Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

The whole ride over, she kept toying with the new ring on her finger,
stealing glances at me from the corner of her eye as though she didn’t think I
could feel the weight of her gaze.
That’s part of my problem, when it comes to the little goddess; I’m
hyperfocused on every move she makes, my body so used to studying her
from behind a screen that the openness of our interactions now feels
somewhat alarming.
Of course, that doesn’t explain why her perusal immediately makes my
dick hard, but that’s another issue entirely.
One I’m not willing to entertain right now, especially after the severity of
the kiss we shared.
I have to bide my time, if I want all of this to pan out correctly.
“You know, girls,” I say, meeting their stares, sliding my watch from my
wrist, “a picture lasts much longer.”
The youngest, Stella, ducks her head when I look up, playing with the end
of a pigtail. Her brown eyes widen behind the square frames of her glasses,
and she nudges her older sister with her elbow, grunting as if trying to get her
to move.
Ariana, next in age and beauty to Elena, snorts, folding her forearms on
the banister and leaning over. She doesn’t break eye contact or bow her spine,
a malicious grin spreading across her face, igniting in her dark irises.
“Too bad vampires don’t photograph.”
“Clever.” I brush some dirt off my pants. “Sure you want to antagonize
your new brother-in-law, especially if he is a vampire?”
She shrugs, moving past Stella to glide down the stairs. Her movements
are lithe and gazelle-like, ballet bleeding into even her mundane activities.
Pausing on the bottom step, she squints at me, wrapping an arm around
the railing. “What happened to Mateo?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean,” she says, glaring. “Why are we not in a church right now,
watching him marry Elena? Why have you been here half an hour, and he
hasn’t even shown up to fight for her?”
The fine hairs on the back of my neck stiffen, my nerves reacting even
though there’s no reason to. “I’m sure he knows better.”
She snorts again, crossing her arms over her chest, the rust-hued dress
she’s in flushing the color from her face. Hair pulled into a sleek bun, lips
lined with a bright red gloss, I can’t help noticing the differences in the