Chapter Four — Wedding Without Vows

Elara's POV

The wedding didn’t begin with music.

It began with silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence pressed against my ears as I stepped into the floodlit yard of the Iron Reapers’ compound, my hand locked in Ruin’s grip. Engines idled in a slow, threatening rhythm around us, motorcycles lined in a half circle like sentinels guarding a ritual older than law.

This wasn’t a celebration.

It was a warning.

Men stood shoulder to shoulder, leather vests marked with the Iron Reapers’ insignia. Their faces were hard, unreadable. Some watched me with curiosity, others with resentment. A few looked almost… pitying.

That terrified me most.

I wore no white. No veil. Just a simple black dress Mara had handed me minutes earlier, her eyes soft but worried.

“You stand tall,” she had whispered. “They smell fear here.”

So I did.

Ruin walked beside me, his presence overwhelming. He looked carved from shadow under the lights—black jacket, dark jeans, boots heavy against the concrete. His face was cold, controlled, but I could feel the tension radiating from him through our joined hands.

Every step felt like crossing a line I could never uncross.

We stopped at the center of the yard.

A barrel burned nearby, flames snapping sharply, casting flickering light over the gathered crowd. At the far edge stood several unfamiliar men—cleaner, sharper, dressed in dark coats instead of leather.

Bratva.

My stomach twisted.

One of them stepped forward. Tall. Pale. His smile was thin and knowing. The same man I had seen earlier near the gate.

“Nikolai Volkov,” he said smoothly, his accent thick but refined. “On behalf of our… mutual interests.”

Ruin’s jaw tightened. “You’re here to witness. Nothing more.”

Nikolai’s eyes slid to me. Slowly. Appraising. “Of course.”

I fought the urge to shrink.

A table was dragged forward. On it sat a knife.

Not ceremonial. Real. Sharp.

My breath hitched.

“This is a binding,” Nikolai said. “Blood recognizes truth where words fail.”

Ruin stiffened beside me. “That wasn’t part of the agreement.”

Nikolai smiled wider. “It is now.”

The murmurs among the Reapers grew louder, dangerous.

I felt Ruin’s hand tighten around mine. “You said vows weren’t required.”

“They aren’t,” Nikolai replied calmly. “Blood is stronger.”

Fear crawled up my spine, cold and sharp.

I leaned closer to Ruin, my voice barely audible. “You said this wouldn’t hurt.”

His answer was immediate. “It won’t. Not if I can stop it.”

But Nikolai had already lifted the knife.

“Mrs. Cross,” he said softly. “If you would.”

The word Mrs. rang in my ears.

Ruin moved first.

He released my hand and stepped in front of me, his body a solid wall. “She’s not bleeding for you.”

The compound went deathly still.

Nikolai’s smile faded, just a fraction. “Then you will.”

Before anyone could react, Ruin took the knife from the table and dragged it across his palm without hesitation.

Blood welled instantly.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

I stared, heart slamming painfully against my ribs. “Ruin...”

He turned to me, eyes fierce, unwavering. “This is the only way.”

Then, gently—shockingly gently—he took my hand.

“I promised,” he murmured. “I won’t hurt you.”

He pressed his bleeding palm against mine.

Warmth spread. His blood smeared across my skin, staining me red.

The crowd watched in rapt silence.

Nikolai inclined his head. “The bond is witnessed.”

Ruin didn’t let go immediately. His thumb brushed my knuckles, grounding, steady.

“You’re safe,” he said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

For a heartbeat—just one—I believed him.

Then Nikolai spoke again.

“There is one final confirmation.”

My chest tightened. “What confirmation?”

Nikolai’s gaze locked onto me, sharp and invasive. “The bride must stay in the groom’s quarters tonight. Alone. No guards. No separation.”

The world tilted.

“That’s not happening,” Ruin snapped.

“It must,” Nikolai replied. “Or the Bratva will assume this marriage is a lie, and you're expected to consummate the marriage."

The Iron Reapers shifted restlessly. Tension crackled through the air like exposed wire.

Ruin’s hand trembled in mine—just barely.

He leaned close, his voice low and urgent. “You don’t have to do anything. I’ll sleep on the floor. I swear.”

I searched his face, terrified and furious and confused all at once.

“You promised I wouldn’t be used,” I whispered.

“I promised I wouldn’t touch you,” he corrected. “And I won’t.”

Nikolai watched us with thinly veiled amusement. “Decide quickly.”

Every instinct screamed at me to run.

But there was nowhere to go.

I nodded once. “Fine.”

Ruin’s eyes snapped to mine. “Elara...”

“It’s one night,” I said softly. “We survive one night.”

Something dark and protective flared in his gaze. “I won’t let anyone near you.”

Nikolai clapped once. “Then it is done.”

The crowd dispersed slowly, tension lingering like smoke. Men mounted bikes. Engines roared to life. The compound returned to its restless hum, but nothing felt the same.

I was escorted—not by guards, but by Ruin himself—to his quarters.

The room was large, stark, and masculine. A single bed dominated the space.

The door shut behind us with a final, echoing click.

Silence.

Ruin moved immediately to the far side of the room, pulling a blanket from a chair and dropping it onto the floor.

“I’ll stay here,” he said firmly. “You take the bed.”

I watched him, heart aching with exhaustion and fear. “You bled for me.”

“I’d do worse,” he replied quietly.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands still stained red.

“Why?” I asked. “Why protect me like this?”

Ruin didn’t look at me. “Because once a woman is claimed in my world, she’s not disposable.”

I lay down fully clothed, staring at the ceiling.

Minutes passed.

Then—A soft click.

I froze.

Ruin was on his feet instantly, body tense. “Don’t move.”

The door creaked open slowly.

Axel stepped inside.

Ruin’s voice was lethal. “You got five seconds to explain why you’re here.”

Axel’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Ruin. “We have a problem.”

“What kind?”

Axel swallowed. “The Bratva just sent proof.”

“Proof of what?”

Axel’s voice dropped. “That Elara was never meant to be your wife.”

My blood ran cold.

“She was meant to be their sacrifice.”

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Ruin turned slowly toward me, his expression unreadable.

And in that moment, I realized—This wedding hadn’t saved me.

It had marked me.

Axel pulled out his phone and held it up.

On the screen was a message—along with a photo of me taken hours earlier.

And beneath it, a single line of text: “Deliver the bride by sunrise… or the war begins with her blood.”