Page 28

E yes roving the tense tableau, I exhale a soft snort at the charged atmosphere rippling through the suite. Briar’s outburst still hangs thick like a noxious miasma, dissipating only fractionally despite her hasty retreat. One glance at our brooding leader confirms the storm churning behind that icy facade—the slightest twitch of his jawline betraying simmering displeasure over being defied.

Not that Arius’ temperament fazes me. If anything, his mercurial shifts between volcanic rage and stony aloofness provide twisted entertainment. A bloke could set their watch to those predictable swings. Besides, it’s hardly the first time he’s allowed that smart mouth of Briar’s to rile him into losing his grip on composure. It’s only been a little over two weeks since the Branding—plus one Trial down—and she’s already thoroughly dug under his armour.

With a wry chuckle, I thread idle fingers through Jace’s curls where his head lolls in my lap. He doesn’t twitch at the motions, remaining a sprawled heap of feline grace. Nor do those kohl-rimmed eyes stray from drinking in the storm brewing in Arius with thinly-veiled fascination.

At least, not until my pointed glance bores into Arius’ stony profile with deliberate weight. “Y’know, it occurs we’ve a dull day of lectures ahead,” I drawl, tone dripping sarcasm. “Tell me you’ve worked off enough steam from last night to focus beyond rutting mindlessly?”

The barb lands with enough force to provoke a muscle to feather along Arius’ jaw. Yet he doesn’t rise to take my bait quite yet. No, that would require too much effort while still licking the sting of humiliation Briar dealt his ego.

Instead, his gunmetal stare slides towards me in that slow manner he’s perfected—conveying a universe of disdain without a syllable spilling past those sculpted lips. Then his shoulders roll in a dismissive shrug, palm raking through that artfully tousled mane.

“Like I could give less of a fuck about those vapid lectures,” Arius grumbles, tone bleeding cynical weariness. “None of it will fucking matter after Ascension anyway. If I endure any more droning from those relics on disseminating my ‘ancestral legacy’ as an upstanding Whitlocke, I’ll go stark-raving mad and burn the bloody campus to cinders.”

The disgust dripping from each syllable would be comical if I didn’t suspect Arius is deadly serious about those pyromaniac threats. It’s little wonder the bloke seems to live with one foot hovering over the razor’s edge of sanity—not with the weight of a centuries-old birthright resting upon those shoulders.

Part of me envies the ease with which he masks that strain beneath a veneer of mercurial composure. As if sensing my unspoken assessment, Arius’ chin dips in another shrug, a self-deprecating smirk twisting his lips.

Unable to resist poking the bear a final time, I arch a brow. “Mate, you’ve gotten bitter over the years,” I drawl with nonchalance. “What happened to that boyish enthusiasm for upholding your family’s traditions at any cost? Shite, you were practically drooling for it when we became Initiates.”

The mocking edge hits its mark. Arius’ frame stiffens, spine snapping ramrod straight. His gaze sears into my amused stare for heartbeats so protracted I half-expect the air between us to combust.

Finally, Arius huffs a low exhale that drains the tension gripping his form. Looking away, he pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation—nostrils flaring as he wrestles that temper back from the edge. Seeming to reach an unspoken decision, that impressive physique slumps deeper into the cushions while his mobile drops atop one thigh.

“Yeah, well maybe shite wasn’t so fucked back then as it is now,” he rasps with a weary twist of his features. “We were naive little shites with our heads up our arses, not realising the depths of our brainwashing. Not until it was too late for any of us to escape with souls intact.”

The raw cynicism lacing each syllable is jarring enough to give even me pause. Bloody hell, has the indomitable Arius Whitlocke truly been stripped of every shred of swagger and bravado? Watching that imposing frame fold in on itself with dejected resignation is equal parts fascinating and unsettling.

Before I can frame a response, Jace pipes up with a derisive scoff. “Don’t be so dramatic, mate,” he chides with a cavalier roll of those feline eyes. “You act like any of us had a say in the paths we chose since being recruited.” Shifting, Jace twists until he’s sprawled facing Arius, one hand tucking beneath my thigh possessively. “Fact is, shite only got complicated once you started shagging Hoesley and forgot your priorities.”

