“No offense taken and you're right. We're not, but that's okay. We don't care about legalities and we're not religious." He looked at Litha. "We're not religious are we?" She shook her head emphatically and he turned back to the priest. "We're making promises to each other and that's enough for us. We're the kind of people who keep promises. Maybe you could just say the words. Pretend if that’s what works for you.”
The priest hesitated for a few seconds considering, then seemed to relent.
“Very well. Do you..."
"Hold on a minute." Storm looked toward the rear of the little gathering and raised his voice. "Can somebody find the groom and send him back up here? One more time?"
Everybody laughed and in under a minute, Kay was standing next to Storm grinning.
The priest began again clearing his throat. "Do you have vows?”
Storm nodded then fixed his gaze on the prize standing in front of him. He took her bouquet, turned and, reaching past Kay and Ram, handed it to Elora. When their eyes met he had a moment's hesitation seeing tears running down her cheeks, but almost immediately realized she was also smiling, positively glowing, which meant she was happy for him. Women and their "happy tears".
He had spent half his life studying vampire. Now he was going to spend some time learning about women. His handsome face broke into an open, carefree smile that was so much more expressive, so much more boyish than Elora had ever seen on him before. What that look said to her was, "See. There's happily ever after for me, too!" And she cried because she wanted that for him more than anything she could think of.
Storm faced Litha and held out both his hands palms up. When she placed her hands in his larger ones, a calm settled over her entire essence causing her to feel perfectly at home and setting her spirit humming happily. She was thinking she might be crazy, but marrying this man was the single sanest thing she had ever done.
Eyes shining brightly, his full attention was focused on her alone. Storm was letting her know that he was giving a knight's promise. More potent than words. More binding than custom. He was taking an oath to finish what he was beginning and she could count on it till the end of time.
“I love you, Litha. I always will. I promise we'll work out the details to our mutual satisfaction.”
Litha laughed softly loving how that vow fit Storm like a glove.
The priest turned to Litha. "And you?"
She said simply, “Everything. All the time.”
Storm grinned in approval.
The priest looked at Storm and said, "Will you...?"
Storm provided his full name. "Engel Beowulf Storm."
"Will you Engel Beowulf Storm, pledge your troth as husband to this woman?"
"I have."
Turning to Litha the priest said, "Will you...?"
"Litha Liberty Brandywine."
"Will you Litha Liberty Brandywine, pledge your troth as wife to this man?"
"I..." Suddenly Litha was so overcome with emotion she couldn't get another word out. For the first time in her life she was literally rendered speechless. She wanted to say, "I do. I will. I have. I must." But her voice had frozen in her throat. She swallowed and tried again thinking, "Why now?" When nothing came out she started to look a little panic stricken. But, there was no need to worry. She was no longer alone.
Storm pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a reserved sweetness that penetrated all the way to her soul. It was a new side of him she hadn't experienced before. All she wanted was to spend a few decades tasting all his moods. In her mind, as she watched their future unfold like a slide show in panoramic detail, every part of her relaxed into the euphoria of the moment. Her wedding day. So unexpected. So sweet. Life is strange. But good.
As soon as he released her, she opened her eyes and said in a perfectly clear voice, "I will." He gave her a heart-crushing smile that made Litha's stomach flutter.
The wedding guests applauded what had turned out to be a surprise double header, bonus celebration.
On the other side of the river, hidden behind a light green veil formed by the delicate, graceful branches of an old willow tree, Deliverance watched and listened. Feeling an invisible pull, Litha turned and looked across the river in the direction of the willow on the opposite bank. She absently palmed the black diamond pendulum she wore around her neck on a twenty-four carat gold, herringbone chain that looked marvelous against the unusual tint her skin.
Sadness is quite out of character for incubus demons, but Deliverance found himself experiencing some odd sensations and assumed he must be coming down with something. He had a daughter and he felt pride in her. Equally unexpected on both counts. And he wished, more than anything at that moment, that he could simply cross the river and join the gathering, tap Engel Storm on the shoulder, perhaps shake his hand while terrorizing him with what the demon imagined might be appropriate fatherly threats of what he would do if Litha wasn't happy. Then he would hold Litha in his arms for a father daughter dance and say to everyone there, "This little girl is mine."
Storm and Litha lingered long enough to collect well wishes and congratulations and have a couple of slow, slow dances. Even though it was late they decided they would pack up the car and find a little motel somewhere on the road. Storm said he didn't want to deliver the news to Sol that he wasn't coming back over the phone; that Sol deserved to be told in person even if it meant driving all the way to New York.
By the time the wedding guests were gone, Storm and Litha had the car loaded. Kay and Katrina were leaving for their honeymoon in the Marquesas the next morning. After emotional goodbyes and promises to stay in close touch, the red sports car pulled out onto a dark road. Storm was thinking he could never remember being so excited. Or happy.
