Abruptly, the room tilted and spun—and that sensation of spinning got more intense as Qhuinn took Blay’s dagger hand into his own.

In a voice that was full of emotion, Qhuinn said, “Thank you for all your support since . . . my brother’s passing. And thank you for all the nights and days before that. And thank you for all the nights and days that are ahead of us.”

“What are you doing?” Blay breathed.

“I love our middle, Blay. It isn’t without challenges, but with you? I believe I can get through them—I believe with you, anything is possible.” Qhuinn pressed his lips to Blay’s palm and placed it against the side of his face. “I don’t want to wait any longer. I want us to be properly mated. Luchas didn’t just give me one last way to honor him—he provided me with the example of one sure way to honor you. Let’s follow in his footsteps. His end came too soon, but our middle is here now. Mate me, my love? Mate me now, here. Let’s not waste even a moment. Please, make me yours. Please, be mine. Officially, before all of our family.”

Blay started to blink back tears. And then he was on his knees, too.

As he stammered to give his answer, he reflected that time was never a given, love was never to be taken for granted, and some gifts could not be wrapped and put under a tree.

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes . . .” he said over and over again as they kissed.

There was some kind of commotion around them, and when he finally returned to his body, he saw that everyone around the table had gotten to their feet and were cheering and clapping—and every single doggen in the house had flooded into the dining room and were jumping up and down.

With a laugh, Blay wondered whether their excitement was also because they were going to have to get ready for a big party.

And there was one other thing he noticed.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Lassiter standing back against the wall, a satisfied expression on his face.

“He was right,” Qhuinn murmured as he looked over at the angel as well.

“About what?”

“You said yes.”

At that moment, Lassiter bowed to them. And then blew them both a kiss.

Blay refocused on his mate and felt a wave of love come over him. “As if there could ever have been any other answer?”

Talk about a whirlwind.

And yet even though everything came together in a matter of nights, it still felt like the preparations for the mating ceremony took too damned long.

Not that Qhuinn would ever have said so to Fritz. Especially considering that the butler and his staff had worked around the clock. The thing was, though, when Qhuinn had dropped to one knee and asked his true love to properly mate him, he’d intended to have the ceremony then and there.

Like, bring on the daggers, get the salt, let’s do this thing.

Cooler heads had prevailed, however—and like he could deny Bitty’s party-planning committee a chance to put on its first event?

At least it was all finally going down. Tonight. Right now.

As Qhuinn came to the top of the grand staircase and looked down at the foyer below, everything had been transformed: Black candles flickered from a hundred different stanchions, and a ceremonial table had been set up, also draped with black, and the entire household, along with Blay’s parents, were assembled on the mosaic floor, everyone in formal garb.

It was go time. For real.

Wrath was standing behind the table, George on one side, Tohr on the other. And behind them, the Brotherhood was lined up, all of them bare-chested and wearing the same loose black pants that Qhuinn had on.

“You ready?”

At the sound of Qhuinn’s favorite voice in all the world, he turned. His mate was stepping out of their bedroom and he took a moment to enjoy the sight of that bare chest and that handsome face and that red hair. On a whim, Qhuinn had gotten ready in the second-floor sitting room, just for this moment—and he was so glad that he had.

“You look amazing,” he said as Blay came up to him.

“I’m just in the same thing you are.”

“Come here, kiss me.” Qhuinn tugged his male forward until their lips met. “I’m more than ready for this. You?”

“I can’t believe this is happening. And yes, I’m soooo ready.”

Mating ceremonies for members of the glymera were highly prescribed affairs—no surprise there. Add in the fact that one of the couple was a member of the Black Dagger Brotherhood? That elevated everything to a celestial realm in terms of propriety—and there was a list of things that traditionally “had” to happen.

Not the least of which was a mandatory mourning period to honor Luchas’s death.

Yet he and Blay had decided to do all of this their way, and Wrath had given them his blessing. And as for the mourning period? Qhuinn felt as though this was all partially for Luchas. He had what his brother did not: This moment now, with his true love.

“Let’s do this,” Qhuinn said.

They each took the other’s hand and then they walked down to the assembly together. When they got to the bottom, they took the twins from Layla and Xcor, who were both glowing with happiness for them, and then they with their young went up to Wrath and the ceremonial accoutrement of two black daggers, an enormous bowl of salt, and a pitcher of water.

