Promises and Pomegranates: A Dark Contemporary Romance (Monsters & Muses Book 1)

by Sav R. Miller

  “Can’t we… tell the Elders, or something? Surely, there’s another way.”

  “The entity blackmailing us has a very specific set of rules that are to be followed, or they take us down. And since we have no leads, and no idea who they are, they quite literally have us by the balls.” Papá cocks his head. “Besides, if we tell the Elders, they’ll have you killed anyway.”

  Kal’s words from before ring in my mind. ‘I’m helping you.’

  I swallow as tears prick behind my eyes, trying to will them away, even as my world spins completely on its axis.

  “I thought picking you for this contract was the smart decision. Spent my whole life trying to keep you out of trouble, sure that if I could just get you married, everything else would work out on its own.” He sighs, giving me a once-over. “I thought I could count on you, Elena.”

  Sadness curls around my spine like ivy, wrapping so tight it feels like it might snap in half. My hands lift of their own accord, reaching for him, to provide comfort or apologies—maybe both.

  Anything to erase the despair from his gaze before it burrows so deep within my soul, I can’t ever clean it out.

  “Papá, I’m—”

  “Here.” Kal shoves a piece of paper in my hands, cutting me off. I glance down, my stomach knotting even more.

  The Commonwealth of Massachusetts Certificate of Marriage.

  Somehow, it didn’t really feel real until now.

  My hands shake, the certificate slipping from them as anxiety floods my chest, clogging my arteries. “I can’t sign that.”

  Heaving a low sigh, Kal catches the paper and drags me over to the bed, positioning the page on top of Mateo’s chest. He pushes a pen between my fingers, then curls his own around them, guiding my signature.

  Resentment burns furiously inside me as I watch him effortlessly forge my name as if he’s done it a thousand times.

  I avoid looking at Mateo’s lifeless form, my stomach on the verge of rejecting yesterday’s dinner as it is. When Kal lets go, I swing away from him, smothering a sob with my palm.

  If I’d known sleeping with Kal was going to result in this, in the complete stripping away of any semblance of freedom I’ve ever had, I never would’ve done it.

  Right?

  When you spend your life resigned to a certain fate, making yourself comfortable with the inevitable, even an ounce of change can feel like the end of the world.

  And while it’s true I didn’t want to marry Mateo any more than I want to be married to Kal, at least I knew what to expect with him. We’d been friends, after all, once upon a time. Back before he sought out power and violence, and decided to wield it against me when he didn’t get what he wanted.

  But I could have handled that.

  Spent the last several years navigating around it, using it to my advantage, meeting his fists with my own bruised knuckles. It was manageable.

  This thing with Kal, though, hasn’t been charted out. I’ve never seen him with another woman, though presumably, there have been many in his thirty-two years.

  I can’t even rectify why he was okay with any of this, considering the last time I saw him, he fucked me raw and left before the sun was up.

  Only a poem, scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, and a black rose remained, making me wonder for a long time if I’d dreamed the entire encounter in the first place.

  Touch has a memory.

  O say, love, say,

  What can I do to kill it and be free?

  If anything, his parting words, though borrowed from Keats, indicated he wanted nothing more to do with me. Yet, here he is, having just forced my hand, acting as though there was no other choice in the matter.

  As Papá leaves to go find my mother, I watch as Kal continues packing up, a sinking feeling weighing in my gut as I remember what else he said to me all those weeks ago.

  ‘I’m not like the boys from your little private schools. I’ll ruin you and not think twice about it.’

  ‘So ruin me,’ I’d said, so confident in my ability to withstand it.

  Now, I can’t stop wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.

  Chapter 5

  “Well, this is an interesting turn of events.”

  Crossing my leg over the opposite knee, I adjust the second hand on my watch so it ticks in time with the grandfather clock across the foyer. I’m fully aware of the younger Ricci daughters leering from the top of the staircase, observing me as though I’m some sort of zoo animal, but it’s hard to pay attention to anything other than the offbeat ticking.

