Page 27 of The Villain's Beast

I had a bottle of lubricant in my pocket and a condom, even though I wasn’t supposed to use the latter. My father would have been pissed if he knew, but he never would. I’d make sure whichever first year had been selected as the offering didn’t ever know I used one, and my father would be none the wiser.

The chase was the part of the ritual I was worried about the most, not because I had concerns about being able to pursue a first year through the woods after getting whipped until I bled, but because I didn’twantto. Of all the things I’d done because my father had told me, getting whipped on a dais for the entire Black Thorn Society to see was the least appalling of them. Racing after an initiate into the darkness just to pin him down and rut him into the ground in a display of dominance?

Just because it was the way Ichoseto fuck didn’t mean it was the way Iwantedto fuck.

Especially with someone who wasn’t entirely willing.

“Do you know who was chosen for the offering?” I asked.

Time was ticking, and I tore myself away from Daren for one last check in the mirror. The one part of the ceremony I had control over was my outfit. I’d settled on a pair of black jeans and black leather boots. The boots were half laced, which would make running a little problematic, but I wasn’t in a hurry to claim and conquer. And the wait would probably be good for all of us.

“I’ve heard rumors, but nothing for certain,” Daren said.

“What are the rumors?”

“His name is Bellamy Marchant.”

“The name isn’t familiar,” I murmured.

“You didn’t stay long enough to ask it,” he said.

I searched his reflection out in the mirror, one brow raised.

“He’s the kid from earlier in the week, the tiny little thing who bumped into you at the pub.”

One day I really was going to crack a molar for how much teeth grinding I did. Even though I hadn’t known his name, I’d remember Bellamy Marchant and his ghostly hazel eyes for the rest of my life. He looked too much like the boy Gideon used to be for me to ever forget him.

“Why do you think it’s him?” I asked, swallowing down any hint of interest—or resistance.

Daren grinned at me, the change in conversation washing away his concerns about walking me down to the basement and beating me until I bled. “Because he says all kinds of things when he wants a cock up his ass, Fletcher. Ask me how I know.”

Chapter 19

Daren

The basement was dark, nothing more than candlelight illuminating the temporary raised stage against the western-facing wall. The air was thick, nerves of the first year students almost tangible, excitement of everyone else much the same. Counting Fletcher and myself, there were fifty-four people in the basement, but only three of us really mattered.

Fletcher, myself, and the offering…Bellamy.

I’d been correct in my guess about his role in the Thorns, but the fact I hadn’t been sure was enough of a reminder of just how deep secrets in this society ran. The offering was always the closest kept secret, proof to all of us that we had no control over our own lives. There were men older and far more powerful than us who pulled the strings in all things.

In all ways.

The leather strop creaked under my grip, the original use of the tool-long forgotten when it came to its need between these four walls. There were no blades to sharpen here, only free will to dull. I swallowed, my wary stare shifting toward Fletcher in the middle of the stage, still shirtless but looking far more sure of himself than he had when we were together in his bedroom.

“Together tonight we stand on the precipice of our destiny,” Fletcher said, voice steady and clear. He gestured broadly before curling his fingertips against his palms and letting his hands fall to his sides. “We find ourselves reminded that we are the guardians of knowledge, the keepers of secrets.”

He paused, and I looked toward Bellamy, the secret that neither of us had kept. Bellamy swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing in his throat, and he tangled his fingers together in front of him before giving up and shoving his hands into the pockets of his white linen pants.

“Outside these walls lurks chaos and discontent, the likes of which we must never succumb to. In pursuit of our highest good, we are stronger than all of the wants of the world combined,” Fletcher said, turning his back and raising his voice to finish the recitation passed down by his father, “I’ll take my vows before you now. My blood a promise. The offering a seal.”

“Go,” I said to Bellamy, who turned and ran so fast from the room, it was like he’d never been there at all.

Fletcher turned and flattened his palms against the brick wall in front of him, fingers splayed, the spread of his arms drawing attention to how broad and strong his shoulders and back were. I stepped up behind him, knowing better than to wipe my sweaty palms before saying my piece of the vow.

“Five promises,” I said loud enough for him and everyone behind me to hear. “One oath.”

“My life belongs to the Thorns,” he said.