34. Lyssa

It'sthe day of Hadria and Aurora's wedding, and for the first time that I can remember, Hadria Imperioli looks nervous. Her usual composure is beginning to waver as she paces the foyer downstairs at Elysium.

"Would you stop that?" I drawl from where I'm lounging on the chaise in the corner. "You're making my head spin just watching you." Hadria shoots me a withering glare and I grin at her. "What's got the mighty Hades spooked? Suzy isn't going to do a runner, is she?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Hadria snaps the words, but there's no real venom behind them. She resumes her pacing, long strides eating up the plush cream rug laid over the hardwood floors in honor of the wedding.

Leaning back, I study Hadria again. There's a faint sheen of sweat on her brow, and her movements are just a touch too jerky, too uncontrolled. She really is rattled. Well, we can't have that, now can we?

Rising to my feet, I step into her path, catching her by the shoulders. "Look at me." When she meets my gaze, I hold it firmly. "You've got this, okay? Today is just another day. Another moment where you get to tell the world and everyone in it to go screw itself because you're the one calling the shots. Just like always."

A muscle ticks in her jaw, but I can see a hint of gratitude in those pale eyes. "Is that supposed to be a pep talk about my wedding or about our next job?"

"I've only got one pep talk, and that was it." With a wink, I release her and cross to the drinks cabinet in the sitting room nearby, coming back with two generous glasses of scotch. I hold one out to her. "To family—the one you make." My gaze slides meaningfully toward the door, encompassing the rest of our Syndicate beyond.

Hadria gives the faintest of smiles as she accepts the glass, clinking it against mine. "To family," she echoes. The drink does seem to settle her nerves as she sips it. "I'm glad you're with me on this, Lyssa. As my best…well, bitch probably is accurate, isn't it?"

I throw back my head with a laugh and then down the rest of my scotch. "We should get moving. Aurora will be making her grand entrance soon and we don't want to cross paths."

Hadria sets down her glass and smooths her hands over the sleek lines of her jacket. Just like that, the mask of control has slipped securely back into place. My Hades is back.

As we walk out of the house and around to the night garden, I catch sight of the other wedding guests gathered around. The whole extended Syndicate family is here, from the most grizzled seniors to the greenest recruits. And Juno Bianchi makes an imposing figure in a dove-gray shift dress, her flame-haired wife next to her in emerald green.

We head down the aisle to whistles and cheers. The wedding isn't exactly what you'd call formal, and it's in Aurora's favorite place in Elysium, this night garden that is starting to open up as the sun sets in the west. At the end of the aisle is a large arch covered in white flowers.

And in the front row—my plus-one, after all—I lay eyes on the most gorgeous woman here tonight.

Scarlett.

She smiles and claps even louder as she sees me, and gives a sneaky little thumbs up at the dress she and Aurora somehow talked me into wearing: red satin with a long skirt that would only get caught up in a fight. I would have been more comfortable in a suit, like Hadria's, but Scarlett begged me.

"You know what you'd have to do to get me into a dress?" I'd growled when I opened that dry cleaner's bag hanging up in my bedroom.

"I know exactly what I will do," she'd said, and then suggested something so dirty-hot that I would have turned up in fucking tinsel if she'd suggested it.

And hell, I think it actually looks pretty nice. Scarlett is wearing a cocktail dress in the same color, and even put some of her lipstick on me. When I looked in the mirror, I had to admit I still looked badass even in red lips and a skirt. And Scarlett looks completely fucking edible in her shorter outfit, a thought that I plan to act on later tonight.

Mrs. Graves is in a similar color down the front as Matron of Honor, though a little more muted. She's already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. And Sarah, in the front row seated very near to her mother…

Well, she looks as blank as always, but she does give me a nod when she catches me looking at her.

It's not that I don't trust her. I just wonder exactly what is going on in that head of hers. Anything? Blood and death?

Or fluffy pink rugs and teddy bears?

I can't deny I've had a peek into her bedroom here in the Elysium. It looked normal enough—no pink, anyway. And we've been in touch with Alessa de Luca, who has promised to find the names of some Syndicate-friendly psychologists who should be able to help.

But the radiant vision at the entrance to the night garden stops my thoughts in their tracks. Aurora has appeared on her mother's arm and she looks…well, she looks like a Goddess descended from Olympus. The ivory lace gown drapes around her slim figure, delicate embroidery glimmering like diamonds in the fading sunset. Her dark blonde hair is flowing freely over her shoulders, studded with tiny white flowers, and topped by a shimmering tiara. Her eyes are alight with joy and love as she looks straight at Hadria.

But no matter how undeniably beautiful Aurora is, as she walks down the aisle I can't stop myself from turning my eyes to a dark-haired beauty instead, her hazel eyes glowing.

