Chapter 48
That evening…
“Once we’reinside the chapel, don’t say a word unless I give you permission to speak.”
Xavier’s sharp tone has me frowning at him. “Why?”
“Every recruit and leader of the founding families will be at this ceremony. These men are the most dangerous in the world. If you piss them off, you’ll get us both killed.”
“Both of us?”
He stops in the stairwell and looks down at me. With him wearing his mask, I can’t see anything except his eyes, but they glitter with emotion.
“Yes, both of us,” he says. “If anyone threatens you, I’ll kill them, and we’ll be outnumbered. I’m not easy to kill, but I’m not invincible either.”
The seriousness of his tone and the gravity of his words leaves me speechless. My reaction isn’t purely based on the danger that lies at the top of the tower. It’s because of Xavier’s promise to protect me, even to his detriment.
His dedication to me and preserving my life leaves me awestruck. A warmth gathers in my chest and encases my heart, making it beat a little faster. For him.
I nod to show my understanding, and we resume our ascent of the granite steps. The hem of my skirt drags behind me, the fabric whispering against the cold stone. The dress is a masterpiece of design and craftsmanship, a combination of elegance and sensuality. Its shade is a midnight blue, almost black like Xavier’s clothing in the dim light of the stairwell.
The bodice is fitted, adorned with intricate black lace that snakes across the neckline, outlining the mounds of my breasts. The gown is sleeveless and leaves my arms bare, as well as my upper back. Xavier demanded that I style my hair in an updo to keep it off my shoulders.
His dried cum remains scrawled across my skin, a secret between us. I assume it’s part of his “lesson” from this morning, and I can’t find the energy to care. Not when every time I think of his cock in my mouth, I become aroused.
Beneath the expensive fabric cascading in a flood of silk and shadow, my legs tremble from the steep climb and my sensual thoughts. The material of the skirt brushes against my thighs and calves with every step, the heat trapped underneath a contrast to the cool air of the castle. Xavier left me with the need to come, my body stimulated and my mind full of him all day.
His warning to remain silent is enough to calm my arousal, but not erase it completely.
I sneak a glance at him, drinking in the man beside me. He’s dressed entirely in black per his usual, the color accentuating the mystery and elusiveness that I’ve come to associate with him. His mask hides his expression, making it impossible for me to gauge his thoughts, but his hand gripping mine tells me of his desire to keep me close.
His stride is confident and steady the entire way. Once the door comes into view, he stops and turns to face me. I wait, the hairs on my arms lifting with apprehension.
“Don’t look anyone directly in the eyes,” he says. “They’ll see it as defiance or an invitation. Keep your head bowed and your gaze on me.”
“Okay.”
He reaches out to grab the nape of my neck. He pulls me closer, his breath skimming my lips. “I mean it, Delilah. I wont’t hesitate to punish you again, but this time I’ll fuck your sweet cunt.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I hiss.
“Considering we’re about to walk inside a chapel, I think that’s the right mindset.”
Without letting me go, he opens the door and leads me through. At our arrival, a hush falls over the assembled crowd. All eyes lock onto us, scrutinizing and evaluating. The weight of their gazes has me bowing my head.
Xavier squeezes the back of my neck in response and I school my features, keeping my smile from forming. His praise never fails to stir something in me. I crave his approval with an intensity that scares me.
The atmosphere around me is thick with anticipation. It feels at odds with a place designed for humility and faith. The chapel, in its restored glory, is a testament to the reverence of the past. History and art can be found no matter where I look.
The windows, tall and narrow, have been fitted with panes of stained glass that filter the moonlight into a kaleidoscope of colors. These have been strategically placed to tell a biblical tale, bathing the interior with color, the hues dancing across the stone floor. Statues line the walls like guardians of doctrine, and the wooden pews have been polished to a soft sheen. Each row of seating is adorned with plush, velvet cushions in a deep green.
This is where the recruits sit. I catch sight of June and Brenda among them, their formal wear similar to mine. June has her hair pulled up in a sleek bun and wears a dress of soft ivory that clings to her stiff frame. Her rigid posture softens the tiniest bit when our gazes meet.
With Xavier’s order to remain silent firmly planted in my brain, I can only offer my friend a brief smile. A silent communication passes between us, and I relax at knowing she’s all right. At least for the time being.
Brenda, on the other hand, stares at me with open envy. Her dress, a shimmering red, flows around her like spilled wine. Her hair is loose, and her body language is just as unrestrained as she leans toward Xavier. Her eyes hold a fragility that makes me grow cold. But not more than Eric’s gaze when it lands on me.
