Dying to Marry Him novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Vow
Kerensa wakes in a bloody wedding dress among eight brides, watches the influencer burst, sees through the safe vow everyone copies, and tells the faceless Master to sit down and vows to tell him a story and never the ending.
I was typing the wedding night of book forty-four when my kitchen floor turned into black marble.
My laptop was gone. So was my kitchen.
I stood in a white wedding dress that was not mine, and the hem was wet with blood.
Seven other women stood around me in gowns of their own, all of them turning in circles.
The room was a chapel with no windows. Blue candles floated at head height with no flame at all.
At the altar stood a man in a black tailcoat.
Where his face should have been there was only dark mist, turning slowly.
"Welcome to Till Death," he said.
His voice was low and unhurried, and it seemed to come up out of the floor.
"Every bride makes a vow. A bride who will not make one does not stay."
A woman in a sequined gown shoved to the front. I knew her from my phone, a lifestyle influencer with two million followers who reviewed protein powder.
"This is a prank," she said. "Where are the cameras? Whoever is behind this, my lawyer will bury you."
She slapped him.
Her hand went straight through the mist.
She pulled it back and stared. Her fingertips were coming apart into red steam, then her wrist, then her forearm.
"Help me," she said. Then she screamed it.
She burst, and something warm hit my cheek.
A cheerful chime rang through the chapel.
Gold letters appeared in the air above us: ELIMINATION 1. BRIDES REMAINING 7.
The groom had not moved. "Make your vow," he said again, in exactly the same voice.
More letters scrolled across the ceiling, fast, and they were messages from viewers.
"lol she hit the Master. brave, dumb."
"New here? This is Till Death, the number one show in the underworld. No bride has ever lasted a season."
"The Master grants every vow exactly as spoken. Word for word. That's the trap."
"One vow works. Nobody has found it. Place your bets, I'm saying three nights for this batch."
Nobody in the chapel moved.
Then a tall brunette in couture lace stepped forward with her shoulders back.
"Everyone listen," she said. "I'm Alyssa Danforth, I do contract law. A vow is a contract. Keep it plain and copy me."
She glanced up at the floating words once, then faced him.
"I vow to be faithful and obedient to you until death do us part."
The Master tilted his head. "So be it."
The whole room let go at once.
"Me too! Faithful, until death!"
"Same vow, exactly the same!"
"So be it," he said, to each of them. "So be it. So be it."
By the fifth one they were laughing, gripping each other's hands.
"She saved us," someone whispered. "He can't touch us now."
I did not say anything. I was reading the ceiling.
"oh no. the faithful-until-death vow AGAIN."
"every season they pick it. do they never wonder why nobody lives?"
"shhh don't spoil it. the third night is my favorite episode."
Every one of those vows had an exit written into it. Until death. He granted vows word for word, so he would grant the exit.
An older woman in an ivory dress with puffed sleeves was standing next to me. She had not said a word.
"Honey, does that sound right to you?" she whispered.
"No," I said.
"Then I'm waiting to hear yours."
When I looked down again the mist was already in front of my face.
He had crossed the chapel with no sound at all.
He smelled like a snuffed candle and cold roses.
"Contestant Eight," he said, low, only for me. "Your vow."
Every head in the room turned, and above them a ceiling full of monsters was betting on how I would die.
I had written forty-three books about this exact moment.
In every one of them the heroine does not run, and she does not beg. She finds what the monster cannot do, and she builds her vow around it.
So I looked him over, from the broad shoulders to the black gloves. The thumb of his left glove had been mended with red thread, by hand.
Then I smiled.
"I have a vow," I said. "Get a chair. You'll want to sit."
A black chair rose out of the marble behind him.
For a moment nothing happened. Then he sat.
The ceiling went wild. "HE SAT." "she made the Master SIT." "who is she??"
I took one step toward him and kept my voice level.
"I vow to tell you a story every night. I vow to be your bride for as long as the story runs."
"And I vow never to tell you the ending."
The chapel went completely silent.
The mist stilled in front of me.
"So be it," said the Master.
A black ring closed around my finger, and the chime rang again.
Gold letters spread across the ceiling: VOW ACCEPTED. END DATE: NONE.
"WAIT. no end date??"
"nobody has EVER left the end date off"
"odds just flipped. who's taking the over on Contestant Eight?"
Alyssa Danforth looked at my ring, then at the ceiling, and for the first time she did not smile.
The Master leaned toward me.
"Then begin," he said.
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