Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

Breaking off on a strangled cry, she halts, face reddening. I cock an
eyebrow, craning my head to look into her eyes. They’re feral, flames
dancing in the golden rings, and part of me wants to feel bad for forcing her
into this.
From her world into mine, knowing she really doesn’t deserve it.
But she’s in danger, and my plan can’t happen any other way, so in truth,
neither of us have a choice here, really.
“Kallum, do you vow to trust and honor Elena? To laugh and cry, love
her faithfully, through sickness and in health, and whatever may come, ‘til
death do you part?” the priest asks woodenly.
“I do,” I say, something pinching in my chest as I say it, the lie bitter on
the back of my tongue. He repeats the same vow for her, and she shakes her
head, tears welling in her eyes, mouth still covered. “When I remove my
hand, I want you to say it. Say you do.”
Her eyes harden, the tears soaking up.
“I’m helping you. Say you do,” I murmur, just low enough for her to
hear, “or I start picking off the people you love, one by one. Mateo was just
the start, little one. Next is your father, if you don’t do what I say.”
She whimpers, the sound making my dick stiffen even more, and huffs a
single breath. Slowly, I slide my hand to her chin, ready to pounce if she
screams again.
But she seems to think better of it, instead focusing on my eyes, refusing
to look away.
“Why?” she whispers, and I think about her asking the same about Mateo,
how she didn’t seem to judge, just wanted to know my reasoning. As if every
action, even the most despicable ones, can be explained away if you try hard
enough.
I hook my thumb under her chin, tilting her head up, admission on the tip
of my tongue. My secrets beg to be split wide open, to bleed out on the floor
for her, but I know I can’t risk it.
Not yet, anyway. Not before she’s mine.
So, instead, I shake my head, offering her a little grin. “Why not?”