Kiss Me After The Kill

Four years. That’s how long Lucia Delacroix’s parents had given her to find a suitable husband before they made the choice for her.

The proclamation had been given on her twenty-first birthday, and now, just months after her twenty-fifth birthday, they were hosting her engagement party.

Who had Charles and Genevieve Delacroix chosen for their youngest child to marry?

Vaughn Langston.

To the outside world, Vaughn was the most eligible bachelor in high society. The heir to The Delacroix and Langston Financial Consulting Firm, he was not only rich and powerful but had known Lucia since she was born. Vaughn’s late father, Rudolph, had been her father’s business partner until his death last year. Now, Vaughn was taking his father’s place and had agreed to secure the ongoing business partnership by marrying Lucia.

Who was fifteen years younger than he was.

Not that something so insignificant as age mattered to her father. Legacy. Power. Wealth. Those were words Charles Delacroix understood.

And just like age didn’t matter, neither did the fact that Vaughn was a violent, womanising alcoholic. When the betrothal had first been suggested, Charles dared to say that marrying Lucia would straighten Vaughn out.

Lucia sighed as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Vaughn was the last person she wanted to marry. They’d never gotten along, not least because of the age difference. Vaughn was far too much like her parents and the other affluent people they associated with.

She’d always felt like a fish out of water, even within her own family. Or more accurately, like a drowned fish—ornamentally displayed, expected to smile, but slowly suffocating all the same.

When she was younger, she’d been convinced she was a changeling, a faerie child who’d been left in the human world. As she grew older and realised the faerie realm wasn’t real, instead she started to wonder if perhaps she was adopted.

But just one look at her reflection dispelled that notion. She was almost the spitting image of her mother at that age, with high cheekbones, blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires, and pale blonde hair that fell in ringlets around her shoulders.

The feeling that she just didn’t belong only intensified when she attended Stonyhurst, and most of her classmates had giggled behind her back. The only true friends she had were her Father’s younger sister, Margot and Beatrice St. James, a distant relative from her mother’s side.

That hadn’t changed as she’d gone on to study for a degree in English Language and Literature at Oxford. She’d always felt closer to the characters from novels by Emily Brontë and F. Scott Fitzgerald than she did to her peers.

The fact that she’d been allowed to study English Language and Literature at Oxford had been part of the bargain with her parents that had culminated in her engagement to Vaughn.

Her mother had thought that going to university was a waste for a woman, especially one of Lucia’s status.

Genevieve’s exact words had been, “Well, I never went to university, and look how well I’m doing,” which completely ignored the fact that she’d been born into wealth and then married into it.

Her father hadn’t been opposed to the idea of her attending university, but he’d insisted she study finance, like her older brother Leopold.

Her aunt Margot had made the suggestion that she be allowed to attend university, stating it was the perfect place to meet a suitable husband.

Honestly, Lucia had hoped that would be the case. And while there were a few flings and even one long-term relationship, none of the men were someone she wanted to spend her entire life with.

The gentle violin and piano notes of Meditation from Thaïs wafted through the air, pulling Lucia from her thoughts as she waited for the makeup artist to finish their work.

Her mother hovered nearby, giving the cosmetologist instructions on how to best present her daughter.

“No, less blush. I want her to look innocent, not like a clown,” Genevieve said, the tension in her voice masked by the eternal veneer of politeness that was expected of all women in the Delacroix family.

The pastel blue, lace gown Lucia wore chafed at her, and the string of pearls around her neck felt like a hangman’s noose. She already had a headache from the cloying scents of jasmine and incense as her mother spritzed more Yves Saint Laurent – Opium around her.

Having mastered the art of false smiles at the age of four, Lucia merely looked at her mother and simpered.

“Oh, darling, Vaughn isn’t going to believe his luck when he sees you,” Genevieve went on.

A cold, hard weight settled at the pit of Lucia’s stomach at the mention of her intended.

’Because nothing says lucky like being forced to marry your father’s business partner,’ she thought.

Satisfied that Lucia’s appearance met her impossibly high standards, Genevieve dismissed the makeup artist without so much as a ‘thank you,’ let alone a tip.