Wrath beamed. “I know I speak for all of us when I say this is a blessed occasion. We’re happy to do it your way, and I understand there is one tradition that you all feel very strongly about.”

On that note, Lassiter stepped out from the crowd. For once, he wasn’t in some costume, just a black silk shirt and black slacks, his blond-and-black hair braided into a rope that hung over his shoulder, his gold removed, everything toned down.

Wrath leaned to Tohr and hissed, “Is he in the Elvis suit again?”

“No. He looks normal.”

“Great,” the King muttered. “They get ‘normal,’ but I get the Elvis suit . . .”

Lassiter came forward and stood between Blay and Qhuinn, taking their hands. Then the angel closed his eyes—and that illumination rained down on them all, the warmth and grace levitating both them and the young off the depiction of that apple tree in full bloom.

As everyone in the foyer gasped, they were resettled back upon the earth.

“This is a very good mating, indeed,” Lassiter pronounced. “Very good.”

The Brotherhood let out a mighty yell of agreement. And then the ancient ceremony commenced, sacred words spoken in the Old Language by the great Blind King—none of which registered for Qhuinn at all. He was just standing in front of Blay, looking into those blue eyes as they held their young—in front of everyone they cared about.

Which he supposed, at the end of the night, was all that really mattered. The tradition was great and everything, but what really mattered was the communal acknowledgment of his commitment to his beloved, and his beloved’s commitment to him.

The rest was just vocabulary—and a little fun and games with some daggers and salt.

Well, and also, thanks to Bitty and the fallen angel, what looked like some really good frickin’ cake.

It was a blur, a total blur—

“Qhuinn?” Blay whispered. “You there?”

“What? Oh, sorry.” With a much louder voice, he said, “I do!”

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Blay leaned in again. “We already did that.”

“We did?” Qhuinn flushed. “Then let’s get to it with the blades!”

They passed the young back to Xcor and Layla, and then they went to the two black mats that had been laid out in front of the table.

“You have chosen two to assist you,” Wrath said in the Old Language. “I would ask them to step forward at this time.”

John Matthew and Zsadist broke ranks and walked around the table. Both were smiling as they each picked up one of the black daggers.

Qhuinn and Blay sank down onto their knees. As they planted their palms on the mats, they were facing each other.

And yup, Qhuinn was very aware of the shit-eating grin on his face. God, he wanted this so badly.

“Blaylock, son of Rocke, I ask you, what is the name of your hellren?” Wrath said.

Blay’s eyes were so beautiful as he spoke. “He is Qhuinn. My beloved . . . is Qhuinn.”

“And Qhuinn, blooded sire of Rhampage and Lyric, what is the name of your hellren?”

Qhuinn had to clear a sudden lump in his throat. “He is Blaylock. My one and only love is Blaylock.”

John Matthew stepped up to Blay. Z did the same for Qhuinn.

Qhuinn and Blay held each other’s stare without wincing as the carving happened, the letters of their names inscribed in the flesh across the tops of their shoulders. And then Tohrment poured the salt, first on Blay and then on Qhuinn.

Not once, for even a moment, did either of them look away.

As their names became permanent in their skin.

And their hearts, already paired forever, swelled with love.

“Oh, thank you, Father,” Blay said as he embraced his dad. “And Mahmen, I’m so glad you’re here!”

As Lyric threw her arms around him, she squeezed the air out of his lungs. “As if we would ever have missed this! Finally! Now, where are my grand-babies?”

“Over there, by the Christmas tree in the library.”

Lyric hooked her hellren’s elbow. “Let’s go! I have to hold my young. And I think I want one of those.”

Rocke blanched. “A young?”

“No, silly. A Christmas tree. They’re awfully pretty, and when the kids come, I want them to feel at home.”

As Rocke rolled his eyes and kissed his mate, he winked at Blay. “Whatever you want, darling.”

“That’s the right answer, my love,” Lyric said as they walked off through the crowd. “You are such a smart male.”

All around the foyer, people were talking with animation, drinking spirits, eating—

“Bitty!” Blay called out. “Hey, Bitty—”

The girl came skipping over in her bright yellow party dress, all flounces and smiles. “You’re mated!” she exclaimed as she threw herself at him. “I’m so happy!”