Litha was thinking that a couple of weeks before she had thought everything she wanted could be found at the vineyard with the pink Italianate villa high above the Pacific Ocean. Now she was thinking that everything she needed was sitting beside her in the front seat of an outrageously extravagant auto gifted from a father she didn't know she had who was, by the way, a demon. And that life was strange. Strange and good.
A few miles down the road they pulled into a little motel with a VACANCY sign lit up in hot pink neon. The night clerk gave them a room that was ready for occupants in the sense that the window unit air conditioner had been turned on high and left that way after the sun went down. It was so cold their teeth were chattering when they finished bringing in luggage.
They decided to turn it off for a while, at least until it felt like the frost was gone. Litha pulled a blanket around her, but Storm had other ideas about how to get them warmed up quickly. They joked about having an old fashioned honeymoon in the sense that their first time sleeping together and their first time in a bed together - while awake - was also the first night of their marriage.
EPILOGUE
Storm had done a lot of traveling for The Order. He knew his way around most of the world's big cities, but he hadn't enjoyed the simple pleasures of an old-fashioned car trip since he was a kid on family vacation. Truthfully, a road trip seeing the country from Texas to Napa by way of New York, in an Aston Martin alone with his bride - not terrible duty. And not a bad way to get to know each other either.
They talked about Litha's unique and irreplaceable abilities and decided she would continue to be available to The Order when necessary, but she would work from home when possible.
On the day the moon enters Gemini, Storm and Litha drove along a two lane county highway with the top down on the Aston Martin. The day was a vision. Yellow sunshine. Cerulean blue sky. Red convertible. Black top road. It was the kind of day topless cars were invented for. When the villa came into sight, Storm slowed the car, eased over onto the shoulder, and came to a stop grinning at Litha like a man standing on the threshold of heaven having just been welcomed in. If nothing else, he had learned how to savor special moments and let the sweetness melt in his mouth slowly.
Between the two o
f them, they had enough money to buy the place no matter how much the owners wanted. His was in the bank. Hers was in a suitcase in the trunk.
When they reached the gate, there was a sign that read For Sale. He pulled the car onto the drive, stopped in front of the sign, and looked over at his wife the witch.
“Did you?”
She just laughed.
"Never mind." Without looking away, he put the car into gear wearing that gorgeous smile she would never get tired of loving and put his suspicion away. "I don't care."
Maybe it turns out that the right thing is not always the harder thing to do. Letting himself fall in love with Litha was the easiest thing he had ever done, once he gave himself up to it. Was she made for him? And vice versa? He still didn't believe in coincidence, but somehow his perfect match had found him.
They practically grew up next to each other without ever knowing the other existed. They both had the benefit of an unusual education that money cannot buy. They were both well-traveled. His travel experience was courtesy of The Order, hers was courtesy of a demon, but they arrived in the same place. They shared the same dream of a simple life making wine. They both worked for an organization committed to the philosophy that those with greater gifts bear greater responsibility.
There were three people whom Storm would always call teammates. He would live out his life without ever qualifying that by calling them former teammates. To that odd trio of knights, he would always be available for any reason, at any hour, in this life and the next.
With all they had been through, each of them was well aware of how quickly things can change. The only thing in life they could count on absolutely was each other.
Of course, Sol had smoothly negotiated an agreement from him that he would report for duty if needed. It was the same acquiescence he had wrenched from the others. He had also flattered them by saying that "B" was being retired with them as it would be too much pressure for others to try to live up to Bad Company's reputation. Storm wished Lan could have known that.
***
POSTSCRIPT
Elora relaxed into the sublime perfection of a long weekend at her favorite place on Earth, the New Forest cottage where she had Ram and Blackie all to herself. It was her first time to experience the New Forest in Spring with its spectrum of new leaf greens so intense it almost didn't look real. Nature had strewn colorful wildflowers throughout with a randomness that somehow always worked.
The dog was so joyful he grinned all the time in his doggy way with tongue hanging out and lips relaxed. He loved running through the forest with his owners on horseback and staying together in one room at night like a true pack.
After a simple dinner of roast chicken, apples, cheese, artisan bread and smuggled chocolate, she sat on the well worn leather sofa and entertained Ram by retelling from memory, in as much detail as possible, the plot of a play that was well known in her dimension. As she spoke, she stroked the velvety insides of Blackie's ears and Ram listened patiently.
When she finished, he simply looked at her in a noncommittal way until she said, "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well, Rammel, what did you think?"
He shrugged slightly. "It was a stupid story."