Scarlett.

MyScarlett.

The thought still amazes me at times, that this deadly assassin who once would have done anything to see me dead is the woman I want by my side for the rest of my days. But strange as the path has been to reach this point, I have no doubts about that.

Catching her eye across the crowd, I wink. She grins back, and I make up my mind then and there to make sure she comes at least three times tonight.

Returning my attention to the bride, I watch as Aurora glides forward to join Hadria, Sylvia Verderosa putting Aurora's hand into Hadria's with a warm smile, and then finding her seat.

And my battle-hardened boss is utterly transfixed, Hadria's expression one of pure wonder.

As the vows are exchanged, I'll admit I feel a little tightness in my throat that has nothing to do with the scotch I downed before. These two found family through bloodshed and violence, yet they've forged an unbreakable bond of devotion from the ashes.

If that's not a cause for hope, I don't know what is.

There's a break between the wedding and the reception—for photographs, Aurora tells me. Thankfully, I'm only expected to be there for the first ten minutes, and then it's time for the brides alone. I grab Scarlett's hand and march her up to the bedroom, where I change into the same blue suit I wore to Valentino's. "You could wear a different red dress of your own," I say hopefully, but she just laughs.

"I don't think that particular dress is suitable for a wedding. Come on, we should get back to the reception."

But on the way back, as we go past the war room, I pull Scarlett inside.

"What are you doing?"

"Indulging a fantasy." I lock the door behind us and then stalk Scarlett backward down the room.

She giggles nervously as she backs away, watching me closely. "I feel like I'm being hunted down."

"You are." And then I pounce, grabbing her and swinging her into a kiss before she can get away. She lets me do it, I know, because Scarlett's instincts are much more finely honed than she's pretending. But it's part of the fun to pretend to be the predator, and this is the best bit anyway—my mouth on hers.

Well. It's one of the best bits.

I crowd her backward again until her butt hits the table, right where I usually sit. "What are you doing?" she giggles again, as I insistently push her until she lays out on the table.

"Making a few memories so next time the meeting gets boring, I'll have something to think about." I slide up her skirt. "You want me to stop?"

She inhales sharply as I slide my hand up her thigh, and her only response is a shaky "No." I gently nudge her legs apart, my eyes taking in her black lace panties with appreciation.

"Good girl," I purr, and I gently graze my fingers over the delicate fabric. Scarlett squirms beneath me, hazel eyes clouding over with desire.

"Lyssa...we really shouldn't..." she breathes out, even as she cants her hips up so I can slide down her underwear.

"Trust me, Scar, no one's going to miss us for a few minutes," I say, planting a trail of kisses down her neck as I work my way to her breasts, which are now peeking out from her dress, thanks to my nimble fingers. God, I love how responsive she is. "Besides, we both know you want this." I pull my chair close up, take a comfortable seat, and press my lips to her already-glistening folds.

"Lyssa...we...should...oh, God, okay, fine." Scarlett's protests dissolve into moans as I let my tongue delve into her, my hands gripping her hips. Scarlett's legs wrap around my shoulders, her nails scraping along the wooden tabletop, and I know she's enjoying it as much as I am. There's something undeniably erotic about this power play, with me in charge and her yielding to me.

I go back to lazily exploring her, teasing her clit in slow circles before dipping my tongue back into her wet heat. Scarlett moans louder, her body arching off the table, and that just spurs me on more. I want to hear more of those sexy sounds spilling from her mouth, feel her thighs trembling around my head as she comes undone for me.

Scarlett's panting breaths and the wet, wanton sounds of her need echo off the still-undecorated walls of the war room, creating an erotic symphony that I could listen to for hours. I glance up at her flushed face, her eyes squeezed shut as she concentrates on the sensations, lips parted in a silent moan.

It's an image I'll never tire of—and an image I'll never, ever forget. I meant what I said: next time I get tired of hearing the Syndicate bicker during a meeting, I'll return to here and now, let my mind replay this interlude, and nod along automatically with whatever Hadria says.

Scarlett's breath hitches as her orgasm draws nearer. I don't relent, intensifying the pressure of my tongue, determined to send her over the edge. Her thighs squeeze around my ears, her body tensing up before a soft cry escapes her lips, and her juices flood my mouth as she comes hard for me.

I slowly straighten up, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Scarlett collapses back on the table, catching her breath. "God, Lyssa," she pants, "we really should stop doing this in public places."

"Public places? This is our home now," I tease, gently caressing her damp thighs. "But I guess we really should get back downstairs."

We tidy up—a little, anyway—but I grab her back just before we exit the room, and kiss her again for good measure.

"Love you, Scar," I tell her, looking deep into those forest pools again.

"Love you, too," she says. "My big, bad Wolf."