Bloody Valentine (9 page)

E
arly the next morning in the privacy of their bed, Schuyler huddled closer to Jack. She could feel the sunlight streaming into the room, filling it with warmth. Today was their bonding day. She felt his hand on the small of her back, his skin on her skin as he slipped it underneath the light fabric. She turned to him so that she was enveloped, crushed in his arms.

Without saying a word, Jack began to kiss her cheek and her neck, and Schuyler felt his body move over hers, felt the heaviness of him settle upon her. After tonight, they would be bonded.

But that morning, they were still just two people.

After all those trysts in the secret apartment, one would think they had already crossed this line. But she was still chaste. Still innocent, although perhaps not as naive as a virgin bride slipping into her wedding bed, nervous and shaking. No. Not
that
innocent. But she had wanted to wait for this, had wanted to wait until she was ready, and now she did not want to wait any longer.

She opened her eyes and found him staring at her. The question in his eyes was answered by her kiss.
Yes, my dar
ling. Yes. Now.

She lifted his shirt above his chest and helped him undress, her fingers lightly skimming the length of his body. He was so beautiful and warm and solid. And he was hers. She felt pliant and soft underneath him. His skin was hot to the touch, and it felt as if they were both burning, burning.

She could not breathe, she could not think, she could only feel—only feel his kiss and his touch and his weight and the two of them together.

Jack sank his fangs into her neck and she surrendered to him, to love, to pleasure, to the feel of him everywhere—in every last part of her. He took her and held her, and when it happened, she felt broken and free and new.

She could not stop crying. She was so happy, although happy was not the word, it was more than that. It was strong and coursing through her as if she were lit like a candle, an extension of his love and lust, a mere collection of nerve endings. She felt open and whole and surrendered.

“What is wrong, my love?” he whispered, his beautiful face a breath from hers.

She pulled him ever closer. She kissed him hungrily.
Nothing is wrong. Nothing…nothing at all.

It was wonderful and frightening and awkward and ecstatic, and she was dizzy from the blood and the pain. But the pleasure was more intense, and more than she could have imagined.

Sweet oblivion.

Tonight they would be bonded. Tonight, she would be his. But she was already.

A
t sunset, Schuyler walked into a small church on the north side of the city. She had made the journey alone, as tradition called, her new leather sandals stepping lightly on the cobblestones. When she arrived, Bliss was waiting for her at the vestibule entry.

“You look gorgeous as usual,” her friend sighed. “And that dress!” Bliss handed her a bouquet of wildflowers. The same kind that Jack had given her during their climb up Mount Rosa. “Jack wanted me to give this to you.”

Schuyler smiled as she accepted them. She put a flower in her hair. Her heart beat wildly, and she felt so much love—not just for Jack but for her friends, who were with her on this night.

“Where’s our girl?” a voice asked.

“Ollie!” Schuyler cried, turning to give him a tight hug. Even though they had just seen each other the night before, she was so glad that after everything they had gone through, they were all there for one another. This was what she had wanted. A bonding was both a commitment between her and Jack and a celebration for their community. These were her people.

“I think I get to give you away,” Oliver said with a smile. “Which is only appropriate, don’t you think?”

From behind the closed chapel doors, Schuyler heard the sound of Wagner’s Bridal Chorus, commonly known as “Here Comes the Bride.” A traditional choice perhaps, but on her bonding day Schuyler did not want to trifle with convention. She felt deep-seated desire to pay homage to the institution they were joining.

“I think that’s our cue,” she told Oliver, taking his hand. Bliss opened the doors and stepped into the aisle first, as the bridesmaid.

Schuyler felt none of the butterflies or anxiety she had thought she would feel. She looked straight ahead.

Because there he was.

Her Jack, standing so straight and true. Their love had been tested and challenged, but they had come out of it whole. Their love was stronger than ever. This bright, cheerful happiness that filled the room was his creation. He had cast his own spell, had managed to track down Bliss, and had brought Oliver from New York. They were not even the only friends in attendance. The small chapel was filled with smiling, familiar faces. There was the entire lacrosse team: Bryce Cutting and Jamie Kip and Booze Langdon and Froggy Kernochan. There were Hattie and Julius Jackson, beaming and proud. There was Christopher Anderson. There was Ghedi, their friend, even after everything.

Oliver kissed her on the cheek and shook Jack’s hand.

Then Jack kissed her forehead, and the two of them walked toward the altar. This was right, this was wonderful. This was the happiest day of her life.

