Chapter 8
Damon
The river had been merciless–black ice water clawing up my legs, my waist, my ribs, until it closed over her breasts and stole every last trace of blood and ash from her skin.
When we pulled her out, she was shining like something newly born and twice as fragile: moon-pale, lips trembling, eyes too wide.
The Shadows carried her back to the House, wrapped in her robe, shivering so hard I thought she may fall into convulsions. The King’s word is law: no cage tonight, but no key to her old room either. She hasn’t earned doors that lock from the inside.
Hunter and I wait in the bedroom, the iron chandelier hanging overhead. Ares lies on his bed in the corner, ears pointed, amber eyes tracking every breath.
For the first time in weeks, my pulse is quiet.
Out there in the circle, ringed by torches and silent brothers, I released the anger and rage I’d been holding since the fire and took her the way I was born to.
It was deep and ruthless, no mercy, no pretending like her pussy wasn’t made for me.
I spilled inside her, readying her for the final phase of the rites.
She’s not the only one cleansed by the ceremony. I look over at Hunter and ask, “How are you doing?”
He thinks on it for a minute, eyes cast to the ceiling. “Honestly, better than I expected.”
“Right?” I say with a dark laugh. “These fucking Royals and their rituals. Maybe they really do know what they’re doing.”
In the adjoining bathroom, the shower shuts off with a metallic scream.
While Hunter leans against the dresser, arms folded, I’m busy.
Focused. I feel him watching me unroll the black leather kit on the low table beside the bed.
Everything is exactly where it should be: steel bowl of isopropyl, cobalt gloves, the sealed 14-gauge needle, the receiving tube still cold from the autoclave, the curved silver hoop I chose months ago because it warms fast against living skin.
Iodine, gauze, a tube of lidocaine I probably won’t use, and the small steel tray waiting for waste.
Hunter raises a brow. “What are you doing?”
“Preparing my kit.” I line the forceps up exactly parallel to the needle. “You said you wanted to watch next time.”
He exhales through his nose, half laugh, half something hungrier, and nods once.
She belongs to all of us tonight, the ritual proved that. But tomorrow, the day after, and every day that follows, she needs to feel the difference between being shared and being owned.
This mark is mine alone to give.
The bathroom door opens and steam rolls out behind her.
She steps into the amber light, clutching the thin black robe at her throat, hair dripping dark ropes down her spine. Her gaze snaps to the kit, and recognition flares–those pretty nipples still wear the silver bars I put through them the night we met.
Ares lifts his head.
“Platz,” Hunter says, soft and absolute.
The dog drops his muzzle, but never blinks.
“Come here,” I direct, aware that Hunter has positioned himself between the girl and the door. She pads forward on bare feet until she stands between the bed and me, robe stopping mid-thigh. One tug and it will pool on the floor.
“On the bed. Back. Knees up and open.” I pat the mattress twice.
Her breath catches, but she climbs up and settles against the pillow. The robe parts, revealing her body.
I snap on the gloves and kneel between her thighs.
Hunter moves to the head of the bed, arms loose at his sides now, pupils dilated.
“Cold,” I warn her, and swipe iodine in gentle circles over the small hood of flesh guarding her clit. She flinches and the scent rises between us. I blow across the wet skin and watch gooseflesh chase my breath.
My thumb settles just above, gentle pressure lifting the hood, and there it is, exactly the way I remember it from the first night we spread her open on the altar.
Perfect.
Not too small, not tucked away like some shy little secret, but proud and swollen already, the hood loose enough to pinch a full centimeter of soft tissue, the clit itself thick and flushed beneath it, begging for steel.
The way it pushes forward when she’s aching makes a perfect shelf, exactly what the needle loves.
I trace the ridge with one gloved finger.
“The first time I saw your pussy, I knew how good you would take this,” I murmur, voice rough.
“Look at you, Doll Baby. All that pretty, greedy flesh swelling up for me right now. This little hood was made to hold my ring. The second you stand up tomorrow, that metal’s going to sit right against your clit with every step, every breath, every time you try to clench your thighs together because you’re thinking about us. ”
Her hips jerk, a helpless roll.
I smile against her skin. “You’re going to be wet and horny for us all fucking day. Both of us will know exactly why you can’t sit still.”
She shudders and exhales, fingers curling into the sheet.
“Breathe.” I let her feel the heat of my words against her. “You’re going to feel a pinch, then pressure, then my jewelry sitting right here where we can see it every time we spread you open.”
Her thighs tremble.
I slide the cold receiving tube beneath the hood. She gasps, back arching a fraction.
“Still,” Hunter murmurs, and his palm settles heavy on her sternum, pinning her like an offering.
I line the needle up. The tip kisses skin.
“Vertical hood,” I say, soft enough it’s almost reverent. “My favorite.”
One smooth thrust—skin parts, steel slides clean through.
Her cry is bright and startled, but Hunter’s hand keeps her flat.
I slip the metal in after it and latch it in place, leaning back to admire the gleam nestled against her swollen clit like it was forged for her alone.
Perfect.
I press gauze over the fresh piercing, tape it gently, then stroke my thumb up the inside of her thigh–possessive, soothing.
“Done.” I strip the gloves, drop them in the tray. “That one never comes out. Ever. Understand?”
She nods, eyes glassy, breath hitching on little sobs.
But Hunter isn’t finished.
He leans down and braces one hand beside her head. “Tell me, Hex,” he whispers against her ear, voice velvet and vicious. “Tell me exactly what it felt like.”
She tries to turn her face away. He doesn’t let her.
