Crap, I was getting… freaking… married.
Okay, Finnie, I said to myself, sucking in breath, take stock.
Dad was at my side, he was alive and except for the somewhat strange outfit he was wearing (dark brown leather shorts, very high, dark brown leather boots, a thick but gorgeous dark red turtleneck sweater, a leather band at a slant around his chest crusted with gold inlaid with rubies, a fur cloak attached to the band that hung on a slant on his back and a big, gold crown with rubies and diamonds, much like Mom’s but masculine, on his head) was walking me down an aisle.
I never expected to have that, my Dad walking me down the aisle, not since I was fifteen and their plane went down. If I ever settled on a guy, I knew there would be no Dad walking me down an aisle.
So, okay, this was good or, not really since I had no clue who I was marrying but I decided to take it as such.
I looked to the front of the church that was coming ever closer and saw no cross or other church-like thing of my world but instead six enormous statues that looked carved out of ivory marble positioned to form a curve at the front. There were three men statues and three women starting with a man with legs planted, hands on hips; the next was a woman looking down at her belly where both her hands were resting; the next was a man who had one arm straight out, his legs separated, knees slightly bent, his other arm lifted, hand looking at the ready to pull what looked like a sword from his back; the next, another woman, this one had one arm dangling in front of her, her hand loosely opened at her pubis, her other arm lifted and resting on the side of her neck, a weird smile playing at her lips on her slightly downturned face; the next, a man with legs planted, arms crossed; and the last, a woman standing with her hands loosely cupped together, fingertips touching each other, head slightly bowed, lips to her hands.
In front of this display stood a man wearing white robes with a long, wide satin band around his neck and dangling down his front bearing stripes starting with dark blue then light blue, red, deep violet, gold then bright green.
Okay, interesting. It seemed in this world they had more than one god. It was going to be cool learning more about that.
I sucked in breath to say something to my Dad, anything, and to get him to say something in return then it caught in my throat as a man moved to stand in front of and to the side of the man in white robes then that man looked down the aisle at me.
My step faltered when I took in all that was him and there was a lot that was him to take in.
“Sjofn,” Dad growled, his hand over mine in the crook of his arm tensing. He felt my step falter and he thought I was going to bolt. With effort, I pulled my shit together and kept walking.
But I was thinking, oh no.
And that would be a big, oh no, no, no, no.
Was that…? Was he…?
Oh shit. He was. He had to be. He was standing at the front of the church.
It was The Dragon.
It was my groom.
And I got his name. I totally got it with the way he was glowering at me like he most assuredly did not like me, he also did not want to be there and further, what he did want to be doing was slaughtering entire villages either with weapons or, perhaps, breathing fire at them and setting them alight.
He was massive. I was five six. He had to be six three or six four. His hair was very dark, very thick with bit of wave and it curled around the turtleneck of his sweater that was a dark brown so dark it was nearly black. He did not wear weird leather shorts but wool breeches that fit him snug and did not come near to hiding the power of his massive, muscular thighs. The same could be said for his sweater which did not hide the breadth and brawn of his shoulders. He had on boots that went to just below his knees and I saw that he didn’t bother shining them for his nuptials. They were smudged and even had dirt and mud on them. There was a leather band slanting across his chest, under his ribs at one side, over his shoulder at the other but there were no gold, rubies or anything on his. I saw the fall of a cloak, this one not a lustrous fur pelt like Dad’s but a simple hide.
I could also see the hilt of a sword over his shoulder behind where the band was and knives on either side of a leather belt at his waist.
His features were tan, sharp, strong and prominent. Heavy brow, jutting square jaw, carved cheekbones, full lips with tons of ridges in them. If his look wasn’t so dark and extremely pissed off, he’d be hot.
He was not.
He was freaking scary. The bulk of him, the intensity of angry energy he exuded which I could feel pressing against my skin, the murderous look in his eyes.
No, terrifying from top-to-toe.
And this was saying something, coming from me, Seoafin Wilde, a woman who did not get scared easily.