Page 62 of Haunt the Mall
That smug bastard.
“I know you’re excited, but you just have to wait.” I pressed my palms to the door and pretended to lick and kiss the glass.
His eyes gleamed with appreciation, despite him shaking his head in mock disapproval.
“Ugh, lovebirds.” The crypt keeper smacked his door, then herded me to the neighboring coffin. “Why don’t I marry you right now? It’s only ‘til death do you part.”
I hesitated. Marriage? It was our second date. Then again, we were only playing. Victor hadn’t voiced any objections.
I stepped into my coffin and spun around. “Why not? Apparently, this is our last date in life, so we might as well expedite things.”
Victor chuckled, his voice a rumbling comfort as the door closed in on me. “This isn’t exactly what I hoped for in a honeymoon suite,” he said.
“What were you picturing?” I asked sweetly. Handcuffs and rose petals?
“Well, I'd actually be able to see you. And touch, preferably,” he said.
Oh. He pictured me. Not some hypothetical bride. Me. Even if it was a slip of the tongue and he didn’t mean it, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering.
I grasped my shoulders and imagined his cold hands running up my legs as I mounted him in black strappy lingerie, the two of us tangled in silky sheets. There’d be a wedding band on his left hand. He’d slow-blink up at me and call me Mrs. Sterling.
I swallowed hard against a building pressure in my throat. I didn’t dare name it longing.
“Marriage is its own form of hell,” the crypt keeper rasped. “You’ll see.”
“Maybe we should continue living in sin, then,” Victor reasoned.
I snorted and lowered my head, trying not to think about oxygen levels or marriage or this tiny space. My parents would argue marriage was a blessing with the right person, then probably preach about settling down. But they couldn’t save me from this fate: certain doom with a guy who probably wanted to fuck me instead of commit to anything.
It was fine. This was a second date. And I liked…this. Whatever we were. All of it.
The crypt keeper patted their chest. “Keep holding your shoulders, but if either of you wants to back out, just shake your heads and shout.”
“Is that to call off the marriage or our impending deaths?” Victor deadpanned.
My mouth hung open. Was he going to ditch me at the fake-altar and the grave?
“Ooh, she might kill you herself either way.” The crypt keeper flipped some levers and prattled off an impromptu speech. “We are gathered here today to witness a massacre. Well, a sacrifice. Well, a wedding, I guess. They’re all in the same nether-realm of torture…”
At least weddings had cake. And slow-dancing. And promises.
My knees wobbled at the mental image of Victor slipping under my skirts to kiss my thighs and pull off my garter with his teeth. I had to stay alert. This box was small. Would they shake it? Pump bursts of air at our backs like we were being stabbed?
How was Victor doing? Fuck, I wanted to hold his hand.
“Now, do you take each other in unholy matrimony?” the crypt keeper drawled.
We both started to speak. “I—”
The floor gave out from under me.
I was dead. Gone. Plummeting and shouting along with Victor. My eyes screwed shut. I hugged myself, wishing I had him instead. I wished we had more time. I wished he could somehow catch me even if—
A soft, slippery impact siphoned off my scream.
My limbs splayed amid a pile of cushioned spheres. A few of them popped up and rolled over me. Everything rattled like marbles set loose. Or maybe it was more like the tide pushing at the beach. I was swimming. Floating? Shaking.
And very much not dead.