Page 32 of The Villain's Beast

He was close enough to do what I needed him to do, but this was meant to be a display of power.

“More, Luca,” I said, voice booming across the field.

He rolled his neck and squared his shoulders, taking a step so big that his boots knocked into the logs built as a perimeter around the base of the fire.

“Stop there,” I told him. “Two steps to the left and you’ll find it.”

He followed instruction well, reaching down and finding the heavy leather glove in the dirt.

“Put it on. Take up the brand.”

If he had any nerves, his steadiness didn’t betray him. Blindly, Luca slipped the glove onto his right hand, then he felt around for the long iron poker, tip burning neon orange in the fire.

“Did you count your steps?” I asked.

Another lesson.

While men acted without thinking, that didn’t mean they were mindless.

“Yes,” he called out to me.

“Then return.”

Luca took two steps back to the right and turned his back to the flames. I took a step back, as I was meant to, on account of the length of the poker. Luca, again with his small steps, like if he walked slow enough we could delay the inevitable. It was some comfort that he hated this part as much as I was about to, but it was a small price to pay for the promise of peace in the future. When he’d closed half the space, I made quick work of undoing the buttons on my shirt and letting it fall open.

“Raise it,” I said.

Luca nearly startled, my voice closer maybe than he’d expected. He lifted the brand, the iron burning orange and red, the shape of a five-petaled rose easy enough for me to make out. Bracing his free hand around his gloved wrist, Luca continued to close the space toward me until he was near enough for me to smell the burning metal.

“This is my oath,” I whispered, as Luca took the final step into me, searing the brand of The Crimson Rose directly over my heart.

Chapter 22

Luca

The scent of burning flesh made me want to vomit, and if it wasn’t for Gideon pressing himselfintothe brand, I don’t think I would have gotten through it. I was thankful for the hood because it hid my tears and muffled my cries. Listening to the way Gideon grunted through the barbaric ritual was the straw that broke me, the absolute misery and unfairness of all of our lives crashing down on my shoulders all at once. There had to be another way.

“It’s done,” he said, the crisp words drawing me back into the present, back into the clearing.

I tried to drop the brand at our feet, but it stuck to his skin, hot iron still burning. I had to pull to get it off, and without the sizzle of his flesh, I had to bite my lips between my teeth to quiet my own noises of discontent.

“It’s done,” everyone around us repeated back.

“It’s done,” I muttered from behind the wet cloth, even though my heart wasn’t in it.

Gideon closed the space between us, loosening the buckle on the collar before pulling it off entirely. He untied the cord around the opening of the bag, the cool fall air rushing into my nostrils as he pulled it off. I was so close to being sick, so closeto throwing my entire life into the garbage. I looked away from him, choosing to stare at the ground instead of his face.

Instead of the brand.

I hated myself. I hated myself and I wanted to die.

Pressing my hand flat over my heart, checking to make sure I hadn’t somehow taken the brand myself, I screwed my eyes shut, tears leaking out from the corners and racing down my cheeks.

“Walk with me,” Gideon said, spinning on his heel and heading away from the bonfire. He didn’t look back to check if I would follow—we both knew I would.

With thoughts racing through my head, I waited until we were well out of earshot to speak to him.

“Can I be candid, B?” I asked him, falling into step half a pace behind him to his left.