Chapter 14 Caius
She falls asleep against my chest with blood on her lips and dirt pressed into the backs of her thighs. It’s not a peaceful sleep, but when she finally gives in to it, her whole body slackens. She’s heavy in my arms, but that’s why I lift heavy and train hard.
My girl deserves to be thrown across the room like a ragdoll if that’s what she wants.
We’re under the black-boned arch of the oldest tree in the woods, the one that’s been here since before any of us.
The roots are bigger than her arms, curling up from the dirt to cradle us both like the skeleton of a giant.
I let her sleep. I want her to sleep. I want to believe she dreams about running, or flying, or something to do with me.
But she probably dreams about the Hunt. The ritual. Of being turned inside out because of a sin she never committed.
The first glow of dawn leaks into the sky, cold and blue.
I watch it filter through the raw-finger branches, painting streaks across her face.
She’s all bruises and cuts and streaks of mud, her white dress nothing but strips now, plastered to her body in places and hanging off her shoulders in others.
There’s a poppy petal stuck in the sweat at her collarbone.
She’s perfect.
I could look at her forever.
She shivers and turns into my chest, her nose against my sternum, hair stuck to her cheeks.
I could crush her with one hand. Instead, I trace the line of her jaw with my thumb, finding the places where the skin is softest, where the bones make perfect sense.
I follow the blue thread of vein up the side of her neck. Her pulse is slow, barely there.
The forest is still. The Feral Boys are watching from the edge, pretending not to.
Julian’s silhouette flickers in and out of the shadow, a cigarette burning tiny holes in the dark.
Rhett’s somewhere upwind, Colton behind the next tree.
Who the fuck knows where Bam is, asshole is always doing what he wants anyway.
They’re waiting for me to finish the job.
So is she, whether she knows it or not.
I want to stay like this, holding her, longer.
I want to lie about why I need to. But there are rules.
The Hunt has to end before the sun comes up.
If I don’t claim her, it’s all void, and she will disappear, like the girl last year.
I know the Board is watching, and I know her father will want to know it’s completed.
That his debt is paid. I know the Vicious Kings want the ceremony played out to the letter.
The Funders are counting on this to ensure their businesses will merge with only the cream of the crop.
I don’t care about them, but I care about her.
The thought is overwhelming, startling in it’s intensity.
I stroke her cheek, run my fingers through the ragged mess of her hair. She stirs, lashes fluttering.
Behind me, footsteps. The snap of a branch. I don’t look up.
Julian’s voice, a warning pushes through his tone. “Cai.”
I don’t answer. I know what he wants.
He gets closer, crouches at the edge of the root-tangle, eyes flickering between me and the girl. “Sun’s up in ten minutes,” he says. “You wait, you lose her.”
I drag my eyes off her. “I know.”
“She’s out cold,” he points out. “You sure she’s up for this?”
“She’ll be fine.”
“She looks dead.”
“She’s alive.”
He gives me a look, sharp and amused. “You’re getting soft, Caius. Maybe you want her for more than just a Hunt-wife.”
I stare him down. “Jealous?”
“Fuck no. But the longer you wait, the more likely the Board sends in a cleaner. You want the Vicious Kings to dispose of her in the river? Let’s just get it over with.”
I squeeze her a little tighter, hating the way it feels. “Get lost.”
He stands, flicks the cigarette into the dirt, and vanishes without another word.
She stirs again, a whimper caught in her throat.
I bend my head, lips to her ear. “Ophelia.”
No response.
I slide my hand up her side, fingers finding the knob of her shoulder, the goosebumps that rise under my touch.
“Wake up,” I say, gentler than I mean to.
Her eyelids flutter. She licks her lips, tries to move, but her limbs are rubber.
“Don’t,” I say. “You’ll just hurt more.”
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Is it over?”
I look at the sky. The horizon is white, streaked with red. “Almost.”
She tries to sit up, but I push her back down. “You have to wake up now, baby girl,” I say.
Her eyes focus on my face, and for a second I see something like confusion. Or hope. “You’re not going to hurt me?”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
I brush the poppy petal from her skin, let it drop into the mud.
“This next part,” I say, “I’m sorry. It’s not for you. Or for me. It’s just the way it has to be.”
She closes her eyes. A tear slips down her cheek, vanishes into the mess.
I wipe it away with my thumb.
The rules are simple. Claim the girl. Do it before sunrise. Do it in a place where everyone can see. Make it entertaining, or it doesn’t count. If she cries, bonus points. If she fights, better.