“No hiding. I want every detail.” His fingers ghost down her sternum, stopping just above the gauze. “Did the needle burn cold at first? Did it bloom hot when it punched through?”
“It… it was cold,” she whispers, voice trembling. “Like ice right at the tip, then… then like a tooth biting down all at once. It burned hot after, spreading out, throbbing so hard I felt it in my spine.”
Her thighs try to close; I hold them open without thinking.
Hunter’s breath hitches, audible. “Keep going.”
“And when the needle went all the way through,” she chokes, tears slipping into her hair, “I felt empty and full at the same time and I—” Her voice cracks completely. “It hurt.” She swallows. “Hurts.”
A low, animal sound leaves Hunter’s throat.
He’s rocking forward on the balls of his feet, cock straining so hard against his jeans the outline is obscene.
With tense shoulders, he calls to Ares, “Komm,” and exits the room with the dog at his heels.
Once they’re gone, I look back down at Arianette, taking in the way Hunter’s questions brought out the shame and the helpless arousal warring across her face.
Something dark and satisfied unfurls in my chest.
I lean over her, cage her with my arms, and let her see the truth carved into my smile.
“You’re ours, Baroness,” I say, brushing my thumb over the fresh piercing until she jerks and whimpers.
“Mine and Hunter’s. The King’s. But this—this little piece of metal kissing your clit every second of every day—this is your reminder that no matter how far you run, no matter the destruction you cause, you’re mine. ”
I press down just enough to make her cry out again.
“And now you’ll never forget who you belong to first.”
I’m perched on the edge of the mattress that used to be Armand’s, watching Arianette sleep in the middle of his bed like she’s not the reason it’s empty.
Her dark hair fans across the pillow, one bare leg kicked out from the sheets.
She slept fitfully, I could hear her tossing and turning in the bed across from mine.
God knows if it was nightmares from the ritual or discomfort from between her legs.
Maybe both.
I lift up the covering and skim my eyes down her body.
The King’s claim circles her throat, the tight collar.
It’s visible, made for the world to see.
Just below is the scarred flesh where Hunter made the Barons’ mark, a pentagram surrounded by a circle.
Mine are more discreet, and I take them in while she’s still asleep.
The first, the bars in her nipples, look spectacular against her warm brown skin.
I gaze down past her belly to the fresh piercing I gave her last night, the metal catching the weak morning light.
She stirs when I move, those deep brown eyes fluttering open, still glassy from pain and whatever fucked-up peace we forced into her last night. Damn, she’s gorgeous.
“Morning,” I say, voice low so I don’t startle her too bad. She still flinches when she realizes I’m so close.
There’s a shift behind me, and I’m aware that Hunter is in the doorway, arms crossed, watching like he’s been standing there for hours. Possibly. I know he sleeps like shit, except he was gone when I got up. I snap on nitrile gloves and pick up the saline bowl I prepared ten minutes ago.
“Spread your legs for me, Arianette.”
She does it without hesitation, a good sign that the ritual worked, and I see it better now: the silver hoop nestled under her hood. A little swollen but not red. I knew I did it clean.
I soak the gauze, part her gently with two fingers, and start cleaning. She hisses when the salt hits raw tissue.
“Breathe through it,” I tell her, dabbing carefully around the ring. “You took the needle better than this.” Her hips jerk; I pin them with one hand. “Settle down.”
Hunter shifts behind me, the floor creaking under his weight as he comes closer. I feel his eyes on the piercing, on my fingers holding her open. “Looks good,” he says.
“Yeah, it’ll heal nicely.”
When I smooth the antiseptic ointment over the hood, she makes this soft, broken sound that goes straight to my cock. I ignore it. Barely.
“No panties today,” I remind her. “Nothing tight. You’ll feel every step, and you’ll remember who you belong to.”
“I won’t forget,” she whispers.
My cock throbs at her submission.
“That ritual puts us back in our roles, Barons and Baroness. You’ll be available to us. You’ll follow directions. You’ll meet our needs, understood?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Good girl.”
I peel the gloves off, lean down, and press my mouth just above the piercing. A kiss that brands more than the metal does. Mine.
I don’t miss the rise of her hips after I pull away.
Hunter finally moves, dropping the garment bag at the foot of the bed. He unzips it with one hand, revealing an outfit. Ah, so that’s where he was. The dress is black velvet. Corset lacing. Slit high enough that if she bends even slightly, everyone on campus will see what I did to her.
Perfect.
“First day back,” Hunter says, voice flat and dangerous.
“You stay within arm’s reach of one of us.
You don’t talk about the fire. You don’t talk about the punishment or the cage.
You don’t talk about the ritual or anything else that happened since the wedding.
You were on your honeymoon. That’s all anyone gets. ”
She nods, shifting to a sitting position. Her throat works as she swallows. “Can I still go to dance?”
Hunter steps closer, crouches so they’re eye level. She watches him carefully. “You think you’re ready to go back?”
“Yes,” she says, voice cracking. “Please.”
“Fine,” he says. “But I sit front row. I watch every fucking move you make. And if you so much as speak to another dancer, another teacher, another living soul without my permission, I drag you out by this pretty new jewelry, and we start your punishment all over again. Understood?”
She nods so hard the headboard taps the wall.
I stand. “Get dressed, Arianette. Clock’s ticking.”
“I’ll hurry.” As she slides out of Armand’s bed on shaky legs, the morning light catches the silver between her thighs again, and I give Hunter a smug grin.
No one can see the stains from the ritual, or the markings under her clothes, but I sense the difference. We both do. Arianette looks like she finally understands there’s no version of her future that doesn’t have us in it.