  Typically, I go out of my way to avoid social interaction, especially with the likes of teenagers, but this wasn’t something I could very well avoid.

  I don’t put it past Elena to run. She feels trapped, like a broken bird caught in her gilded cage, eyeing the lock on her door without fail in case there’s ever a chance to bolt.

  Since I can’t very well risk that, I had to return to the Riccis’ Louisburg Square home with her, ensuring her wings stay clipped.

  At least, for now.

  The whole ride over, she kept toying with the new ring on her finger, stealing glances at me from the corner of her eye as though she didn’t think I could feel the weight of her gaze.

  That’s part of my problem, when it comes to the little goddess; I’m hyperfocused on every move she makes, my body so used to studying her from behind a screen that the openness of our interactions now feels somewhat alarming.

  Of course, that doesn’t explain why her perusal immediately makes my dick hard, but that’s another issue entirely.

  One I’m not willing to entertain right now, especially after the severity of the kiss we shared.

  I have to bide my time, if I want all of this to pan out correctly.

  “You know, girls,” I say, meeting their stares, sliding my watch from my wrist, “a picture lasts much longer.”

  The youngest, Stella, ducks her head when I look up, playing with the end of a pigtail. Her brown eyes widen behind the square frames of her glasses, and she nudges her older sister with her elbow, grunting as if trying to get her to move.

  Ariana, next in age and beauty to Elena, snorts, folding her forearms on the banister and leaning over. She doesn’t break eye contact or bow her spine, a malicious grin spreading across her face, igniting in her dark irises.

  “Too bad vampires don’t photograph.”

  “Clever.” I brush some dirt off my pants. “Sure you want to antagonize your new brother-in-law, especially if he is a vampire?”

  She shrugs, moving past Stella to glide down the stairs. Her movements are lithe and gazelle-like, ballet bleeding into even her mundane activities.

  Pausing on the bottom step, she squints at me, wrapping an arm around the railing. “What happened to Mateo?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I mean,” she says, glaring. “Why are we not in a church right now, watching him marry Elena? Why have you been here half an hour, and he hasn’t even shown up to fight for her?”

  The fine hairs on the back of my neck stiffen, my nerves reacting even though there’s no reason to. “I’m sure he knows better.”

  She snorts again, crossing her arms over her chest, the rust-hued dress she’s in flushing the color from her face. Hair pulled into a sleek bun, lips lined with a bright red gloss, I can’t help noticing the differences in the sisters.

  It’s very clear to me that Ariana’s elegance isn’t something she has to work at; it comes naturally, like breathing or sleeping, and I can’t help wondering who she inherited the poise from.

  Certainly not her mother.

  At least, not the Carmen I used to know.

  Elena’s finesse, on the other hand, seems to require a conscious effort, her interest in the arts and finer things something she’s had to force until it became part of her personality, like some sort of Pavlovian response to the life she’s shackled to.

  There’s a thinly veiled darkness resting
beneath her carefully coiffed exterior, one that often results in bruised knuckles and bloody lips.

  She suppresses it, buries it deep to make her family happy and fulfill her duties, but it’s there, just begging to be unleashed.

  Part of me is curious to know what that would take.

  “Is my sister in some kind of trouble?” Ariana asks, still apparently intent on getting to the bottom of this union. And here I’d had the younger one pegged as the inquisitor.

  Stella moves to the end of the banister, hesitating on the top step. “Ari,” she whisper-shouts, gesturing for her sister to rejoin her. “Leave him alone.”

  Her dark eyes shift down to me, brushing my gaze for a millisecond before quickly sweeping away. She blushes furiously, and I smother a chuckle, not sure why I find her discomfort so amusing.

  Maybe it reminds me of someone.

  Sighing, I shift on the bench, adjusting the flap of my suit jacket. The tick of my watch falls behind the grandfather clock again like a heart arrhythmia, and I clench my jaw against the sound, trying not to focus on it.

