Iron and Magic (The Iron Covenant, #1)

by Ilona Andrews

“Arrogant dickhead!” “Screeching harpy.” “Asshole.” “Bitch.”

“Rot in hell, d’Ambray.” “I love you too, darling.”

There she was. “Good to know. The photographer is snapping pictures. Say cheese, love.” Elara gave him a brilliant happy smile. “Cheese, dickhead.” He did his best to look the way a groom might if he was actually marrying this creature and imagining getting her out of that gown tonight. “Rabid harpy.” “Bastard.” The pastor, a man in his thirties with dark hair and glasses, stared at them, his mouth slack. “Start the ceremony,” Hugh told him, putting some menace into his voice. “Before we kill each other,” Elara said.

D’Ambray turned Bucky toward her and grinned, a huge infectious smile. She almost smiled back, raising her hand to wave. What the hell am I doing? Elara snatched her hand back. How did he do that? How was it that this vicious sonovabitch of a man could smile like that and look as if he were the world’s best hope? Hugh grinned and everyone around him wanted to be the one to make him happy. D’Ambray took a lungful of air and roared. “Honey, I’m home!”

She was really wound up tight. It was kind of amusing. He decided to stab and see what happened.

“Do you not understand me? I won’t work with Lennart. Elara, are you stupid or hard of hearing?” “I must be stupid, because I married an idiot who stomps around and throws tantrums like a spoiled child! What the hell did this Curran do to you? Killed your master, stole your girl, burned down your castle? What?” Hugh leaned back, his eyes blazing. Oooh, she touched a nerve. Direct hit. She turned to Stoyan. “Let me guess, it was the girl.” “And the castle,” Felix said quietly.

you are a married adult responsible for the welfare of four thousand people. You’ll reach deep down, find a pair of big-boy pants, and put them on. If I can pretend not to cringe every time you touch me in public, you can pretend to be civil. Bury that hatchet, and if you can’t, hide in your room while they’re here.”

“Come on, then, wife. Put on a happy face.” “Ugh.” She reached over and slid her fingers into the crook of his elbow. “Good God, control yourself, woman. We’re in public. At least wait until we’re in the bedroom.” “Your corpse will grow lovely goldenseal.” He laughed again and walked her down to the smithy.

If I wanted you dead, I would eat your soul. It would taste bitter and rotten, but sacrifices must be made.”

“How is it that Raphael made more holes in you than in swiss cheese, but your assholeness survived?” “Raphael doesn’t have a knife big enough to kill my assholeness.”

She pictured him exploding into bloody mist. No. Too quick.

Hugh shook his head. “I had a crazy thought.” “By all means, do share it.” “What if I’m dead and this is purgatory, and you’re my punishment?” “I doubt it,” she told him. “Why?” “Because if I’m your punishment, you’re mine. The Christian god is the god of forgiveness. He is too kind to do this, even to us.”