Page 62

epilogue

The burning scent of candle wax gets caught in my throat. As well as the smell of something darker. Something raw. Like death in a place of new life.

Pen’s fingers tighten around my bicep as we step out of the darkness, slipping through the heavy wooden doors of the cathedral and into the sanctuary from the musty atrium.

The doors close behind us with a mechanical thud, blocking out the natural light.

The smell of burned herbs mixes with something acrid, maybe blood.

Above us, the high arches catch the echoes of our steps and multiply them, so every heel strike feels like a judgment.

This isn’t a sanctuary. It’s a mouth, swallowing us whole.

And its throat? It’s cast with eerie, twisting shadows that crawl down the aisle toward the altar.

Where seven black hooded robes surround Chase Warrick and Elina Burberry.

We pause at the end of the red carpet, awaiting our turn for the Culling.

With a bribe, I was awarded the last scheduled time for the day, knowing that I don’t plan to stay for long after we exchange our vows.

High-ranking members fill the pews and turn to peer up at us from behind their masks.

Everyone is indistinguishable, but I’m sure the president is here somewhere.

Fortunately, our fathers are skipping out today.

Elina kneels in the center of the circular stage, her white silk ceremonial robe torn, and even from this distance, I can see her muscles tremble as she gets used.

Her blonde hair hangs in tangled waves over her shoulders, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

She services each cloaked figure in turn, bobbing her head over each of their dicks with crying sobs escaping her mouth between gasps for air.

Despite everything, I feel sorry for her. And infuriated that Chase has done nothing to help her.

Her newly appointed Viscount stands behind her, dressed in his gold ceremonial robe, the mask that covered his face pushed back onto his head. As per his usual, he’s laughing at his own unfunny joke. And obviously amused by his wife’s current position.

“You really thought you were above this, didn’t you?” Chase’s voice is smooth, but his eyes burn with something cruel. He strokes Elina’s hair like she’s a pet, fingers threading through the knots. “Thought your pretty little title made you untouchable?”

Elina sways, lips parting, but no sound comes out as she glances up at him. Maybe he found out what a cheater she is. Perhaps she’s already moved on to someone else. Whatever it is, Chase seems to be amused by her demise.

The men in robes move around her, like wolves circling a dying animal. As one finishes in her mouth, he waves his arms in a ritualistic pattern, as if hoping this was an acceptable sacrifice to his god.

One of the elders takes it upon himself to kneel behind her, hands gripping her hips as he tilts her forward to take her. It’s not typical. Usually, it’s just a blowjob. She squeals as he shoves himself inside, as her mouth is once again filled with another cock.

Chase chuckles. “Go on, then.” He waves a lazy hand. “You wanted to play queen. Now let’s see you bow.”

Pen’s face burrows in my chest, and I clasp the back of her neck to hold her close, then press my lips to her head through my mask. I won’t let them touch her.

After the first two men finish, the next move up to use Elina’s holes as she whimpers, and Chase’s laughter grows loud enough to echo off the high, painted ceiling.

“Enough.” The word is spoken low from my chest and is barely a breath, but it comes out sharp as a blade.

The last few rows of maroon-robed figures turn toward me, their black masked faces stoic and cold. No one on stage seems to have heard my outburst, so I think about raising my voice.

Pen glances at me, a lace veil covering her worried brow, but my eyes never leave the scene on the altar. My jaw clenches as tension coils through every inch of my body.

“It’s tradition,” Pen whispers to me with terror in her eyes.

My smirk is devoid of mirth. “And what do we say about tradition, pink cheeks?”

Her eyes lock onto mine. Steady. Fierce. “We’ll create our own.”

That’s my girl. My fingers release her neck, only to grab her chin and lift her face toward mine.

“That won’t happen to you.” Despite my voice coming out smoothly, I can’t eradicate the rough edge behind it. “You’re mine. And if they think otherwise—” My thumb brushes over her bottom lip softly as murder fills the gaze that I lift toward the elders. “I’ll remind them.”

Pen shudders in my hold.

Chase seems to quiet his braying as the elders finish with Elina.

The circle of men takes a pause to readjust and wash their hands and dicks in the ceremonial bowls surrounding the edges as the newly appointed Chase and Elina Warrick leave through the side door, her sniffles still lingering in the dusty atmosphere.

With a deep inhale, I whisper to my bride. “You need not fear anything here.”

She nods slowly, but still seems unconvinced.

I dart my gaze around the corners of the room, where the flames of the standing candelabras glow ominously.

“Because I will burn this place to the ground before anyone touches what’s mine.

And that’s what you are. My wife. My queen.

My final, irreversible claim. So say the words you have to, Pen, but know that you and I are out of here as soon as it’s over.

We’ll say our own words to each other. Fuck this system. ”

Her chest rises with a breath as she narrows her eyes and smiles dangerously. My partner-in-crime. “Got it.”

The robed men resume their spots in a ritualistic circle. Each represents a phase of the moon and dons a long bronze necklace to represent it. The center man lifts a bell and rings it three times to signal our approach. The others chime until the count of calls is nine.

Tucking Pen’s hand against my arm, I lead her down the aisle, and with every step, despite my resolve, my heart pounds harder in my chest. When we arrive in the center of the half circle, Pen takes her spot and kneels before me as I lift her veil.

Her golden eyes shift until I whisper, “Focus on me.”

She nods and does as I command.

The elder rings a deeper, longer tone, and Pen clears her throat to speak her vows.

Kneeling before me, her beautiful face lights up as she becomes solemn. Less afraid than she was a moment ago. Now, it feels like it’s just the two of us. And maybe the scripture is written for Bonakanos , but I take them for my own.

“I pledge fealty to fidelity, a covenant to constancy, and an oath to obedience.”

Unexpected emotion heats my chest. I never expected to be in this position with someone I loved. Someone I chose . But here she is. My wife. My life. I swallow through a tight throat and give my scripted response. Except I mean it.

“I appoint you as my vassal.”

With a sexy smirk, she nods. “Surrendering all my veneration to my Viscount.” Her palms raise as her head bows to me.

She opens her hands to offer me a smooth white stone—cold, like something stolen from a corpse’s chest cavity. Even the moon chalice looks hungry for it. The elders lean forward ever-so-slightly, like beasts waiting to see if I’ll feed them.

It’s one I can put in the Moon Chalice in front of the pulpit. Doing so would signify that the elders may use my newly appointed as they wish. It’s a sacrifice to give away your virgin wife to the gods for increased blessings.

But fuck them.

Instead, I snatch the stone and launch it against the wall with a warning growl. It shatters into shards while everyone in the cathedral turns to watch, then snaps their heads back to me. Perhaps their jaws have dropped at my outburst, but I really don’t care about this place anymore.

With my hands out wide, I make an announcement. “I’m taking my viscountess home.” I tug on Pen’s hand until she rises, then I tuck her into my side, guiding us toward the exit with a hurried step.

Could they pull us back and ignore my wishes? Use my love however they see fit while I watch with the threat of death lingering over my head? Yes.

But they didn’t do a good enough job of patting me down before we entered.

My ankle holster feels heavy as we march out into the sunlight.

Sunlight bleeds over our faces like a benediction.

I inhale, sharp and deep, scrubbing the scent of smoke and sex from my lungs.

Behind us, the cathedral doors groan closed, as if they resent our escape.

“What if they stop us?” Pen asks breathlessly as we rush toward the park and my Aston Martin. Then, straight to the beach and to our actual wedding.

I shrug. “I’ll end them all.”

If it’s not me who does it, then I hope someone will.

THE END (FOR NOW)

STAY TUNED FOR TERROR TUESDAY