  “I just think something weird is going on,” Ariana says. “Can you see Elena marrying… him?”

  “I don’t know,” Stella grumbles. “I couldn’t really see her wanting to marry Mateo, either.”

  “Yeah, but that at least made sense. They’d been together forever.”

  “Were they, though? I mean, he was definitely into her, but it always seemed like she was just going through the motions.” Stella pauses, seeming to reflect on something. “I think this makes more sense than Mateo.”

  Ariana makes a weird noise in the back of her throat. “But he loved her—”

  “Enough, ladies.”

  My voice is low, the strain from their bickering and the barely audible ticking stretching my nerves until they’re almost ready to snap. Curling my fingers over the edge of the wooden bench, I can feel the old material splinter beneath my grip, anger a red-hot tidal wave crashing along my insides.

  “I appreciate your concern, because I know it comes from a good place,” I say, focusing on breathing evenly. “But do not ever speak of my wife and her former fiancé, unless it’s to say what a good pair we make in comparison. I don’t want his name associated with hers ever again.”

  Ariana’s mouth falls open, her tongue darting across her lips, and I can see she wants to spite me. There’s a fire in her eyes, defiance threaded through her slender form, and I can tell it won’t take much to ignite it.

  Maybe she’s more like her sister than I realized.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, drawing my attention; I take it out and scan the screen, exhaling slowly when I read the name that pops up. Pushing to my feet, I nod at the sisters, aware that I’m leaving my threat open-ended if I leave without another word.

  That’s not a hit my reputation can take right now.

  So, instead of trying to convince them of the point more, I take the Rolex, drop it to the floor, and let my irritation spike from the ticking; like any other trigger, the sound builds until it’s like a waterfall rushing between my ears, drowning out every other noise around me.

  Episodes like this are suffocating, all-consuming in the rage they provoke. It vibrates along my spine, knotting in my chest until it peaks, exploding like a volcanic eruption. Usually, I avoid the violent outbursts my thoughts conjure, but now, I draw the gun from my waist and aim it right at the watch face.

  A bullet pops free from the chamber, embedding bits of glass and shrapnel and leather into the floor where it ripples from the impact.

  Somehow, like a phantom limb, the ticking remains.

  Chest heaving, electricity zinging through my veins, I stare at the hole and replay the gunshot over and over in my head, my shoulders tense and heavy.

  I don’t—can’t—move until the ticking stops.

  Finally, the silence floating in the air around us permeates my hazed brain, and I feel like I can breathe again. I see the girls wince from the corner of my eye, and clear my throat, returning the pistol to its spot on my hip.

  When I breeze from the room, hitting accept on the incoming call, temporary relief floods through me as my body struggles to go back to normal.

  My associate’s utter bewilderment at the prospect of me getting married starts to give me a complex, the longer he drones on about how he “bloody can’t believe it.”

  Standing in the hall outside Elena’s childhood bedroom, I pace back and forth with my phone pressed to my ear, regretting having given Jonas Wolfe my cell number.

  “These are some pretty extreme measures you’re going to here, Anderson,” he says, his British accent thickening the more he talks. “Are you sure she’s worth it?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  He hums, and I hear the distinct zip of a body bag being sealed shut, disappointment settling in my gut. Normally, I’d take care of the cleanup myself, but since I had to chaperone my new wife, there was no time.

  Still, I’d hoped to be the last person Mateo’s physical form saw on this planet before he’s tossed to the bottom of the Charles.

  “Have you made contact with your target, then? Let her know what’s going on?”

  Voices rise behind Elena’s closed door, and I pause, my gaze flickering toward it. Who is in there right now?

  I haven’t seen anyone come or go, and I’ve been keeping watch for the last ten minutes. After leaving the foyer downstairs, I’d set up shop here, ready to bust in the second it seemed like maybe she was trying to flee.

