Page 14 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)
“Tonight, we celebrate the past, the present—and the cruel illusion of change!” His black cloak swirled like a living shadow around his shoulders as he gripped the golden cane crowned with a cut-out crow. A serpent’s hiss in the stale air.
“You are the nation’s pride, our elite. Your ancestors survived the French Revolution.”
The words echoed hollowly, bouncing off cold stone walls, carrying a chill that seeped into my bones. What the hell was he talking about?
Silence stretched like a suffocating shroud. Anticipation curled in my chest, a dark coil tightening. I wasn’t sure what to expect, and that uncertainty clawed at my throat.
The man’s sharp gaze swept the crowd, a predator’s stare missing nothing. It landed on me with an icy weight. I fought the urge to flee, my heart pounding like a funeral drum.
“Say it,” he hissed, tone like poisoned silk curling through the chamber.
“Loyalty,” the crowd boomed in unison. “Respect. Tradition. Sacrifice.”
“That’s right.” The old man jabbed his cane through the air like a dagger, beak pointing to a trembling figure in the crowd. The man winced but stepped forward.
I watched, eyes wide and stomach knotting in disgust, as the old man sank into his chair and spread his legs. Surely he wasn’t…
“It’s not easy to sustain this brotherhood within these ancient walls,” he murmured, voice low and venomous, “with students wandering corridors daily, teachers and staff among us. Yet, we endure.”
The chosen man crawled between the old man’s thighs. I squeezed my eyes shut as revulsion coiled tighter inside me.
“Participation is for brothers only. Invitations granted solely by fathers.” He grabbed a handful of hair, jerking the man’s head back until he hissed. The old man smirked, using his cane to open his cloak and reveal a thick, swollen cock.
“Unwanted guests, so many.” Slowly, he pushed the man onto his waiting shaft. “That’s it…make me feel good.” He sighed heavily, leaning back.
“Change is coming. The illusion stamped in our past. Our ancestors watch us, proud and devoted to the past and present. Steadfast, patriotic.”
The crowd’s murmur dissolved as a figure in a white-fur-trimmed hood entered, voice cracking like brittle bones.
“Your donations to charity have been received. Nearly twenty million euros. Thank you for your generosity.”
A hollow drumbeat filled the room, dull and penetrating like a death knell. Incense curled through the air, mingling with the heavy scent of sex and power.
A line of red-cloaked brothers entered, forming an outer circle, a silent vow.
Two men entertained the crowd, their lips brushing softly and slowly before passion flared. Others caged them, hands tangled in hair, mouths at throats, pushing them together.
One lifted the boy’s cloak, withdrew a plug, and slid his cock deep into the tight hole. The boy writhed and gasped; the old man watched, satisfied.
Nausea twisted in my gut. I was close to vomiting. Louis hadn’t warned me about this.
Panic rose like a dark tide. My eyes darted to every mask, searching, desperate for him, my anchor in this abyss.
“Brothers,” the old man began, but I didn’t wait.
“We rewrite our history!” His voice thundered as I fled toward the door.
“We rewrite our destiny!”
My palms slipped on the knob as I yanked it, stepping into the corridor.
“We rewrite our legacy!”
A glance back and caught the old man’s icy gaze, half-swallowed in shadow, unblinking, merciless.
The echo of their twisted rites clung to me like poison.
Whispering shadows I could never outrun.
My hands trembled, sweat already slick on my skin, heartbeat pounding like war drums in my chest. Somewhere, a black feather drifted down, landing softly at my feet, the crow’s silent witness to the nightmare I could not unsee.
Then I ran.
I had taught myself never to cower, to face monsters head-on.
But tonight, they attacked my soul where I was weakest.
Tonight would burn behind my eyelids for the rest of my life. But I’d pretend it never happened.