Page 35 of Haunted (Blackwood Brothers #1)

XAVIER

T he horn’s final call echoes through the chamber, and I know time has run out. My hands unwrap the bindings I’d prepared earlier—deep crimson fabric that will mark her as mine while revealing every curve.

“Arms up,” I command.

Mira’s eyes flash with defiance, but she complies.

I lift my shirt over her head, leaving her bare for only seconds before I begin wrapping the silk around her.

The fabric skims across her skin like waves of fire, barely covering her breasts, leaving her midriff exposed, the bottom edge grazing the tops of her thighs.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, adjusting the strips of fabric to ensure they cling perfectly to every line of her form. “Absolutely exquisite.”

Her breath catches as I secure the final fold, the deep red making her skin glow like porcelain. She looks like a goddess prepared for sacrifice, and the image sends possessive heat coursing through my veins.

I take her hand, leading her from the chamber into corridors that grow increasingly ornate as we approach the center. Gold leaf adorns the walls, crystal chandeliers cast dancing shadows, and the sound of voices grows louder with each step.

“The orgy room,” I begin, my voice steady despite the tension building in my jaw, “is tradition. Every hunter brings their conquered prey to display their success. To... share in the celebration of the Hunt.”

The word ‘share’ feels like acid on my tongue. My muscles coil tighter with each syllable.

Mira glances up at me, studying my face with those damned perceptive eyes. “Share,” she repeats quietly.

I can’t meet her gaze. Can’t let her see the sheer possessiveness burning through me at the very thought of another man’s hands on her skin.

“Some hunters,” I continue through gritted teeth, “allow others to partake in their conquest. It’s considered... generous. Sporting.”

The silence stretches between us as we walk, broken only by the distant sounds of revelry ahead. My hand tightens around hers, knuckles white with the effort of maintaining control of myself.

“Will you?” Mira asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Share me?”

I stop walking, and fury blazes through me as I search her face.

“Is that what you want?” The question comes out almost matter-of-fact, but I can’t disguise the snarl as it escapes, dangerous and territorial.

“Do you want other hands on your body? Other mouths touching those lips that belong to me?”

Mira jerks back as if I’ve struck her, those hazel eyes widening at the venom in my voice. The disdain of that thought as it bleeds through my words catches her off guard, and I watch her throat work as she swallows hard, the depth of fear in her eyes nearly palpable.

Fuck. I’m losing control, letting this woman unravel years of calculated composure. The realization should concern me more than it does.

“No,” she whispers, shaking her head emphatically. “No, I don’t want that.”

The relief that crashes through me is immediate—a tidal wave I wasn’t prepared for.

My shoulders relax slightly, tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying bled from my frame.

Why the hell does her answer matter so much?

Why does the thought of keeping her entirely to myself feel like the only acceptable outcome?

“I don’t want anyone else to touch me,” Mira continues, her voice gaining strength, though her resolve seems to waver. Is she struggling as much as I am to hold on to the hatred that fueled every encounter that led to this moment?. “Only you.”

Those two words— only you —rock me to my core. Something carnal and sated rumbles deep in my chest, a sound I’m not entirely proud of making.

I step closer, my free hand coming up to cup her jaw. “Good,” I murmur, my thumb brushing across her cheek. “Because the thought of another man putting his hands on what’s mine makes me want to burn this entire place to the ground.”

Her eyes flutter closed at my touch, and I watch intently as she leans into my palm like she’s seeking comfort. Or maybe even a promise of protection for where she knows we are headed now.

My mouth curves into a dark smile as a different thought takes shape—one that makes my cock twitch with interest.

“But,” I continue, my voice dropping to that dangerous register that always makes her breath catch, “I bet you’ll get soaking fucking wet watching everyone else while I fuck you mercilessly.

All those bodies moving together, all that desperate fucking happening around us while I make you scream my name loud enough for every hunter in that room to know exactly who owns you. ”

Her sharp intake of breath tells me everything I need to know. The way her pupils dilate, the flush creeping down her neck, the subtle press of her thighs together—she’s already imagining it.