  Until now, it’s been silent, and I don’t like the way the sudden intrusion tightens the tendons in my neck.

  Slinking toward the door, I answer Jonas with a brief “no,” aware that if I don’t he’ll start badgering me again.

  When we met a decade ago on Aplana Island, the place my mother used to drag me when she had the money to spare, the only thing I’d known about him was that he wasn’t allowed near Primrose Manor, where the island’s owning family lives.

  I had no clue what I was getting into when I bailed him from jail and hired him to come work for me, but it’s one of the only lasting relationships I have, so I put up with him despite his incessant chatter.

  “So, you’re really not thinking any of this through,” he says.

  “Everything has to happen a certain way, Wolfe,” I snap, keeping my voice hushed so as not to draw attention to my presence to whoever is inside the room. “I can’t simply drop her into the thick of things and expect her to be okay with it.”

  “But… marriage? When you left for Boston, you never mentioned that.”

  “Plans change. It’s the easiest and quickest way of getting me what I want.”

  Money. Power.

  Family.

  Jonas sighs. “Okay, okay. I’m sure you know what you’re doing.” A pause, hesitancy pulsing through the line. “You don’t think she’ll be a problem?”

  My hand finds the doorknob, twisting slowly, my heart racing as I begin pushing open the door. As my eyes adjust to the scene in front of me, laughter bubbles up in my chest, teasing the back of my throat.

  Though the humor in it is missing, replaced with betrayal so hot, it knocks the breath from me.

  Hanging up and pocketing my phone before giving Jonas an answer, I step inside, gritting my teeth when my gaze connects with that of Elena’s mother.

  Even being in the same room as her makes my lungs feel like they’ve caught fire and I’m trying to breathe through the singed rubble.

  Carmen’s eyebrows knit together when she sees me, the tan skin around them remaining perfectly still.

  “What the hell have you done, Kallum?” she hisses, making my hands ache as they curl around empty air. “Why is my daughter not marrying Mateo de Luca right now?”

  “Elena chose to marry me instead.”

  “You fucked her, didn’t you?” Carmen’s lips curl back. “You knew that if you screwed her, you’d screw us over, too. You’ve just been waiting for your oppo
rtunity.”

  “She chose to marry me of her own free will.”

  “Oh, and I’m sure Mateo was just all too happy to step aside.”

  With her, it’s always been about the reaction. She knows what buttons of mine to push, and how hard to push them until I pounce.

  Once upon a time, it was almost a game we played; she’d dig beneath my skin with her quips and harsh words, her jealousy and spite, and like a fucking lamb I’d follow her right to the slaughter.

  I smirk, not bothering to answer as I sweep the room, noting the half-cocked balcony door just behind her.

  The layout of this room is seared into my memory, its white walls much more familiar to me than those of my actual home, the books on the built-in shelves ones I’ve mentioned over the years.

  Their presence gives me pause; there’s no way Elena wouldn’t pack at least The Romantics, and yet I see volumes of poetry sitting where they have forever, untouched and left behind.

  My gut tightens, my gaze swinging back to Carmen’s. She glares at me, putting her hands on her wide hips.

  “Where is she?” I ask, forcing my tone to remain level even as my body itches to propel forward and shove her against the wall.

  She shrugs. “Seemed rather eager to let me help her escape. Kind of odd for a newlywed, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know, Carmen,” I say, moving toward the balcony as a shadow dances behind its doors, “never stopped you from trying, did it?”

  Her mouth falls shut, and she moves with me, trying to block my exit. My skin prickles when she brings her hands to my chest, disgust swirling inside my gut, making my vision blur.

  “I won’t let you corrupt my daughter,” she says, tears welling up in her big brown eyes.

  At one point, her pain may have worked on me; back when I was young and naive enough to think Carmen Ricci was capable of caring for someone other than herself. I can even feel myself wavering now as the tears spill over, slicking down her cheeks.

  But then she speaks again, breaking the illusion.

  “Don’t use her to get back at me.”