White Wedding Nightmares
Angie Fox
“You mean you’re not going to miss it at all?” My best friend Carrie stood next to me at the mirror, checking an updo that had been lacquered into place.
“Are you kidding?” I asked, my fingers tracing the pearls on my perfect white wedding dress. “I’m done with alpha males - the brooding, the Neanderthal attitude, and do you know how hard it is to get blood stains out of double plush carpet?”
Carrie added another coat of hair spray while I adjusted the pink garter that was sliding down my leg.
I’d dated vampires, werewolves and even a hot fallen angel. I’d used my powers for good and saved the world at least four times.
But enough was enough.
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Bliss.
Too bad nothing could have prepared me for what actually happened at the wedding.
It started well enough. My family and friends were there to watch me walk down the aisle and Mark stood at the end, looking drop dead gorgeous in his black tux and white tie. People said he looked like Matt Damon, with a better smile.
“Told you I’d marry you,” Mark said, raising my veil.
Sue me if I hadn’t taken his proposal at the Freshman Fling seriously.
His lips brushed mine and I found myself leaning into him, wanting more, which was ridiculous because we were standing in the front of St. Stephens Church.
This man knew everything about my past and he still loved me.
He wrapped his warm hand around mine as the reverend began talking about true and abiding love, the kind that lived and breathed in the little moments. Like when we worked together on our house, or when Mark cheered me on in couples bowling when I managed to hit a pin – any pin.
The reverend cleared his throat, “If anyone can think of a reason why these two should not be joined – ”
“I can.” The arresting voice echoed through the church.
Dread slicked through me and a collective gasp issued from the crowd behind us.
No.
Oh please.
Not now.
I gripped my red rose bouquet and turned. Lucien Moore strolled down the aisle, his black dress shoes echoing on the white marble. The vampire was dressed impeccably, as usual. He’d tied his long black hair into a knot at the back of his neck and his silver eyes were positively predatory.
I only wished my glare could turn him to cinders. Then again, Lucien had survived the last eight hundred years and he’d most likely outlive me.
“What do you want?” I hissed.
He had the nerve to look offended. “This woman is married to me,” he announced to the entire congregation. My grandmother made a sign of the cross.
“I am not!” My eyes darted to Mark, who looked understandable stricken. Sure, I’d been close to Lucien at one time. But, “You married me without my consent. Under vampire law. And then you left for Macedonia!”
“She’s right,” boomed a voice from the side of the church. “She’s not married to you.”
Oh geez. Ulfric the bearded werewolf shoved his immense mass through the side door with difficulty. He wore the kilt of his clan and a stormy expression. “She is mine!”
I cringed. “Just because I saved your clan in 2006 does not make me yours.”
“Of course not. She’s mine!”
I spun around. “Who said that?”
A ten foot tall blue dragon crashed through the window above the choir loft. Oh no.
Drago the Conquerer. I broke up with him two years ago after he crushed my car (dragons don’t always watch where they sit), set fire to my back yard (he sneezed) and made yummy noises at my cat, Fritz (he never came up with a good excuse for that one).
“Look,” I said to the paranormal Romeos, who were all glaring at each other. “I’m done with alpha heroes. This,” I said, turning to my husband-to-be. He stood at the altar looking brave and determined. “This is the man I’m going to marry. I love Mark.”
My alpha male ex’s, as usual, didn’t listen. “We’ll see about that,” Lucien said, as all three of them closed in on the altar.
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