“Let’s not keep our guests waiting, shall we?” Genevieve said.

As Lucia stood from the vanity table, her mother plucked two golden masquerade masks from the chest of drawers nearby. Hosting a masquerade ball as the engagement party had been Genevieve’s idea, who had attended a similar function for one of her friend’s children a few months previously, and thought it was ‘a darling’ idea.

Lucia already wore so many masks as it was, so she figured what difference would one more make?

She fastened the mask that was made up of delicate filigree and followed her mother out of the room.

The sound of classical music grew louder as they left the ground-floor dressing room and walked along the pristine, marble-floored hallway to the ballroom.

Lucia smoothed imaginary wrinkles from her Dior dress and took a deep breath. As if the illusion of perfection might actually hold up to inspection.

“Time for wide smiles and happy eyes,” Genevieve instructed, pushing open the double French doors to the ballroom.

The second she stepped over the threshold, Lucia’s senses were assaulted—the music, the lights, the mixture of different designer scents, the polite chatter of guests—it was all too much.

The chandeliers glared too brightly. Each crystal caught the light like a hundred tiny knives, and the mingled perfumes curled like choking vines in her throat. Her vision shimmered at the edges—blurs of colour and silk, laughter that sounded like shrieking gulls.

Adjusting to the overwhelming sensations, Lucia scanned the room.

There was her brother, standing to the right of her father, with Vaughn to her father’s left. They all had crystalline flutes of champagne and were laughing at something Leopard had said.

Lucia’s stomach roiled.

Her gaze moved from her brother, father and betrothed, seeking out the few friendly faces in a sea of snakes and sycophants.

Beatrice and her fiancé, Andrew Talbot, stood as far away from Leopold as humanly possible without actually leaving the ballroom. They got along about as well as Lucia and Vaughn did, and Bea had secretly confided her relief to Lucia when Leopold had finally married, as at one point, their families had talked about a union between them.

Aunt Margot wasn’t too far away from Bea and Andrew, chatting with Leopold’s wife, Sadie, who was eight months pregnant with their first child. The pending arrival of the first of Charles and Genevieve’s grandchildren was a happy event, only eclipsed by the engagement of their daughter.

Everyone in the room fell silent as Lucia made her way over to her father, brother and Vaughn. She plastered a fake smile on her face, knowing the photographers her parents had hired would be capturing every moment.

“Lucia, my darling girl, don’t you look simply radiant,” Vaughn said as she approached, and he took her hand, pulling her to him.

She barely resisted the urge to shudder as he inclined his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. His breath reeked of alcohol, and his large palm was sweaty on the small of her back as he caressed her.

The kiss felt less like affection and more like branding—a stamp of ownership she couldn’t wash off. His cologne was overpowering, barely hiding the stench of whatever whisky he’d been drinking. He touched her like she was a prize to be paraded, not a person. She’d trained herself not to flinch, but every muscle in her back rebelled, twitching under his hand.

’He touches me like he already owns me,’ she thought, gratefully accepting a glass of champagne from the nearby waiter—the only thing likely to keep her from going insane as she played the doe-eyed bride-to-be.

Lucia was forced to endure Vaughn’s hand on her back, her mother’s polite small-talk, her brother’s crass jokes, and her father’s pride over Vaughn ‘officially’ becoming part of the family for a full thirty minutes before she was able to escape and locate the woman who was like a sister to her.

She found Bea standing by the French doors that were open to the patio, staring out at the slowly setting sun.

“Thank you for coming,” Lucia said, linking her arm through her friend’s. “I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to.”

Bea shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “I wouldn’t miss your engagement party for the world.”

“That means everything to me,” Lucia said, squeezing Bea’s hand.”I just wish I were marrying someone I actually liked, never mind loved.”

Bea gave her friend a sympathetic smile. Her own engagement had been just six months ago, and she was lucky that the man she’d met at Oxford met her parents’ approval. The man in question sauntered over with fresh drinks and offered Lucia a beaming smile.

“Congratulations!” Andrew said, extending his arms for a hug.

Lucia slipped into his embrace and sighed, wishing things had been different. Andrew was someone even her parents would have approved of. He was distantly related to the Royal Family, and his family business—a prolific legal firm—was worth millions.

