Page 1 of Bloody Wedding (The Order of the Owed #1)

TEN YEARS EARLIER

LONI

“ J ust the tip,” pants Desmond against my lips, fingers tugging my hair, his body pinning me down on the bed. “You can trust me, baby. Just the tip… just to feel what it’s like.”

My lashes flutter. “Don’t ask me that.”

“If you loved me, you would?—”

Then it’s a good thing that I don’t. That letting him guide me into one of the bedrooms in the Reynolds family’s massive house has nothing to do with this farce of a relationship of ours, and is only because I couldn’t refuse a future Owed when he asked me out two months ago.

Somehow we’ve become the most gossiped-about couple at Harmony Heights High ever since.

I just have to hold out a little longer.

With graduation only a week away—and the Claiming ceremony coming in August—this can’t be anything more than a fling.

Unless Desmond Claims me. Unless I’m his Offering, and the idea of that turns my guts cold even as he does everything he can think of to get me hot.

Hot enough to forget the last seventeen years of training. I’ve been taught from the cradle that, one day, I would be meant for a member of the secret society that rules our town. That comes with expectations that we both know, and I’m more than happy to remind him.

Anything to jerk away from his sloppy kisses and wandering hands…

One of them thumbs the button on my jeans. I slap at it. “You know I can’t.”

His free hand lands on the side of my jaw, turning my head so that I can’t miss the lust in his deep blue eyes. His dark hair is slicked back, unruffled, mainly because he might be desperate to touch me, but I’m only clutching the comforter underneath us.

He blows out a breath once he sees the determination written on my face.

This isn’t the first time he tried to push me to go past just making out with him, and I’m guessing the taste of beer on his tongue and the high of the graduation party that Sebastien Reynolds is hosting for the entire senior class has convinced Desmond that I might give in tonight.

Until I thin my lips, and he scowls, flopping onto his back next to me.

Sebastien’s parents are out of town. So is his older brother, Alexandre. The party started three hours ago, but has probably been raging for about two. I know we’re not the only ones making use of the countless guest rooms, even if I wince a little to see how much we’ve rumpled the bedding.

Desmond told me he just wanted to talk somewhere that it was quiet.

Talk … right. When all he ever does is talk about the position waiting for him at his father’s firm, how he’ll be inducted into the Order once school’s done, and how he wants to enjoy the rest of his time before then.

Talk when, the second he had me behind closed doors, his hands were on my ass, mouth finding mine, backing me up until I had nowhere to go but flat on my back on some expensive-looking, rarely-used bed.

But Desmond… he stood up for me. In a town where my last name should mean I’m part of the inner circle, one of the founders’ boys made it so that I’ve forever been an outcast. Until Desmond decided he’d had enough of the bullying and teasing and the sly comments coming from the Heirs’ table—my name for the five boys in my class who think they’re better than the rest of us—and sat with me.

He stood up for me, and I thought I finally made my second friend other than Haven. Only he didn’t want to be friends. He wanted to be more , and for weeks now, I’ve let him for reasons I only wish I understood.

That Loni Dougherty. Easy pickings, huh? She should be grateful for any attention, but if he knew the truth?—

Desmond takes a lock of my hair between his fingers, giving it a gentle tug. “That shit is so outdated. Do you really think the Owed stay virgins until their wedding night?”

I know better. “No, but that’s different.”

His brow furrows. “How?”

Can he really be that clueless? Considering he’s convinced himself that I’m not using him the same way he targeted me, good chance.

“You’re a guy, Des. They’ll expect you to have experience. But if I do…”

I won’t be an Offering. I won’t be a wife.

I’ll be a mistress. A toy.

One of the Used.

“Who would know?”

“The man they make me marry might have an idea.”

I really, really hope he won’t. Then again, by the time I’ve been married off, I’m just hoping the new generation of the Owed are like Desmond here and don’t give a shit about the old traditions.

He has no problem trying to fuck me now. If my father’s hinting around the subject has any merit to it, I might be looking at my future husband at this very moment.

I pale.

Desmond frowns. “Loni? You okay. You don’t look so good all of a sudden.”

That’s because, with barely two months to go until someone Claims me, I know I’m only kidding myself that my future is mine. That any choices I make can change the life’s plan set for me the moment I was born into a family with connections to the Order of the Owed.

