Page 11

T he heavy oak doors groan open behind me, echoing through the hushed chapel. My head swivels towards the noise, jaw clenching as I take in the dishevelled spectacle being hauled past the threshold by two hooded Sentinels.

Briar.

Even drugged out of her mind, that stubborn defiance remains blazingly intact. Her limbs flail weakly, trying to dislodge the grips manhandling her forward. Plump lips move in a constant stream of slurred mumbles while heavy-lidded eyes sluggishly roll, struggling to focus on the towering arches and flickering candelabras.

A muscle ticks in my jaw as I drink in the sight of that tantalising body laid bare. The slinky corset and miniskirt she’d been flaunting earlier are gone, replaced by sheer white gossamer. The flimsy material clings to every lush curve, highlighting the dusky peaks straining the thin fabric with each stuttered breath.

Christ, she’s a fucking vision—tanned skin glistening with sweat as she’s deposited onto the low stone altar in the centre of the ceremonial circle.

“Finally decided to see what the fuss is about, did you?” Hayes murmurs, his masked silhouette to my right.

Scoffing, I tear my eyes from Briar with effort, sneering. “Like there was a choice,” I mutter, glancing at the onlookers in crimson robes and ornate masks. “What’s the point of all this pageantry bullshite?”

My gaze snags on Jace opposite Hayes, the falcon on his mask reflecting the brazier’s glow. Even concealed, his open appreciation as he shamelessly drinks in every inch of Briar is palpable. Figures—the randy bugger is the closest to a heathen amongst the four of us. I expect nothing less than crude ogling from a base beast like him, especially with such lush prey trussed up for sampling.

“Must we indulge in all this cloak and dagger theatrics just to make a point?” I press, letting disdain bleed into my tone.

Arius steps into the centre of the circle, arms raised for silence. As ever, that arrogant prick has to conduct the proceedings and hog the spotlight. Typical.

“My brethren,” he intones, voice low and gravelly to convey gravity at odds with his smug smirk. “Tonight marks a pivotal juncture where the legacy of our sacred covenant balances precariously. A crucible through which the strength of our convictions and dedication to upholding the Order’s traditions shall be weighed.”

A hushed murmur ripples through the onlookers, robes shifting with each held breath. Arius lets the silence drag on before planting a booted foot on the altar’s edge, hand trailing over Briar’s exposed shin.

“To secure the Order’s future,” he continues, thumb digging into her calf, “certain sacrifices must be embraced and sins committed in service of a greater good.”

Briar’s reaction is immediate—drugged lids fluttering open as her head lolls side to side, chest heaving with quickening pants. Whatever intoxication overwhelmed her senses, Arius’ invasive touch has punched through the fog enough for that signature defiance to claw its way back to the surface.

Interesting…

Something pricks at my mind, an unformed notion struggling against the weights of conditioning to coalesce into coherent thought. Perhaps there’s more to her than merely the latest vapid conquest meant to satiate my housemates’ bestial appetites.

The doors creak open again, every masked face swivelling towards the newcomer disrupting our clandestine proceedings. Even Briar’s jumbled mumbles cease as Headmistress Hansley sweeps across the threshold, head held high beneath the pristine cowl of her white robes.

Ah yes, the pious harridan hellbent on preserving this institution’s antiquated practices in an increasingly modern world. I honestly expected her to feign ignorance about tonight’s activities as always, leaving us to our sordid duties, so seeing her now is more than a little surprising.

A heavy silence hangs in the stale air, thick and suffocating as the smoke curling up from the guttering braziers. My gaze cuts to Hansley looming over Briar’s drugged form, one elegant, ring-adorned finger twisting a lock of silken blonde hair.

The sight alone curdles my gut into a roiling mass of revulsion. That twisted crone believes this depraved ritual is some sacred rite to “purify” new recruits, stripping them of sullied roots to be reborn under our banners. As if branding the poor girl like cattle elevates her from the gutter she clawed out of through grit and perseverance.

My jaw clenches to choke back a derisive snort. How laughable that Hansley has convinced even herself this barbaric tradition holds any nobility. It’s nothing more than a cruel, misogynistic farce meant to degrade and subjugate the very souls meant to propagate our lineages in the most vulgar fashion.

“Initiate Whitlocke,” Hansley rasps, head swivelling to where my housemate stands poised like a grand inquisitor. “I trust you’re prepared to properly bring our charge into the Order’s fold this evening, as our newest Neophyte?”

The taut line of Arius’ shoulders betrays his resolve wavering before that ramrod spine stiffens once more with a curt nod. Hansley’s thin lips curve into a sharp facsimile of a smile, never reaching those pitiless eyes.

“Then I shan’t impede you any longer,” she murmurs, circling the altar to stand opposite him. One wrinkled hand beckons to Briar. “Proceed, and dispense with the oaths. Her compliance is irrelevant for our needs.”

A pregnant pause stretches as Arius meets her piercing stare, discomfort flickering across his features. Then with a dip of his chin, he turns to where we stand arrayed around Briar.

His eyes bore into mine through the slitted eyeholes of his gilded lion mask, hand lifting in a gesture I’m all too familiar with.

“Initiates Lockewood, Caldwell, Marston… attend me,” he rumbles, not even acknowledging me directly.

Hayes and Jace flank the altar in eerie synchronicity, silent sentinels awaiting their commander. An anticipatory hush permeates the chamber, every stifled breath and rustle of fabric reverberating off the arches in an endless loop. Briar’s head lolls weakly, soft whimpers slipping past slack lips while oblivious to the scene mere feet away.

What a fucking tragic irony—the spirited tigress so desperate to earn her way through those iron gates now laid bare and helpless at our mercy barely eighteen hours later. And yet still, that stubbornly defiant core radiates through the drugged daze clouding those striking blue eyes cracking open in bewildered panic. Christ, the second those sedatives burn off, that untamed nature is sure to unleash a ferocious backlash none of us are prepared to handle.

Maybe that’s precisely why I find myself… intrigued despite my misgivings.

There’s clearly more lurking beneath her flinty exterior than the standard empty-headed arm candy paraded around for our amusement. Something about Briar hints at unexpected complexities and resolve far beyond the affected sneer typical of those raised with privilege and status.

One glance at Jace tells me all I need to know about their intentions. Like a starving dog eyeing a juicy cut of meat, blind to anything beyond the physical. Perhaps that’s all Briar represents to him—a novelty to be thoroughly claimed, conquered, and discarded once his base whims are slaked. I wouldn’t put it past him, he can be hot and cold in the blink of an eye.

But there’s an undeniable allure in those contradictions, an irresistible puzzle masquerading behind defiant sapphire stares and generous curves. A spark of that indefinable “something more” gnawing at my curiosity like an ember refusing to be smothered.

I can sense Hansley’s nostrils flaring with impatient disdain from across the altar. Casting one final glance at the serene mask of indifference cloaking Briar’s features, I exhale a huff and stride forward to take my position opposite Arius.

Whether any of us are remotely prepared for the inevitable firestorm about to be unleashed remains to be seen.