But even if Bea hadn’t gotten in there first, Lucia would never have fallen for Andrew. He was a good man, clever and funny, but she just didn’t feel that spark.

When Bea and Andrew started getting serious, Lucia had asked Bea how she’d known he was ‘the one’, and her friend’s answer had shocked her.

Bea had said it was “Like fireworks going off, and the feeling of coming home, both at once.”

Lucia had never felt like that, even with the man she’d dated for a year.

Much too quickly for Lucia’s liking, she was summoned back to Vaughn’s side, his hand possessively resting on the small of her back once more.

They were alone now, as her mother and father chatted with guests, and her brother was with Sadie and Aunt Margot.

“I thought we would spend our honeymoon in the Seychelles,” Vaughn said, but Lucia wasn’t listening.

For one blissful moment, she let her thoughts drift away and carry her out of the ballroom, and far, far from the Delacroix Estate.

In her fantasy, she was standing on the roof of a building, gazing down on the people below who looked like ants. Without an ounce of fear, Lucia stepped off the edge of the roof and soared. She opened her arms like wings and glided through the clouds, chained by nothing and no one.

Her daydream was shattered when Vaughn hissed in her ear, “You could at least pretend to be enjoying yourself.”

Her back went poker straight, and she bared her teeth in what she hoped was an obedient smile, but actually looked more like a snarl.

Something prickled at the base of her neck. She turned toward the patio before she’d even realised why—drawn by a pressure, like eyes in the dark. A presence she hadn’t noticed, but somehow had.

She didn’t recognise the raven mask the man wore, but something about the stranger’s billowing black cloak made her heart pound in her chest.

Lucia stepped forward, intent on investigating, when Vaughn’s hand clamped around her wrist. “Stay,” he whispered coldly.

She hesitated only a second, fear and fury warring in her gut. It was too hot in the ballroom; she needed air. She needed to be away from Vaughn.

Not caring if she caused a scene, she yanked her arm free.

Unfortunately, before she made it to the patio, her parents blocked her path.

“Where are you going?” her father asked, his eyes narrowed.

“I need some air,” Lucia said.

“What you need to do is go back to Vaughn and look like the happy bride-to-be you’re meant to be,” her mother said in a low voice.

“I will, in just one moment,” Lucia said, ignoring her parents and stepping through the French doors.

Just as she passed over the threshold, she bumped into one of her father’s business associates, Augustus Balfour, who looked unusually pale. Balfour had a reputation for ruining parties with his excessive drinking, and Lucia hoped he wasn’t about to be sick on her mother’s antique rug.

Leaving someone else to deal with Balfour, Lucia sucked in a grateful breath of cool night air and then scanned the area for the man in the raven mask she’d seen.

He leaned up against the wall, almost hidden in the shadows, and Lucia squinted her eyes, trying to see if she recognised him.

“Excuse me, Sir, do I know you?” she asked.

The man didn’t respond right away. A breeze brushed over her skin, though the night air had been still a moment before. Her pulse quickened—something primal inside her whispering not quite human.

His head tilted slightly, like he was listening to something only he could hear. And then he stepped into the light.

He had porcelain white skin that contrasted with his long, black hair neatly tied back with a deep red ribbon that almost exactly matched his deep garnet-coloured eyes. He wore all black, too, with fine lace cuffs and a tailcoat that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Regency Era.

Though they’d never met before, the man was strangely familiar, like someone she vaguely remembered from her childhood, or had once seen in a long-forgotten dream.

’He’s beautiful, like an avenging angel,’ she thought.

His dark brows drew together as he studied her, and a small, surprised smile appeared on his lips.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked in a voice like a velvet prayer.

Something inside her stirred. Not desire exactly. Not yet. But something deeper—like recognition.

🩸 Want the next chapter the moment it drops?

Kiss Me After the Kill is currently being serialised, with new chapters released every Monday and Friday.

If you don’t want to miss what happens next…

👉 Join Azrael’s Inner Sanctum – get weekly chapter updates, sneak peeks, and exclusive news

https://2e2f8d.share-eu1.hsforms.com/2q6pua8QzTFeB1bLU-gSbRA