“The thought of being watched while I take you,” I murmur against her ear, “of everyone seeing how perfectly you fall apart for me... it excites you, doesn’t it?”

Mira doesn’t answer, but the way her pulse hammers against my thumb tells me everything. The flush spreading down her throat, the slight tremor in her hands—she’s already drowning in the images I’ve painted for her.

I take her silence as acceptance and guide her forward, my grip firm on her elbow as we approach the final corridor. The sounds grow louder now—moans, gasps, the wet slap of skin against skin. The heady scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air, thick enough to taste.

My jaw clenches as we near the ornate double doors.

Six months of planning went into this room.

Every detail was meticulously crafted, from the raised dais in the center to the strategically placed mirrors that would reflect every angle of conquest. I’d designed it to be the ultimate display of dominance.

In this theater, hunters could showcase their prizes while others watched and waited for their turn.

The plan had been so fucking simple then. Capture some random prey, break them in front of an audience, and let a few trusted allies sample what I’d conquered while I watched with detached amusement. Clean. Efficient.

But that was before I met Mira Sullivan—before I noticed the sharpness in her hazel eyes, how she stared me down when anyone else would’ve run.

Before I knew what it meant to feel someone shatter in my arms and have everything inside me choose to stay there, utterly unguarded, to protect each tiny shard that became mine in that single instant.

Now, with each step toward that room, my chest tightens like a vise. The thought of parading her in front of the other hunters—men who’ve been eyeing her since the moment she signed that contract—makes my hands shake with barely restrained violence .

Knox’s mocking voice from earlier echoes in my head: “Going soft on us, X?”

Maybe I am. Perhaps this woman has stripped away decades of cold calculation, leaving raw instinct inherently feral in its wake. All I know is that the idea of following through with my original plan feels like poison in my veins.

The doors loom before us, carved mahogany depicting scenes of ancient hunts. Beyond them waits the culmination of everything I orchestrated.

So why does it feel like I’m walking toward my own execution?

The massive doors swing open, revealing the carved erotic scenes that spiral up their surface. The artistry is exquisite, but I barely register the craftsmanship. My attention locks on what waits beyond.

The moans hit us first, a symphony of pleasure and dominance that echoes off the vaulted ceiling. Gasps, whimpers —the wet sounds of bodies joining—create an intoxicating backdrop.

Mira’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the noise. I feel her freeze beside me, glancing down at her. I release her elbow and let my hand slip into hers, twining our fingers as she takes in the scene before us. Her hand tenses in mine.

The room is a masterpiece of hedonistic design.

Velvet cushions and drapes create intimate alcoves around the perimeter.

At the same time, the center features a raised circular platform bathed in soft, golden light.

Bodies move everywhere—hunters and prey locked in various stages of fucking and sharing their spoils.

Knox has Bianca bent over a cushioned bench, her hands gripping the edges as he takes her from behind. The paint streaks across her skin have smeared from their earlier encounter, creating abstract art on her bare flesh. Her moans punctuate each thrust.

In another corner, Vane has Lia suspended from restraints, arched as he traces patterns across her skin with what looks like ice. She writhes against her bonds, seeking more contact.

Even Landon, typically reserved, has Sadie spread across a low table, his mouth between her thighs. Sadie has a fistful of his dark hair in her hands as her back arches off the surface, desperate sounds spilling from her lips.

The hunters are completely naked, their bodies on full display. In contrast, the prey wears variations of what Mira sports—silk that frames rather than conceals. Sheer fabric that leaves nothing to the imagination, strategic cuts that offer easy access while maintaining the illusion of covering.

“Jesus,” Mira breathes beside me.

The air thrums with sexual energy. Even I can’t deny the raw appeal of it all—the overt display of dominance and submission, the way pleasure echoes through the chamber like a living entity unto itself.

My cock stirs against the confines of my leather pants as I watch Mira’s reaction. Her pupils have dilated, and her breathing has grown shallow. The flush that started on her cheeks has now spread down her throat, disappearing beneath the red fabric that barely contains her breasts.