The allegation drops like a mortar blast into our midst. My lips part, intending to warn Jace to rein in that mouth before crossing one of Arius’ tightly-guarded lines. Yet incredibly, our leader doesn’t bristle at the audacious insult lobbed at him and his illicit entanglements. Instead, a brooding silence stretches while muscles feather along his nape and jaw in agitation.

When he does speak, Arius’ tone is flat and stripped bare of inflection. “You think I had any choice in that whole sordid affair?” he queries with a mirthless twist of his lips. Bracing forearms atop his thighs, he leans forward—posture radiating lethal focus as he dares Jace to continue down this hazardous path. “We all do what’s expected in service of a higher purpose, whether our petty personal hang-ups approve or not. And I wasn’t the only one she fucked, Caldwell.”

The ominous undercurrent resonating through that statement casts an immediate pall over the atmosphere. Beside me, Jace seems to shrink into the upholstery, Adam’s apple bobbing against his throat.

My own lungs inflate on a resigned sigh, gaze tracking to Arius shrouded in shadow. While his sentiments chime with stark pragmatism, I’m privy to far more of the distressing underbelly fuelling Arius’ disdain and apathy in a way Jace simply isn’t.

My jaw tightens as the harsh realities rear up like insidious phantoms creeping closer. For all his infuriating volatility and sadistic predilections, nobody could accuse Arius Whitlocke of embracing his role willingly—least of all its most depraved aspects ordered by our twisted matriarch.

Seeming to sense the weight of my scrutiny, Arius glances up through ebony lashes. Our stares lock in that stretch comprising both challenge and silent solidarity. An infinitesimal dip of his chin is the only acknowledgement needed to convey a grudging yet profound understanding of the rot festering at the core of our unholy existence.

The moment doesn’t last. Predictably, Jace is having none of those shadowy nuances. With an indignant huff, he breaks the stalemate by twisting to flash me a look laden with knowing scepticism.

“Oh, Arius acts put-upon, but we both know he secretly gets off having that frigid bitch on a string like his personal whore.” The derogatory sneer marring his features is blatant, yet he doesn’t flinch beneath the force of my warning glare. “Don’t give me that look, —it’s not like either of us harbour delusions about the extent of Hoesley’s depravities. And let’s be honest, shall we? You of all people should comprehend the allure of wielding such perverse control over someone in a position of absolute authority.”

Jesus. This smug bastard just can’t help himself, can he?

Dropping my features into a mask of impassive stone, I shift until our faces are inches apart—nostrils flaring as each harsh breath ghosts across his cheekbones. The mirth bleeds out from Jace’s feline features as that vivid gaze struggles to hold mine.

“For your sake, I sincerely hope you aren’t implying the vile shite I suspect about Arius’ entanglements,” I rasp in a low growl laced with menace. My meaning couldn’t be more transparently conveyed if I’d spelled out each syllable.

While he might fancy himself worldly amongst our ranks, Jace remains woefully ignorant of the true sickness and depravity fuelling the most twisted machinations within this institution’s highest echelons. As perverse and hedonistic as the boy’s predilections might be, there exist realms of violation and exploitation to which he isn’t yet privy.

Not like the depraved hells inhabiting Arius and my psyches.

To his credit, Jace seems to glean the unspoken gravity of my censure weighing upon him. Perhaps finally comprehending he’s hurtling over the precipice of territory best left uncharted for the sake of preserving what sanity he clings to. With visible effort, the bravado bleeding from his expression withers into abashed silence, chin tucking.

When it becomes evident the moment has lapsed into liminal space between territories best not lingered within, I push Jace off my thigh and shove to my feet, adjusting my collar to loosen the constricting fabric. Slanting Arius one final weighted look, I stride towards the exit and whatever fresh torment lurks beyond these gilded walls.

“Don’t forget, lectures start at nine as usual,” I toss over my shoulder. The words are bald fact requiring no embellishment. “At least make an effort to show up somewhat coherent this time, if you’re quite finished wallowing in self-pity. See you back at home, Jace.”

Arius grunts an indecipherable response that could signify acquiescence or ambivalence—I’m too far gone to discern precisely which. Tossing the rest of this maudlin gathering to whatever fates await, my bootheels strike the hardwood with measured strides carrying me directly into the tempest looming on the horizon.

Because regardless of how bleak or depraved the path ahead grows, there exists no deviating from the course long ago inscribed in blood and lust.