Chapter 7
Valentina
Everything inside me lurches sideways, crashing into itself from a wave I never saw coming. My breath backs up into my throat, sharp and thick, and the roar from the crowd ignites hotter.
The chanting starts slowly at first, a few voices pulsing together, low and guttural. Then more join. Soon, the entire room vibrates with a single thundering sound. It's a deep and primal vibration that shakes through the soles of my boots and climbs up my spine.
"Oooommmm. Oooommmm."
Each beat lands against my sternum, squeezing my lungs as the air inside burns. My heart claws viciously against it as if trying to break free.
This can't be happening.
Not the Ritual of the Scarlet Hour.
Not with Brax.
Not when I've done everything right.
I didn't. He should never have been inside.
I didn't know.
It was my responsibility.
My insides twist into a violent knot. I taste iron on my tongue, like the air itself is bleeding. My fingers twitch at my sides, wanting to reach for Brax, shove him off the platform, and scream that they made a mistake.
But I don't.
Because they didn't.
This is a deliberate, calculated move. A punishment crafted specifically for me, and I assume it was before the night of the fight.
They set me up.
The realization slams into me so hard my knees almost buckle. I swallow the panic, but it scratches its way up my throat mimicking broken glass.
For years, there have been Omnis waiting for me to fail and prove I'm unworthy of the seat my parents died for. I didn't until now. Yet I gave them the opportunity with Brax O'Malley.
I should have found the intel they withheld. I could have dug deeper until every path was exhausted.
Could I?
There wasn't any time.
There are no excuses.
Brax turns his head toward me, the red-skull mask unable to hide the question in his posture. His chest expands like he's about to speak, but I cut him a sharp glare. If he opens his mouth, he'll feed the fire, licking eagerly at the edges of this ritual.
The chanting swells louder, shaking the torches mounted on the walls. The flames turn into creatures, swaying violently with the shadows.
The judges stare down at us, still as stone.
A sharp clang of the gong echoes as a door behind the stage bursts open.
Stay calm. You're trained for this, I remind myself, fighting the nausea rolling in my belly.
Three figures emerge. Men almost as tall as Brax, shirtless, with bodies carved from ritualistic brutality. Their masks are white. Something red, resembling blood, is splattered over their masks and skin.
The crowd inhales as one organism, resembling a predator scenting fresh carnage. Then the deep-toned male groans mix into the oooommms.
My throat closes. This isn't what they told me Brax's initiation would be.
The men take positions flanking the stage, their breathing slow and synchronized. Their splattered red barely covers the slashes, burns, and marks of previous rites endured and survived.
Behind them, another figure appears. A naked woman, except for a chain around her waist and cuffed wrists, gracefully floats across the stage on her toes. It's an effortless illusion that defies the laws of the human body. She keeps her head bowed. Her long black hair cascades over her shoulders.
In her hands, she carries a thick, stiff, scarlet leather V. Gold chains hang from its ends, clinking rhythmically as she steps across the platform.
The sight of it turns my stomach. My skin prickles with cold terror despite the room's heat.
The Scarlet Letter.
I've never seen one, only heard the whispered rumors.
V is for me.
I'll forever be marked.
I swallow bile rising up my chest.
The Ritual of the Scarlet Hour is used only as a punishment. It's to test, break, and stain you for life.
Brax stiffens beside me. He growls under his breath, "What the fuck is going on?"
My hand snaps out before I can think, fingers pressing against his thigh, warning him to stay silent. I softly hiss, "Shut up."
Another loud groan vibrates beneath us. The stone floor shifts. A fourth pedestal rises from the center of the stage, polished in a black mirror with similar red splatters over it.
The judges lift their gavels and strike them in perfect unison.
The crowd explodes with more energy, their chants more frantic.
The judge who sentenced me orders Brax, "Step upon your pedestal."
Brax blurts out, "Like hell I'm—"
I move in front of him before he finishes. I press my hand hard against his chest.
His heart slams against my palm, a violent rhythm matching my own. He leers down at me.
I plead, "Please. Do it. If you want us to see tomorrow, just do it."
His chest rises again. His breath comes out as harsh as his words. "You have to be kidding me?"
My voice cracks. "I'm not. Please."
Something flickers behind his eyes. He shakes his head. "This is insane."
"It will be worse if you resist," I beg, pushing him gently. "Just step onto the pedestal."