I won’t be one of the Used. A glorified mistress that is fucked and, well, used, then discarded.

No protections. No prospects for any children.

No hope of escape because if there’s one thing I’d learned from eavesdropping on my mother and her society friends when I was a kid, it’s that the men in the Order might tolerate their wives, but they will never loosen their hold on a whore their charter says they can keep on the side.

I’ll be a wife if I must, and like my mother, and her mother before her, I’ll overlook my husband’s indiscretions if I have to, but I won’t be little more than a pussy to a man who thinks he can rule with his dick.

A man like Desmond St. James is quickly becoming.

He’s eighteen now. I’ll be eighteen next month. According to the Society, I can be engaged—be Claimed— during the first Claiming ceremony after I’m of age. By August, I’ll know exactly who I’ll be Offered to, whenever he’s ready to make me his bride.

The men in the Order have until they’re thirty to be married, with an heir on the way.

The heir part is negotiable, depending on the wedded pair; the married part is not.

So, on the one hand, I’ll be engaged in August. I could be married by Christmas, or waiting until I’m on my way out of my twenties if my groom is the same age as me.

Or I could be left waiting, one of the rare few who are raised to be an Offering with no takers?—

Knock. Knock. The doorknob twists. Bang .

“Desmond? You in here? Open the door.”

My breath catches in my throat as the familiar and undeniably demanding voice finds its way past the locked bedroom door. Desmond stiffens before letting my strawberry blonde strands slip free from his hold.

With an aggrieved sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair with one hand.

The other gives a sorry pat to his blue balls as he awkwardly rises up from the bed.

Taking the opportunity to make sure I’m decent, that my jeans are still buttoned and my shirt covers the rest of me, I slide to the edge of the bed and sit up, heart thudding inside my chest.

Adrian Heller.

The kingmaker among the Heirs. His uncle is Jack Collins, the current head—the current king —of the Order.

His cousin, best friend, and enforcer is Dallas Collins.

Though Dallas is tapped to take over the Order when his father inevitably retires—passing the reins, as it were—everyone at Harmony Heights High School knows that Adrian is the one pulling the strings.

Desmond is both terrified and jealous of him. Adrian is the only one who can get Sebastien to even pretend like he gives a shit about the Order that rules all of us. He’s taken his future role as kingmaker seriously, lording over our age group for as long as I can remember.

He’s been my biggest bully for even longer.

My biggest tormentor.

My biggest secret…

Swallowing his annoyance, Desmond schools his features into an expression of nonchalance.

At least, he tries to. As he approaches the door, it’s better to say that he has a look of constipation on his face.

He’s still handsome in that slick, moneyed way of the St. Jameses, but then he pulls in the door, and I’m suddenly captivated by Adrian’s beauty.

When I’ve seen how cruel he can be, it’s not fair that, on the outside, he looks like an angel.

From the tousled sandy brown curls to his tanned complexion, and the way his coloring makes his pale green eyes pop…

lush, pink lips, sculpted cheekbones, how they hollow whether he’s puffing on one of his cigarettes or not…

Even at eighteen, his lean body is made for a suit. Adrian in a polo shirt with a popped collar and a pair of pressed jeans just isn’t right, but hell if he doesn’t look good.

He glances at me, dismissing me just as quickly as though I’m not worth his time or effort. I should be used to the sting by now. In a way, I am.

He jerks his chin. “There you are. Bas said he thought he saw you coming up here.”

So what did Adrian do? Knock on every door to see who had snuck away with who?

If I didn’t know better, I’d say no. But since I do know…

Desmond peers over his shoulder at me before facing Adrian again. “Just looking for a little quiet time with my girl.”

Adrian’s upper lip curls, gaze drawn back to me.

I give my head a royal shake, refusing to quail under his stare.

His attention returns to Desmond. “Connor was looking for you.”

Connor Heyward, another King. It wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that Connor would need Desmond for something, and as the lowest-ranked member in their circle, Desmond has no choice but to go.

But why is Adrian playing messenger? He’s second, beneath Dallas, and no messenger boy… unless he has his own ulterior motives.

His gaze flickers my way once more, as though he can’t help himself. My heart rate speeds up.

Oh, yeah. He has an ulterior motive alright.

Desmond blinks, back gone straight. “Is it important? Can it wait?”

“It’s Order business,” Adrian says flatly.