the protection of my body. The safety of my wealth. The depths of my soul belong to you now.” He slipped the ring on my finger. It was hot too. Like he’d pulled it fresh from the forge. “As does all the love in my heart. Until death…and beyond it, too.”

It was a good thing I’d done my vows first. Even if they did seem entirely lackluster now in comparison to his.

I was speechless.

I knew better than to believe him, but for a second…

Almost.

Almost.

He let go of my hand to reach for the edge of my veil instead. I was shaking as he raised it. I didn’t know why.

On the other side of my veil, it was still Simon’s face staring down at me.

But when my eyes met his…

Those definitely weren’t Simon’s eyes.

He settled the veil over my long, dark hair. As he arranged it around my face, his knuckles brushed my cheek and the fire in my chest erupted into roaring, hungry flames.

Simon’s eyes weren’t blue anymore. They were intense, glinting gray. I only had a second to stare into them before he took my face in his hands and pulled me toward him for our kiss.

We’d agreed on just a peck. Something quick and chaste, just to fulfill expectations.

But when Simon’s lips met mine, chaste went right out the window and over a fucking cliff.

He crushed my mouth beneath his like a conqueror claiming the city he’d just burned. It took my breath away. I couldn’t remember how I’d ever managed to breathe at all.

That first kiss was just a taste, though. When his lips moved for a second, they were hungry and relentless. He sucked my lower lip between his teeth, biting down just enough that I whimpered. His tongue slipped into my mouth, flicking against my own tongue. One of his hands left my jaw to wind around my waist instead, so he could pull my body roughly against his.

It wasn’t just my chest that felt on fire now. The flames rose up in my cheeks, flooded my belly, and pooled between my thighs.

My clit throbbed. My lungs burned. My cunt was wetter than it had ever been in all my life. In an instant, those little white lace La Perlas I’d slipped on this morning were soaked.

Before I even realized what I was doing, my hands were dragging greedily over the rough stubble of his jawline (stubble? He’d been clean-shaven just a second ago…) and raking through his thick, wavy hair (wavy? Simon’s hair was straight…)

But despite my confusion, in that moment, I couldn’t help myself.

My tongue tangled with his and my lips moved like they were starving for him.

I kissed him back.

The moment was broken only when I heard the saucy whistles and rowdy cheers from the crowd. I didn’t know how long we’d been kissing. But when I finally tore myself away from Simon’s lips and hazarded a glance back at the wedding guests, it had definitely been for long enough that the standing ovation we were receiving felt well-earned.

I looked up at Simon, wondering what the hell had come over him—what the hell had come over me—

But once again, the man in front of me looked nothing like Simon at all anymore.

His dark hair was messy from where my fingers had moved it out of place. His gray eyes were full of the same flames I felt inside my body. And the way he was staring down at me…

Whoever this was, he looked pretty fucking pleased with himself.

He looked like he wanted to do more than just kiss me, too.

Like I was something delicious enough, he wanted to devour me whole.

He was gorgeous and dangerous and fucking perfect. A man pulled straight from my wildest, wettest dreams.

Only, I had no goddamn clue who he was.