Well, he can get fucked. Not exactly the most pious of thoughts, but certainly the most honest.
I ignore Eric’s stare as my recruit leads me to our designated seats directly in front of June and Declan, the masked recruit next to her. We settle on the cushion, and I take a deep breath while hardening my resolve to keep my wits about me. Even with Xavier’s mask in place, I can sense his tension. It clings to his shoulders just as tightly as he grips my neck.
At this moment, I’m acutely aware of the delicate balance of power and danger that defines Xavier’s world. As I stand by his side, facing the gathered assembly of assassins and leaders, I realize the depth of my trust in him. Despite the danger, despite the overwhelming odds, I know he’ll protect me.
I relax in his hold, and he flicks his eyes to me, his gaze questioning. Before I can convey a silent message, a masked individual makes his way to the front of the room. The pews face the heart of the chapel where an altar stands. It’s made of wood and decorated with a single tapestry that showcases a crow, its vibrant threads bringing the creature to life.
The man situates himself behind the altar. In the light of the numerous electrical scones lining the walls, his black robes seem to absorb the brightness, rather than reflect it as he raises a hand. The gesture demands our attention more than a shout would. The quiet around me drops to a deafening silence, and I find myself holding my breath.
“Welcome esteemed members of the council, leaders of the founding families, and recruits of the Obsidian Order,” he says. His voice echoes through the chapel, rich and full of authority. “We gather here tonight under the watchful eyes of our forebears, in the hallowed grounds of our ancestors, to celebrate the Crow’s Covenant.”
He pauses, letting his words sink in, his gaze sweeping across the room, locking briefly with every pair of masked eyes. “This ceremony is not merely a tradition. It is a rite of passage, evidence of the strength, loyalty, and unwavering commitment of those who stand ready to embrace the mantle of the crow.”
Another pause, this time filled with the noise of movement as the attendees shift, the weight of his words pressing down on all of us. “To be a crow is to accept the burden of shadows, to operate within the veil of secrecy that protects our world. It is a life dedicated not to glory or honor, but to the silent safeguarding of balance and order. And absolute power.”
He turns slightly, gesturing towards a row of tables beside the altar where an array of tools lie in wait, along with nine wooden chairs.
“Tonight, our newest recruits will receive their feathers, each one a symbol of a summons completed to the Order’s exacting specifications. These are not mere decorations, but marks of achievement, of sacrifices made and dangers braved in the service of our cause. Rise and reveal your wings.”
With that, the man steps back, nodding to Xavier and the other recruits, a silent invitation to come forward and accept their new marks of honor. All at once, the young men remove their black t-shirts and a collective gasp ripples through the chapel.
It’s drowned out by the sound of my heart breaking in two.
My eyes are drawn to Xavier, to the tapestry of scars and mutilated skin that covers his back. Every one tells a story of torture and abuse, every mark physical evidence of his past suffering. The urge to reach out, to somehow erase those years of pain, is overwhelming. Instead, I do what he told me to.
I keep my gaze solely focused on him.
Xavier takes his place among the others, his stance unyielding, a silent display of his inner fortitude. After they take their seats with their spines facing the audience, the lights dim, plunging the room into darkness. Then the UV lights lining the rafters flicker on, and that’s when I see them—the outline of wings on my recruit’s back.
The UV tattoo spans the entirety of his back as though he’s able to take flight. The feathers are empty spaces, but their shapes are precise, giving them a realistic appearance. Under the proper lighting, this artwork is breathtaking.
The sound of buzzing soon fills the air as the tattoo artists are summoned from the pews and take up their position, along with their tools. I watch in fascination as the empty spaces within the feathers on Xavier’s back start to get filled in. Under the glow of the UV lights, each stroke adds depth and dimension to the wings, transforming them from mere outlines into something alive, something pulsing with an unseen energy. It’s a slow, meticulous process, but with each feather that gains its texture and color, the more magnificent the wings become.
A tap on my shoulder nearly makes me shriek. I whirl around, my heart in my throat, to find June. She has both arms propped on the pew and leans toward me. I squint in the dim lighting, barely able to make out the look of concern on her face.
“Hey,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the continuous noise of the tattoo guns. I stare at her, unable to believe she’s risking conversation after the warning Xavier gave me. “There’s something on your back. It’s glowing under the UV lights.”
My fingers flutter over the skin of my back, but my mind already knows what she’s seeing.
It’s Xavier’s cum.