Page 127 of Harpy
"Isla, do you vow to honor, love and cherish Eamon, through the good times and bad, for richer or for poorer, for mortal form or monster, until your souls depart this plane?"
"I do." The two syllables come out as little more than a sob, love and hope so overwhelming as Eamon beams down at me, hisowneyes watering.
Fritz sniffles, "Then by the power vested in me by… somebody, I don't know, I got it off the internet— I pronounce you demon and wife. Eamon, you may now kiss the fuck out of your bride."
And that he does, gripping me by the back of my neck, planting his lips so firmly on mine that I'll be feeling the imprint for the rest of time.
Cas, Bel, and Fritz whoop and holler, and from the phone sitting on top of Fritz's podium, I can hear Mike and Charlie cheering, too.
Eamon's tongue tries to slide into my mouth, and I push him away with a giggle, his beaming, mischievous grin proof that I amreallyin for it once the party is over.
"I fucking love you," he whispers against my lips, stealing one last brief kiss. "My wife."
If I had any hope of my makeup holding on, it'scertainlygone with just those two words.My wife.I know this is all semantics for us, and the soul-bonding wascertainlymore permanent than a wedding, but beinghis wife, having him as my husband, it's more than I could have hoped for. We're bonded, yes,andwe're a family now. A family of our own making. This gorgeous, insane beast of a man chose me to be his family, to build a life with.
I wrap both arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, ignoring the rest of the world for just a minute.
Tomorrow we can worry about the fucking Sanctus Sculitis.
Tomorrow, we can sendpictures of todayto Alastor, who really wanted to come but understood why he couldn't. I don't like the fucking guy, even though he's the only blood relative I even sort of give a shit about. He's spent every waking moment trying to atone, from studying pictures we've sent him of the book day and night—even sending Eamon with some iron box with sigils all over it to supposedly keep any magic in the book contained— to tapping into the Sanctum's network and ensuring they have nothing on me or the people I love.
Tomorrow, we can meet with Eamon's contact in The Vatican, who might have a lead on destroying the Benedici. We've tried everything, and nothing even touches the motherfucker. All we've managed to do is burn down a tree and blow a fucking hole in the ground back home. Maybe we can—
I thought you said those were tomorrow's problems.
I definitely didn't say that. I just thought it, I respond, pulling away to see the smeared lipstick all over Eamon's lips, trying to wipe it away with my thumbs.
"Tomorrow," he tells me aloud. "For tonight, let's celebrate, my little wife. I haveseveralideas on how."
THE END
