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Once she’s secured, I glance around at the men in black masks. “Go. Get away from the table.”

There’s a hesitation, but they all fall back to the edge of the circle. Even though the King is watching and the Shadows are all around, it’s like everyone vanishes but me, Hunter and Arianette, who is now stretched corner-to-corner, arms and legs wide. My cock twitches, thickening at the sight of her like this.

The Claiming is a rite, the final part of our initiation. It’s the reward for making it through every step. The markings? Well those are the deepest, darkest parts of the Barons’ lore. The details collected and recorded in the thick pages of our pledge books, preserved for generations.

These women have been bitten, burned, and branded. Lashed, inked, and choked. In the past they’ve been fucked–thoroughly and publicly. It’s the choice of the Baron how to leave their mark, but as my eyes land on the silver box, I suspect that the King has more of a hand in these decisions than I realized. He’s the one that brought me my tools.

He knows me better than I thought.

Arianette fights against her restraints, a loud scream ripping from her throat followed by the ramblings of a madwoman. “The demons are coming! They’re taking my soul. Spoiling my blood!”

I slap a hand over her mouth and bend down, whispering in her ear, “I thought we agreed you were going to be a good girl…” She jerks her face back and forth, but my hand is bigger, and I force her still. “Since you’re not, I need to remind you that I don’t trust you any more than you trust me, but if you don’t shutthe fuck up, I’ll tell the King what really happened out in those woods tonight.”

Our eyes hold and I try to elicit a promise from her. She blinks and I tentatively raise my hand, prepared for the second that I do, she’ll let out one of those shrill, bone-curdling screams.

Thank fuck she doesn’t.

Even so, I’d love to teach the little witch a lesson, but she’s not mine to destroy, although we have been given permission to break. I exhale and step back and try to regain my composure. Hunter slides into my place, his hand reaches out, but he doesn’t actually touch her. “Settle down, Sister, tonight is your night.” His voice is quiet but strong, how he sounds on the radio. “I know you want this. I can smell it on you, feel it in every vibration in your body. You want to be Baroness, but to get that, you’re going to need to submit.”

Slowly, the fight leaves her. All the tension and resistance in her arms and legs vanishes. “There,” he assures her, voice both chilling and soothing, “now, this is going to hurt. A lot, but like the saying goes, it’ll only make you stronger, Arianette. That’s what it takes to be a Royal House Girl.”

It’s like a switch flipped and he’s moved from one personality to another and she seems to have fallen straight into it.

I lean over and tuck a wild strand of hair behind her ear, trailing my fingers down her throat. She shivers and I grin down at her. “That’s better,” I lift the knife, “now, let’s get rid of this ratty, dirty dress so I can see you better.”

Starting at the bottom, I slice the blade through the fabric, ripping all the way to the neck. It falls away, revealing her body to us for the first time. Her tits are round and perky, the nipples a shade darker than her skin, which looks almost bronze under the flickering torches. Splayed out like this, I can see healing, mottled bruises along her ribs, presumably from her prior escape, and dark, puckered scars around her wrists. I reach outand brush the back of my fingers over the peak, drawing it into a hard point. “Sensitive,” I say, moving to do the same to the other. Arianette’s breath hitches and I laugh. “You like that, huh?”

Her jaw tightens. Pissed? Horny? Both are fun. “I bet you like them teased. Don’t worry, Sister, I’ll suck and play with them for so long that you won’t even need a cock to come.” I tilt my head at Hunter. “What do you think, Brother?”

“I’ve never seen areolas that big before.”

Jesus.

But he’s not wrong.

“Hand me that box,” I tell him. He lifts the box and passes it over her body. “Thank you.”

Setting it down, I flip open the top and take a quick assessment, making sure nothing has been touched or moved. Everything looks in order, and I remove a packet and tear the edge, pulling out a clean cloth. Quickly, I wipe down the edge of the blade, meticulously cleaning off the blood.

“Torch,” I call out, and a Shadow emerges, offering his flame. I run the blade under the heat, the metal turning crimson. There’s not a sound as I sterilize the knife, even the King watches with interest. Satisfied, I withdraw the blade from the fire and hold the bone handle to Hunter. “You first.”

I made my first mark out in those woods.

And my second? It may have to wait.

Hunter looks at the knife like he isn’t sure what to do with it. The kid is weird. Quiet, but obviously a goddamn chatterbox on his radio show. Underneath the dichotomy I sense the darkness in him. He looks way too comfortable holding that knife and he sure as hell didn’t stop me from throat fucking the Baroness in the woods. Fuck, he encouraged it.

Arianette’s chest rises and falls while her eyes keep track of the blade. But he sets it on the side of the altar and reaches for the chalice. There’s a long hesitation before he dips twofingers in the bowl and draws them out coated in darkening crimson. The blood drips down his fingers as he sets them on her collarbone and drags a long sweeping mark to the cap of her shoulder.

I step back and watch as he paints her, slashing marks over her rib bones and belly. Her stomach caves, twitching from the gentle touch. Goosebumps rise along her flesh, stimulated from every stroke. The artwork is crude. Elementary. But the way she tries to lift her hips lets me know her body is reacting despite her resistance. Maybe just on instinct, or maybe the ceremony is getting to her. The heat from the fires, the King’s watchful eyes, the moon overhead. Every swipe of blood, every touch of his fingertips brings Arianette one step closer to being ours.

He moves to her tits, dabbing the tips of her nipples in red. A growl rumbles in my chest, dark and possessive, loud enough for Hunter to glance up and lift an eyebrow, encouraging me to join in. I’m an artist and my medium is sharp metal, but hell, I can play Picasso for the night.

The blood is lukewarm from sitting out during the hunt. I coat my fingers and step to her forehead. I draw three letters: BRN, claiming her for the house. Fuck, this girl looks good coated in red.

Moving toward her feet, I decorate her legs, climbing up her thighs.

I reach the apex between her legs and her hips make the smallest of movements. She wants me to touch her. To release all the built up tension from the night. Murder. Rituals. Lies. Blood. She may be innocent, but she’s still horny. I have no doubt of that.