Chapter 6 #2
Her hand slithers down my chest. Her fingers caress each muscle as if I'm her property. Her lips hover near my jaw. She murmurs, "You're late."
"For what?" I grit out.
Her fingertip drags slowly down the center of my sternum, and every coherent thought fragments.
She breathes, "Your summons. The Underworld is ready to see you."
The words hit like ice water dumped over my head.
My voice comes out rougher than I intend. "What the hell does that mean? You disappear for months and suddenly—"
Her fingers trace up my throat, silencing me.
My pulse jumps beneath her touch, traitorous and loud.
She caresses it. Her eyes darken. She murmurs, "Brax, you were never forgotten. The Underworld has been waiting."
A cold shiver cuts through me. Anger and desire twist together in my chest until they're indistinguishable. "Where's Sean?" I demand, stepping forward so she has to either retreat or let me close the gap.
She doesn't retreat.
"Safe. For now." She smirks.
I snarl, "For now? What does that mean?"
Her hand slides from my throat to my jaw, her thumb brushing the corner of my mouth with maddening precision. "Ask fewer questions. Walk with me."
I shove her hand away, but she catches my wrist mid-motion, twisting my arm behind my back with humiliating ease. She presses me against the wall, her breath warm at my ear.
"Don't make me drag you. Unless you want me to?" she softly warns.
My entire body reacts. I close my eyes, hating the sound of my own heartbeat, hating her for hearing it.
I'm drunk.
Why am I letting her do this to me?
I grind out, "You think you can just show up and expect me to fall in line?"
Her lips graze my ear. "I don't expect it. I require it."
My cock pulses against the brick. My skin tightens to the point of suffocation. I turn my head an inch, contemplating if I should push my mouth against hers.
She pins her challenging gaze on me, egging me on to do it.
Don't!
I threaten, "You're two seconds away from—"
"The Underworld is ready for you. Walk," she commands.
"And if I don't?" I challenge, breath still uneven.
Her smile deepens, wicked and intimate. "Like I said. I'll drag you."
Too curious to leave, I shrug. "Fine."
Valentina leads me to the back of the alley, and we pass through an unmarked door. "You first," she offers, pointing at a staircase and smirking.
The space between my ears pounds. I move down five flights of stairs with her on my heels. I finally step out into a candlelit corridor.
She moves in front of me, leads me down it, and reaches for a red skull mask on the wall. It's the same as Sean and Zara's branding mark. She orders, "Put this on."
"Prefer not to."
"Do it. Or we can't go in," she adds.
I stare at it.
She shakes it in her hands. "Nothing to be afraid of. It's just a mask."
"Fine." I yank it from her and slip it over my face.
Her lips twitch. She tilts her head.
"Happy?" I ask.
She doesn't answer and opens the door.
Black stone walls rise high into shadows that swallow the ceiling. Hundreds of candles flicker in waves, casting warm light across masked faces.
The crowd stands shoulder to shoulder. A long stone platform dominates the far side. Behind it, six men in matching silver-skull masks and robes sit with gravels.
"Judges?" I mutter.
Valentina puts two fingers over my mouth and gives me a warning look.
A gong fills the room, vibrating between us. The wall in front of the men's table lowers to the floor, revealing a stage.
It has three elevated stone pedestals, each occupied by a woman who looks like she stepped out of some forgotten mythology.
One glows under the light, her white-blonde hair braided to her hips, her skin almost luminescent.
Another stands draped in gold fabric that clings to her figure and shines against her deep-bronze skin.
The last has violently red hair and a leather dress, hewn so tightly to her curves it looks painted on her.
Their arms are in the air, tied by a thick rope attached to the vaulted ceiling.
Valentina's pace falters.
It's slight, but I catch it.
"What's wrong?" I murmur.
She swallows hard and lifts her chin. "Nothing." She grabs my hand and leads me to the edge of the crowd.
What the fuck is this?
The center judge lifts a hand, silencing the room so thoroughly that the air feels like it cracks.
A yellow-masked man steps onto the stage, wearing nothing.
One of the judges speaks first. "Candidate One. You are assigned the Rite of the Whispered Path."
A murmur rolls through the crowd behind me, thick with unease and curiosity.
The man bows his head. A woman wearing nothing but chains and a black-skull mask leads him through a doorway on the left side of the stage.
A dark-haired naked man wearing a blue-skull steps forward.
Another judge states, "Candidate Two. You will undergo the Rite of Demonic Gods."
The crowd cheers.
Another chain-wearing woman leads him away.
A third candidate approaches.
"Candidate Three. You are to complete the Rite of the Shrouded Mirror."
The crowd gasps, then chatter arises.
A judge bangs a gavel. He shouts, "Silence!"
The crowd obeys, and a woman leads the man out of the room.
The crowd shifts with nervous energy. The center judge gestures again. "Next."
My gut tightens.
Valentina grips my forearm. She doesn't look at me and steps forward, her posture perfect, chin lifted, an icy expression on her face. She reaches the stage and says, "Take your clothes off."
"What?"
She locks her gaze on mine. "Do it. Then get on stage. You're up."
I don't move.
Her voice turns panicky. "Please."
I grind my molars.
"Brax," she quietly begs with fear in her eyes.
It tugs at my heart. So I drop my pants, unbutton my shirt, and take my place on stage.
The judge points directly to her. "Stand beside him."
Valentina's head jerks backward.
A ripple of whispers cascades through the room.
The judge bangs the gavel and waits.
Valentina releases a slow breath, then stands next to me.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"Quiet!" another judge shouts, banging his gavel.
I wait for her to give me some indication, but she looks forward at the judges, not blinking.
One of the judges leans forward slightly. "Guardian Valentina Abruzzo. Initiate Brax O'Malley."
Our names echo through the chamber, ricocheting off stone and flame.
Valentina stiffens.
My heart slams hard, and a drop of sweat forms under the skull mask.
He continues, "You will complete the Ritual of the Scarlet Hour."
Gasps, sharp breaths, and people stepping forward as if they're trying to get a better view create chaos in the crowd. Even the women on the pedestals tilt their heads, their expressions sharpening with interest.
Valentina takes a step forward, unable to contain her fury. "No," she says, her voice cutting through the air like steel striking stone. "I've not had any marks against me to partake in that ritual."
Marks?
So fucking cryptic.
The judge in the center rises to his feet, and the entire room drops into complete silence. His voice cuts low and deadly. "Did your security fail and this man is now before us due to your lack of oversight?"
Valentina's eyes widen. Her jaw locks.
"Well?"
She answers, "I was not given the proper intel."
"You didn't look for it, did you?" he prods.
"Hey, it's my fault I followed Sean. Not hers," I interject.
"Silence!" the judge shouts, banging the gavel. Then he adds, "And your mentee can't seem to keep his mouth shut."
Shit.
Valentina swallows hard.
The judge declares, "The ritual stands."
Her voice turns desperate. "This violates tier protocol. He is not marked or trained. He cannot comply or compete. He—"
"You may either proceed or you may offer your seat to another," he calmly insists.
Her body goes rigid except for her lower lip. It shakes with anger while her fingers curl tight at her sides.
What the fuck is going on?
The room trembles with tension.
Her eyes close behind her mask. She draws in a slow, painfully controlled breath, like she's trying to hold herself together. When she opens her eyes, nothing in her gaze resembles the woman who pulled me into the tunnel with confidence.