Somewhere, not too far, Schuyler felt the presence of those who were missing. She felt Dylan smiling. She felt the love of her grandparents, Lawrence and Cordelia. But most of all, she felt the loving presence and guardianship of her mother and father, wherever they were.

* * *

There was no priest at the head of the altar. Blue Blood unions were made by the bondholders themselves. They only had to consecrate their union by saying the right words to each other.

Jack turned to Schuyler, reaching for her left hand. He slipped a ring on her finger. It was the same one that the Venator had brought. The cursed ring.

“Drusilla thought she could spoil this day for me. But she was wrong,” Jack said. “I should thank her, truly, for giving back what I had once lost.”

Schuyler stared curiously at the ring on her finger. The white metal was gone. She saw now that it was a dark-colored band, threaded with a crimson line, as if it were cast of iron and blood.

Jack held it up to the light.

In all my years on this Earth, I have amassed a fortune of jewels and treasures. I can offer you diamonds and rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Yet there is no jewel brighter than your eyes.

As he spoke, Schuyler realized he was opening a way to the glom, and when she blinked, the two of them were standing across from each other in the shadow world. The church and their friends had disappeared.

Do not worry; to them this is but the briefest of moments.
He stood in front of her then, in his true form, his ebony wings arching from his back and his horns on his head.

Schuyler looked at the band on her finger and saw that it was a ring of Black Fire.

Do you know the history of how the angels were made?

She shook her head.

When the Almighty created the world, he made the First Born. The Angels of the Light: Michael, Gabrielle, and their brethren were fashioned from the gossamer stars of the heavens. The Angels of the Underworld were cast from the Dark Matter that holds the Earth. There is no Light without the Dark. I am made of fire and iron, of coal and brimstone.

When we were cast out of Paradise, we lost part of our soul forever. As part of our punishment, we were cursed never to learn to love again. Instead, we were bound to a destiny that was set from the beginning. Azrael and I never chose each other; the choice was made for us. We never knew anything else.

The ring you hold is part of my soul that your mother helped me recover. It was she who saved us from the Dark and led us back to the Light. As her daughter, you too are an Angel of the Light. The fire does not harm you. I lost this ring during the crisis in Rome. But now it has been returned to me.

This ring has been blessed by Gabrielle herself.

I have never given this ring, my soul, to anyone. Azrael has never had any part of this.

This is the only part of myself that is truly mine, and now it is yours.

When they stepped away from the glom, Schuyler marveled at the dark ring in her hand. It looked so plain and ordinary, and yet behind it was a secret history of war and blood and love and loss and forgiveness and friendship.

“I will never take it off,” she promised. “And I have a ring as well.”

This time, her hands were as steady as a surgeon’s as she slipped the ring on his finger. It was a plain gold ring. Inscribed with her parents’ wedding date. When she left New York, she had managed to bring a few prized possessions with her.

This was my father’s ring
, she sent.
It has a protection in it that my mother bestowed on him when they bonded. I want you to have it.

They took each other’s hands, and in front of a chapel filled with their friends, they said the words that bound them to each other, words that could not be unmade.

“I give myself to you and accept you as my own,” Jack declared, his voice trembling a little. There were tears in his eyes.

“I give myself to you and accept you as my own,” Schuyler echoed. She felt calm and serene and looked at him with so much love.

It was done.

They were bonded.

When she looked at Jack again, his emerald eyes were dancing. He radiated joy and happiness and pride. She swelled with love. Against everything, they were together. Against everything, she was his and he was hers.

Did she feel different? Somehow she had imagined an invisible bond forming between them, a physical sensation tying them to each other. Yet she felt the same. Only better. Only more complete. More at peace.

The small room burst into cheering and applause.

When they walked out of the church to the cheerful strains of Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March,” their friends greeted them with bright sparklers that shone against the darkness and called their names to the skies.

Jack tightened his grip on her hand, and Schuyler squeezed back twice. It was their secret code. It meant
I love you
.

Tomorrow Jack would leave her. Tomorrow he would return to New York and she would head for Alexandria.

But tonight, they would dance.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to my family. Mike and Mattie. Mom. Aina, Steve, Nicholas, and Josey. Chit and Christina. Mom and Dad J and all the other J’s. Miss you, Pop. Thank you to my lovely editors, Christian Trimmer and Stephanie Lurie, and everyone at Hyperion. Thank you to my wonderful agent, Richard Abate. Thank you to all of you who have been with the Blue Bloods for so long.
Arrivederci
for now. See you again soon.