But I don’t want her to cry. I don’t want her to fight for the sake of fighting. Don’t get me wrong, I love it rough, but not like this. Not anymore. I just want to keep her here, like this, in the silence.
The sky goes lighter.
The Feral Boys move closer, shadows taking shape in the early blue.
I grip her face in both hands, tilt it up, and look her in the eye.
“I wish it was different,” I say. “But I can’t let you go.”
She nods, slow. There’s no fight left in her. Just surrender, pure and bitter.
I lean in, touch my forehead to hers, and breathe her in.
“Ready?” I ask.
She nods again, even slower.
I set my jaw, gather her in my arms, and stand. The blood on her legs soaks into my jeans, and I hold her tight, not for her safety but for mine.
At the edge of the clearing, the rest of the Boys are waiting. They make a loose half-circle, arms crossed, faces unreadable.
I ignore them. I stand her up against the base of the ancient tree and push her back against it, my hands holding her together.
I look at the sky, the bare streak of sun, and know there’s no more time.
I brace myself.
I hold her tighter.
And I prepare to ruin her the way tradition demands.
I brace her against the tree, her body limp but not yielding, and for a second I wonder if I’m actually going to be able to do it. Then I see her eyes—open, cloudy, unfocused, but locked on mine—and every ounce of doubt burns away.
She’s watching me. Even now, she has a sliver of hope that whatever comes next, I won’t destroy her. I won’t destroy whatever the fuck this is that’s building between us.
Behind me, the Feral Boys come closer and fan out. Julian stands closest, arms folded, eyes hollow with anticipation. Bam is flicking his knife, leaning against a small tree. Colton and Rhett hang further back, but they don’t look away. No one does.
I grab both her wrists and pin them above her head, pressing them into the V of two thick roots. Her pulse thunders under my fingers, fast and scared.
She thrashes, legs kicking, but she doesn’t get a hit in. I lean over, lips brushing her jaw, her ear, the tangled hair at her temple.
“Shhh,” I whisper. “It’s just you and me.”
She snarls, her lips splitting a line in her face. The effort is enough to make me smile.
I crush her wrists harder. She gasps, and the sound stokes every part of me.
The rules say I have to make it public. That I have to show the world she’s mine.
I can do that.
I dip my head, teeth at her neck, and bite—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her yelp. I leave the mark, a crescent of teeth in the soft just below her ear.
Her legs buckle. She can’t decide if she wants to run or fight.
I don’t care which.
I kiss her, open and brutal, forcing her lips apart. She tries to twist away, but I hold her tight, tongue invading, mapping every inch of her mouth. She tastes like blood and dirt and something sweeter, something that’s just her.
She bites down, hard, drawing more blood. I groan into her, letting her taste it, letting her feel what she’s done.
“Good girl,” I say, breaking the kiss. “Keep that up.”
She’s crying, but I lick the tears from her cheek, slow and deliberate. “You can cry if you want,” I whisper. “For every tear spilled, is a punishment you can give me.”
I shift my grip, pinning both wrists with one hand. My other hand goes to her thigh, fingers digging into the bruised flesh.
She clamps her legs shut. I force them apart, spreading her knees with my own. Her dress is barely holding together, and I tear it the rest of the way up, exposing her completely.
Her breath comes in gasps now, every inhale a fight.
I drag my fingers up her thigh, slow, letting her feel it. I want her to remember this. I want everyone to remember it.
She bucks, trying to throw me off, but I catch her knee and shove her leg back against the bark. She whimpers, and for a split second I almost stop.
But I don’t.
My hand finds the heat between her legs, and I press my palm to it, grinding hard.
She jerks, her hips trying to wriggle away.
“No,” I say, voice flat. “You stay right fucking there.”
Her body is betraying her. She’s soaked, even after the blood and the dirt and the shame. I rub my thumb over her clit, hard and relentless, watching her face for the second it cracks.
She holds out longer than I expect.
But everyone breaks.
Her back arches. She bares her teeth, lips curling upward.
“You’re a monster,” she spits.
I laugh, rubbing circles over her until her thighs tremble. “And you’re my Roman Empire.”
I slide two fingers inside her, fast, knuckles deep. She grits her teeth, head thumping the tree. I twist my wrist, fucking her with quick, brutal strokes.
She tries not to make a sound, but it leaks out anyway—a stifled sob, then a moan.
“That’s right,” I murmur. “Let them hear you.”
I look at Julian. He’s watching with a hunger that’s almost holy.