"Ram!" Elora could hardly believe her ears. When he had accompanied her on her mission to entertain an injured knight at Jefferson Unit by telling him fairytales, Ram had always listened patiently and then, afterward, pronounced every one a 'stupid story'. So she shouldn't have been surprised. But she was. "The tale of what happened to the Capulets and Montagues is one of the most beloved and renowned literary works of my world."
"Then 'tis all the more shame that it is a stupid story. If you do no' want criticism, you should no' spread it about that the people of your world have such poor taste in tales."
"It's not stupid!"
"'Tis."
"Dickhead."
Ram looked stricken, as stunned as if he'd been slapped. "I can no' believe you just said that."
"Why not? You said, 'I do no' care if you call me dickhead so long as you share your bed with me' or something to that effect. Well, I decided this occasion called for taking you up on that."
From the look on his face she could see she'd really hurt his feelings. Ram didn't go sullen more than once in a blue moon. "I do no' suppose I was expectin' you to actually follow through."
"Well, it doesn't matter because you know I meant it affectionately."
"Does no' matter? And how is it you're thinkin' you can say dickhead affectionately?"
Her mouth turned up with a wicked guile that he, himself, had put there. "The next time I'm blowing you, I will remind you that you said that."
He laughed, unable to hold either his good nature or his buoyant personality down for long.
"Okay," she said, "I told you a story and risked your unnecessarily harsh critique. So now you sing for me."
He treated her to her unique version of his killer smile, the one that was just for her, as he stood to retrieve his guitar. "As a matter of fact there is somethin' special I've been workin' on for just such an occasion as this."
Ram pulled the strap over his shoulder, sat on the ottoman in front of Elora, tuned quickly and began to play the acoustic guitar he kept at the cottage. She didn't recognize the song, but he might have rearranged it. The instrumental intro didn't give up a clue. She didn't recognize it until he began to sing the lyrics of "Never Gonna Give You Up", unplugged. She decided to add musical genius to his already long list of remarkable attributes. His voice that somehow managed to be sexy and angelic at the same time, along with the gift of the song, created an intimate moment she would never forget. It made her heart swell and feel too big to be confined by her chest. And each time she thought she could not love him more, her capacity expanded.
Helm responded to his father's voice by wiggling happily as if he was dancing a jig. It made Elora laugh out loud.
And there it is. Given the world they lived in, Elora knew the importance of savoring quiet, precious moments. And, at that very minute, The Lady Laiken, knight of The Order of the Black Swan, was certain she was the happiest elf alive in that dimension or any other. She begged for two encores which secretly delighted the musician.
When Rammel finished for the third time, he carefully set his guitar aside. The light in her eyes and her pleas for more was all the thanks he needed. Nevertheless, only a fool passes up a bird nest on the ground. So he turned to her with a gleam in his eye.
"Now about that blowin' you spoke of..."
***
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BONUS
A Conversation (Intervention) with Rammel Hawking
me: Sir Hawking, it's such a pleasure to get to interview you in person.
Ram: (third finger)
me: (sigh) Okay. What is this about?
Ram: Well, forgive me if I do no' sound polite, but I can no' say 'tis a pleasure bein' interviewed by you.
me: Why not?
Ram: Why no' indeed. I only agreed because of the chance to say fuck you in person.
me: Okay. What exactly is the problem? You did end up with everything you ever wanted, didn't you?
Ram: Aye. No' denyin' that. My problem is not with endin's. 'Tis with the bloody well fucked up middles.
me: I see.
Ram: No. You do no' see. You sit there in your tidy, little, safe, air conditioned version of reality without a single bloody care for what you are puttin' me through. Have you ever had a broken rib? It hurts! Do you know that?
me: Well, I...
Ram: You write l
ike 'tis nothin'. And 'tis nothin' compared to a concussion and a hundred and forty three stitches. How would you like to have to face your mother lookin' like that?
me: Um, that doesn't happen until Book Two, The Witch's Dream which won't be released until October 14th.
Ram: So just because they have no' read about it yet means it did no' happen? (chuffs) My mother cried for hours when she saw me lookin' like this. That was a bloody fun time I can tell you.
me: I'm, uh, sorry. I didn't realize she would take it so hard...
Ram: Come to think of it, I should have brought her with me. (evil smile)
And what about that bit between me and my da - when he asks how the other fella looks? And you make me say the other fella got away with no' so much as a scratch? To add insult to injury you made me smile while I said it! So then he asks me to explain how it happened and I have to tell the fuck all, king da' of Elfdom that I got a hundred and forty three stitches in a knife fight in a bar!
me: (sigh) I admit that was an understatement but, technically, it was true. You did sustain your injuries in a knife fight in a bar.
Ram: (gaping) You are cold as Paddy's feet on a February morn.
The Witch's Dream - A Paranormal Romance (The Order of the Black Swan, BOOK TWO) Page 30
