A slow dangerous smile curved his lips, even that was beautiful. His head tilted just slightly as his eyes traced her face, taking her in as if the blood and death around him meant nothing.

“Well,” he said softly, his voice rough and dark, “look who is here. Bride-to-be.”

“Do not—” she whispered breathlessly.

“Mine.”

He closed the distance between them in a few long steps. The smell of iron and smoke clung to him, it filled her nose, sinking into her breath. He stopped close, too close for anyone else, but exactly where she wanted him

“You are my bride,” he said lowly, his eyes blazing with possession. The way he spoke like it wasn’t a hope, but a claim, made Y/n’s heart stutter.