C h r i s t i e

I could hardly believe what was happening.

Jacques was here.

Actually here.

He held my hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground, pulling me through the stunned silence of the cathedral. Behind us, Rudolph lay crumpled on the marble floor, clutching his bleeding nose, silver eyes wide with shock.

Jacques glanced over his shoulder at me. Rain soaked his dark curls, plastering them to his forehead and darkening his jacket to near-black. Still, he grinned like this was all a grand adventure—like he hadn't just punched a prince in front of half the nobility.

"Did I scare you?" he asked, eyes gleaming. "You know that I'd never let that bastard take you from me."

"You came back," I said, the words catching in my throat.

"I drove like a bat out of hell to get here," he said, throwing the cathedral doors open.

The wind hit us like a wall, howling through the storm-soaked street. Rain lashed down in cold sheets, but Jacques moved in front of me without hesitation, shielding me from the worst of it as we hurried down the steps.

At the base of the stairs, his motorbike waited—glistening and absurd in the downpour, like something pulled straight out of one of his bad decisions.

Lightning split the sky. I flinched. He caught me without missing a beat, his hands firm, steady.

"We need to get out of here," he said, voice low, urgent. "Once Casper hears about this, he's going to lose it. Nico's probably already on his way."

I hesitated.

Casper was the King.

Nico was his right hand—captain of the royal guard, an elite tracker with a reputation for never failing an assignment.

This wasn't just running away from a wedding.

This was defiance. Treason. War.

My steps slowed, just for a moment.

Jacques caught the flicker of doubt in my eyes and gave me that maddening grin again—the one that made it hard to think straight. "Casper'll get over it. He just needs a couple months to process."

"Right," I muttered. "After he locks you in the dungeon for high treason and sends me back to Rudolph."

"Oh, come on. He likes me too much to stay mad," Jacques said breezily, tugging me forward. "Besides, this is gonna be one hell of a ride."

He helped me onto the bike, hands sure and warm as he steadied me. My wedding dress clung to everything, soaked and heavy, but he didn't seem to care. He slid the helmet over my head, adjusting it gently, his fingers brushing my cheek and lingering for just a breath.

"And once we're out of Port Cressida," he added, softer now, "I'll get you somewhere better. Somewhere no one can touch you."

He climbed on in front of me, and I wrapped my arms around his waist. The moment I touched him, a warmth sparked in my chest—a jolt of something real, something alive.

Even drenched and shivering, I felt more like myself than I had in weeks.

Jacques revved the engine, the motorbike snarling beneath us like it couldn't wait to run. At the sound, people spilled from the cathedral behind us—shouting, pointing, chaos erupting into the rain.

My parents' voices pierced through the storm, shrill and desperate.

"Christie! Get back here this instant!"

I looked over my shoulder just long enough to see Rudolph staggering down the steps, blood still smeared across his face, his expression twisted with rage.

Jacques didn't even glance back.

His eyes stayed locked on the road ahead. "Hold tight," he said, and though his voice was low, I could hear the ghost of a grin in it.

Then we launched forward—tearing into the night, the bike roaring down the slick, cobbled streets of Port Cressida.

Rain battered us as we climbed the winding road out of the city, the lights behind us shrinking into a blur of gold and shadow. The mountainside path was narrow and treacherous, the only way in or out of the hidden vampire capital. Jacques pushed the bike harder, navigating the hairpin turns like he'd done it a thousand times before.

I clung to him, my fingers curled tight in his jacket. The soaked wedding gown wrapped around my legs like ivy, cold and heavy, but I didn't care.

Every mile we put between us and the cathedral felt like oxygen in my lungs.

We rode in silence, the forest pressing in on either side, the storm drumming across the canopy above. The wind stung my cheeks. My arms were numb. My heartbeat hadn't slowed since we left the altar behind.

But I didn't let go.

The minutes blurred, time slipping loose beneath us. The city was far behind now. Only trees. Only dark. Only Jacques.

Then, at last, a flicker of neon cut through the night.

A glowing pink and blue sign appeared ahead, humming like a promise: Chapel of Forever Love – Open 24 Hours.

Jacques eased off the throttle, pulling into the cracked parking lot of a rundown motel with a tiny wedding chapel tacked onto its side. The kind of place that smelled like rain and regret.

He kicked the stand down, rain still dripping from his hair, and turned toward me.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

He killed the engine and swung off the bike, stretching his legs before turning to help me. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low but calm.

"Yeah, I think so," I said, my teeth chattering. "But why are we here?"

He took my hand and started walking toward the chapel, pulling me along. "We need to get married. Now."

"Now?" I stopped, forcing him to turn back to me. "Jacques, that's insane."

"It's the only way to keep Rudolph from claiming you," he said, meeting my eyes. "If you're married to me, he can't touch you. Ever."

My head spun. Marrying Jacques here, now, felt crazy—but then so did everything else about my life. He watched me, waiting for my response, his hand still gripping mine.

"Think about it," he said with a small smile. "Would you rather spend the rest of your life with him or with me?"

"I hate Rudolph," I replied, my voice shaky. "I never want to see him again."

"Then it's settled." Jacques grinned, tugging me forward again. "We'll get married."

"But Jacques," I said, digging my heels in again. "This isn't a joke. Marriage—it's forever. What if Casper loses his mind? What if he punishes you? Your title could get revoked. What if—"

He didn't let me finish.

Jacques moved fast, fluid, all heat and tension—and cupped my face in his hands. His mouth crashed into mine, silencing every word, every doubt.

The kiss wasn't soft. It wasn't careful.

It was claiming.

My breath hitched as heat exploded in my chest. His lips moved hungrily over mine, parting them with ease, his tongue brushing teasingly against mine before deepening the kiss. A sound escaped me—half moan, half shock—and he caught it with a low growl against my mouth.

I grabbed his jacket, fisting the soaked leather, trying to hold myself up as my knees nearly buckled. My hands found his hair, thick and wet from the storm, and I tugged him closer, greedily, desperately, like I'd been starving for this.

His body pressed flush against mine—hot, solid, there. Every muscle beneath his shirt flexed as he moved with purpose, like he was memorizing every line of me, anchoring me to the moment with nothing but his mouth and hands.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathless. His eyes burned into mine, stormy and wild.

His thumb dragged slowly across my lower lip, swollen now from the kiss. His voice was low, rough.

"What if you wake up tomorrow, mine?" he said. "What if you don't have to go back to that cold palace, or wear those awful dresses, or keep pretending that your life isn't yours?"

I stared at him. Rain clung to his lashes. He looked like a storm himself—wild, electric, alive.

"You deserve to choose, Christie. I'm just giving you a way out."

"But we haven't even talked about—about a future," I whispered. "About what we want."

His smile softened, less wild now. "I want you. I always have. And yeah, this is messy and fast and stupid—but it's ours. If you say yes, I'll take care of everything. All I need is the word."

I looked toward the chapel. The sign flickered overhead, casting pink light across the wet pavement. The door stood open. Waiting.

"I don't have a dress," I said quietly.

"We can rent one for ten bucks," he countered.

"And a witness?"

He tipped his head toward the motel office. "That lady in leopard print has been watching us for five minutes. I think she's rooting for us."

"And rings?"

"I have two soda can tabs and a blood oath. One of those has to count."

Despite everything—despite the madness, the fear, the ache in my chest—I laughed. A real laugh.

"You're serious."

"As a heart attack," he said, squeezing my hand. "But I'll wait if you need me to."

I stared at him for a long moment.

And then I said, "Let's do it."

His grin lit up the dark. "That's my girl."

And just like that, he led me toward the Chapel of Forever Love to get married.