His breath shudders. Then he mutters a curse and caves, taking his place.
Men circle him the second his bare feet meet the black stone. Thick ropes lower from the vaulted ceiling, swaying slightly in the heated air.
Brax glares at them. He bites, "Seriously? You all need hobbies."
They ignore him and seize his wrists.
He tries to fight, but there are too many of them. They hold his arms straight out.
A judge bangs his gavel. "Silence!"
The room quiets.
He demands, "You will relax and allow the ritual to take place. If you fight, it means you are not choosing this. There will be no ritual."
He grunts, his defiance growing as his fists clench.
The judge commands, "Declare your acceptance of the ritual. Or this will end now!"
Brax says nothing.
"Say 'I choose this ritual!'" the judge orders.
Before he can answer, I urge, "Say it!"
He jerks his head toward me. Fire explodes in his expression.
"Say it," I repeat, trying to sound confident, but it comes out in a shaky beg.
He stares at me a moment, mutters, "Fucking hell, Valentina," then purses his lips, looks at the judge, and roars, "I choose this ritual!"
There's a gasp, then the crowd resumes chanting louder than before. The men secure the cuffs around Brax's wrists, and the slack gets eliminated. His muscles flex against the pull, broad shoulders stretching, chest rising.
The gong sounds again. The ropes lose their tension, and the women on the other pedestals lower their arms. Men unlock the cuffs from their wrists.
They step off the pedestals and kneel around Brax, settling into their new positions.
Their masks glitter from the torches, and they tilt their heads back.
Sweat beads at the base of my spine. My heartbeat thunders, and the woman with the scarlet V steps forward. She leads me several feet directly in front of Brax, demanding, "Strip!"
Brax's eyes turn to slits through his mask.
Every heartbeat is a punch to my ribs. I fight to keep my hands from shaking and remove all my clothing until I'm wearing nothing but my mask.
Brax's jaw clenches.
I keep my gaze locked on his, surprised he doesn't take his off mine.
The three empty pedestals vanish into the floor with a grinding rumble. Another mechanism groans overhead. A thick rope unspools, lowering a black leather swing directly in front of Brax.
The leather glistens under the flickering flames, its surface scarred with cracks and darkened red splotches that look uncomfortably like dried blood. The iron attachments creak as it descends, steady and ominous, stopping just a few feet from his chest.
Brax's gaze snaps to it, then to me. Agitation radiates off him in waves. His breath turns shallow. Every muscle in his restrained arms pulses with new force.
Everything between us is about to shift into a place neither of us will forget.
No one will forget.
I'll always be the one.
The woman with the scarlet V lifts it and presses the cold leather against the center of my chest.
A tremor races up my spine. My stomach rolls.
She drags her fingers over the gold chains and moves behind my back, fastening them with slow precision. When the clasp snaps shut, the room fills with whispers. Condemn her, brand her, execute her are just some of the phrases.
Heat rushes to my cheeks and travels down my neck. The weight of the V settles between my breasts in a heavy, suffocating, and permanent way.
Somewhere above, a spotlight clicks on with a sharp crackle of electricity. Dust rises around us. Shadows leap. And then a grand piano ascends from the dark floor just left of center stage.
A woman, draped in a red sequin gown that clings to her curves and wearing a mask identical to mine, sits in front of the keys. Her fingers hover for barely a second before she presses the first seductive note.
A languid melody slides into the room and curls around me. The chanting falters, but not completely, their voices blending with the music, humming in perfect, erotic harmony.
My throat tightens again.
This is really happening.
There's no way out.
I glance at Brax, and my mistake nearly destroys me.
His gaze drills through the skull mask, burning through my defenses, my training, everything I've built to survive this place.
The women around him run their hands slowly up and down his thighs, their fingertips tracing the lines of muscle with reverence.
He doesn't flinch, doesn't react, doesn't even look at them.
His eyes stay locked on mine with questions that slice through my skin.
But there's also his darkness. It screams he's ready to kill, and I'm afraid he might as soon as he's released.
I mouth, "It's okay."
His breath only gets harsher.
Something inside my rib cage twists so sharply I nearly step backward. And I wish he'd stop looking at me. I wish he'd look away and just let everyone else witness this test that the Omni hopes I fail.
The music swells, reaching a haunting crescendo. The chanting turns melodic. It rises and falls, truly a dark prayer whispered directly into my bones.