My gaze follows Mira’s line of sight across the room, and I immediately spot what’s captured her attention. In one of the far alcoves, Cora Pike writhes between three masked figures—the men who specifically targeted her for revenge against her father.

Dominic has positioned himself beneath her, his cock buried deep inside her pussy.

At the same time, Ryder stands behind and takes her ass.

The dual penetration forces broken cries from Cora’s throat, filled in ways that should be uncomfortable but clearly aren’t based on the desperate way she rocks between them.

The third man—Liam—has his cock buried in Ryder’s ass while Ryder fucks Cora. It’s a chain of dominance and submission that has all three men groaning with pleasure. At the same time, Cora becomes the centerpiece of their revenge fantasy.

“Oh God,” Mira whispers, her face draining of all color. Her hand flies to her mouth as she watches her best friend being thoroughly fucked by three men at once.

Cora’s head falls back in abandon, her auburn hair cascading over Dominic’s shoulder as both men thrust into her in alternating rhythm. Every stroke forces sound from her throat—half pleasure, half overwhelm—while Liam drives into Ryder, creating a symphony of masculine groans and feminine gasps.

“She looks like she’s enjoying herself,” I murmur against Mira’s ear, watching as Cora arches between her captors. There’s no denying the flush of arousal across her skin, the way her fingers dig into Dominic’s shoulders, seeking an anchor.

“This is my fault,” Mira breathes, horror creeping into her voice. “I brought her here. She’s only here because of me.”

The guilt in her tone makes my heart twist uncomfortably in my chest. I’d expected her to be shocked by the display, aroused by the raw sexuality on exhibition. I hadn’t anticipated this crushing weight of responsibility that’s clearly devastating her.

Across the room, Cora cries out sharply as both men thrust deep simultaneously. She shudders between them, caught in what’s clearly an intense orgasm. The sight should be erotic—and it is—but Mira’s distress cuts through my enjoyment like a blade.

“She signed the same contract you did,” I remind her. “She made her own choice.”

“Because I couldn’t protect her,” Mira whispers, her eyes never leaving her friend’s writhing form. “Because I was too selfish to keep her away from all this.”

“Stop,” I command, my voice cutting through her guilt-ridden whispers. “Stop dwelling on it. There’s no going back now.”

Mira’s gaze snaps to mine, those hazel eyes bright with unshed tears. The sight of her pain causes an uncomfortable tightening in my chest, which I’m not accustomed to. She looks so fucking vulnerable standing there in that scrap of red silk, watching her best friend get fucked by multiple men.

“Xavier, I?—”

“No.” I grip her chin, forcing her to focus on me instead of the erotic tableau playing out across the room. “What’s done is done. Cora made her choice the moment she signed that contract. Just like you did.”

Her lower lip trembles, and I can see her fighting the urge to look back toward her friend. The guilt is eating her alive, consuming her from the inside out, and I find myself wanting to erase that devastated expression from her face.

“She wanted adventure,” I continue, my thumb brushing across her cheek. “She wanted to rebel against her father’s expectations. Well, congratulations—she got exactly what she asked for.”

Mira flinches at my words, but I don’t soften them. Coddling her won’t help either of us right now.

“But I brought her into this world,” she whispers. “I’m the reason she knew about you, about Purgatory, about?—”

“Enough.” The word comes out harsher than intended, echoing with finality. “You’re not responsible for anyone else’s choices, Mira. Not hers, not mine, not anyone’s in this fucking room.”

Her breathing grows ragged, those tears threatening to spill over. The sight of her on the verge of breaking apart unleashes protective instincts I don’t fully understand. All I know is that I need to pull her out of this spiral before it destroys her completely .

Without giving myself time to think, I reach up and pull off my red mask. The leather falls away, revealing my face completely.

Then I kiss her.

My mouth crashes against hers, swallowing whatever protest she might have offered.

She tastes like sin and surrender, her lips soft and pliant beneath mine despite the tears that salt our connection.

I pour everything into this kiss—possession, protection, the inexplicable need to shield her from the world.