Vladimir's Marked Luna
Chapter 44: Falling Marionettes
CHAPTER 44: FALLING MARIONETTES
🌙𝐋𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐡
The bile in my throat refused to go down, my skin crawled, my head seconds away from spinning.
"Will you sit fucking still?" One of the women dressing me yanked hard on my leg.
I stilled.
I could have sworn that I felt and heard a pop in my hip from the force.
She must have heard it because she smirked.
The dark-haired woman slid the heels on my pantyhose-clad feet. From the pop I heard, I knew walking would be more of a nightmare. I held my tongue still, afraid to speak in a stutter that would only make the two women more impatient than they already were.
"Arms up," the blonde one commanded, not waiting for my compliance before roughly pulling the iridescent dress over my head. The fabric cascaded down my body like liquid starlight, beautiful and cold against my skin. I caught my reflection in the mirror across the room—the dress shifted from silver to deep blue to hints of green as I moved, ethereal and haunting.
It would have been breathtaking if I weren’t terrified.
"Don’t move." The dark-haired woman’s fingers worked at the back of the dress, pulling the fabric so tight I could barely breathe. Each tug felt deliberate, punishing.
The blonde returned with a delicate silver tiara shaped like a crescent moon. She didn’t bother being gentle as she pressed it into my hair, the metal points scraping against my scalp.
"There," she said, stepping back to admire their work. "You look as perfect as a creature like you could be."
The other woman joined her to assess me, her gaze probing and intrusive as if she saw my nakedness.
The woman tutted, "Such a waste of a traditional wedding dress." She met my eyes. "It should have been Beta Veronique."
Yet another weight on me.
I stared at my reflection, hardly recognizing the ethereal creature looking back at me. In three days, my entire world had been turned upside down, and now I was being prepared for a wedding that wasn’t real to a man I was not sure I trusted.
"You will have me," Kaia’s voice threaded gently through the anarchy raging in my mind.
"He’s waiting," the blonde said, and my stomach dropped to the floor.
The steps felt steeper as I walked downstairs.
To him.
I bit the inside of my cheek, pain momentarily blocking out the dread. But it was not enough; it would never be enough.
I had no family here, no one to give me away, no one to kiss my forehead and to tell me marriage could be scary but it was worth it when it was with the right person.
I would be bound to a stranger with more strangers as witnesses.
Kustav would be watching, eyes I had inherited boring into me from a distance.
The lump in my throat spread into an ache in my chest.
I barely cried but today I wanted nothing more than to break down and weep.
I reached the landing; the pain in my hip was now a dull ebb that turned sharp whenever I put pressure on it.
I dared to look down, to where I knew Vladimir would be waiting for me.
My heart sputtered to a stop in my chest when my eyes fell on the platinum-haired man that towered over every guard.
He was dressed in the darkest blue suit that resembled a starless night. I was in silver like the moon and he in the dark hue of a midnight sky. Everything about him was sharp and cold: his jaw, his pale skin, his scent, his aura—nothing spoke of the warmth I always craved.
It was like stepping into the daunting chill of my childhood home, knowing only tragedy awaited me.
And then, as if he could feel my gaze on him, he turned, our eyes clashing.
The pupils in his glacial orbs flared for a second; I blinked and it was gone. Replaced by a wall that I could not scale.
I made my way to him, the silence engulfing me.
He studied me as I approached, in a detached manner that made the flaring of his eyes a moment ago feel like a hallucination.
He offered an arm as I approached. I took it. Only for him to stop dead, his eyes darting down to where I could only approximate was my abdomen.
I held my breath as his voice washed over me like a cold shower on a hot day. "Are you hurt?" he asked.
I stiffened, my back straightening. "I..."
Before I could finish giving an excuse for the very slight limp that I had not expected him to detect, his hand had cradled my hip, his chill branding me through the opalescent fabric.
He cupped it, his finger resting almost on my ass.
Heat ignited between my thighs, something jolted almost painfully in my chest, my heart racing to catch up.
He pulled me in closer, his eyes never leaving mine as he probed my hip; then he paused, right at the ache. His face hardened, jaw clenching, and from where I stood just a hair’s width away from him, I could hear molars grinding.
"Who did this?" he growled.
I felt the women behind me stiffen.
He must have detected their reaction because he braced me against him and turned to face them. "What happened to your mistress?" he demanded. He was like a bloodhound zeroing in on a kill. Every movement, breath, or gasp was registered.
I had said not a single word.
"A lie from you and consider yourselves corpses," he snarled.
The blonde stepped forward, her earlier confidence diminished. "Sir, she was... difficult. We had to—"
"You had to what?" His voice dropped to a lethal whisper that made my blood freeze. The hand still cradling my hip tightened protectively. "Answer me."
"She wouldn’t stay still," the dark-haired woman interjected, chin lifted defiantly. "We did what was necessary to prepare her for you."
Something dangerous flickered across Vladimir’s features. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet, and I could have sworn I saw frost forming at the edges of his suit jacket.
"Necessary," he repeated, the word dripping with menace. "You found it necessary to injure her."
I found my voice, barely a whisper. "Vladimir, it’s not—"
"Don’t." His gaze snapped to mine, pupils dilated with icy fury. But when he looked at me, there was something else there—something almost gentle beneath the rage. "Don’t make excuses for them."
He turned back to the women, and I watched both of them shrink under his stare.
"Fall," he ordered.
And instantly the women went limp, collapsing like marionettes with their strings severed.