Chapter 5 Rayne
Rayne
“I pledge to my brothers. I pledge to Crimson. I pledge to Onyx, for the generations that came before me, and those that will come after. Nocte onychina nigra, cor meum adhuc igne coccineo ardet. Honestas ante omnia.”
On an onyx black night, my heart still burns a crimson flame. Honesty before everything.
My heart feels heavy, saying these words while knowing that another one of our founding members is badly hurt.
The words in Latin always feel more intense, though we always say it in English afterward, too.
Each new member of Onyx is on his knees.
We’re in the grand front room of the Onyx Society house, swearing our vows for the start of a new school year.
Rows of red candles are lit in front of each paned window, the flames flickering near the glass at midnight.
Those last Latin words were so hard for me to memorize last year, but now I know them by heart in both languages.
We all say them in unison, louder with each passing word.
It’s been a few days now since Ethan was hospitalized, too.
He was found passed out in the entryway to his home, and apparently was only discovered thanks to a neighbor walking by and seeing his body limp on the floor through the window.
It was disturbing.
Fucking chilling.
But now more than ever, it made swearing our Onyx Society vows mean so much.
Honesty before everything really means something to me.
And we are going to figure out the honest truth about what the fuck is going on.
The three secret societies on Red Row are all doing the same thing tonight, each with its own traditions and vows. Walking down the street, all you’d see would be endless red candles, all lit within the window frames, dim light spilling out onto the road.
Everyone breaks out into applause after the ceremony, standing up and hugging our old and new members beside us.
Hunter is on the opposite side of the room, and I’m glad for it.
I barely want to look at him.
When I do, my skin feels too hot under my suit.
As far as I’m concerned, he’s not a real member of Onyx, and he never will be.
I discovered that the only reason Hunter was able to join is because he contacted one of our junior members, Roman Petrov, the same guy who keeps us stocked with expensive vodka that I don’t particularly like.
Roman keeps to himself, but he has a lot of pull in Onyx. The Petrov family has been attending Crimson College for generations, and they’ve been members of multiple fraternities and societies here. One of Roman’s many tattoos is a giant Onyx symbol, with the stone and flame, across his back.
If Roman wants someone in the group, they get in.
I don’t know how Hunter won him over. Probably with money, maybe with some other form of coercion.
A loud pop fills the air as Noah opens a bottle of champagne at the edge of the room. I walk past the rows of flickering candles, joining him.
“Welcome to another year,” he says, pouring me a small glass of champagne and holding his glass up to clink against mine.
“To you, too,” I tell him, taking a sip.
“Look at them. Next to each other under one roof,” Noah says, nodding over to the far wall.
Weston is standing next to Hunter.
“Two peas in a pod, hating each other.”
“You look more like Weston’s brother than Hunter does,” Noah tells me.
They’re the same height, but to me, the brothers couldn’t look more different. It goes beyond the slight difference in hair color. Weston has a thicker build. Hunter is strong too, but more like a lion than a bear.
“You know, Weston was my first real friend back in sixth grade,” I say to Noah, taking a sip of champagne. “He didn’t see me as a loser. Didn’t care that I didn’t have any other friends. He was just… nice to me. Always.”
Noah smiles. “I can’t picture you being anything but popular. Mr. Royal.”
It’s strange to think about, but Noah is right.
Being in Onyx Society has made me realize my other forms of power, even if I don’t come from money.
I actually am a popular guy now.
I can make things happen.
I helped a friend pass his European History class last semester by sweet-talking the prof, and then he was actually able to graduate on time.
I put out a literal fire during my first Onyx party, between a Luros Sorority girl and one of our guys, because a candle caught a curtain on fire while they fucked in his room.
I even convinced Noah to give ten percent of our profits from this summer’s car wash to Double Daggers, after one guy pissed another guy off after too many tequila shots and a handful of stimulants.
Any good king needs to possess a few non-negotiable traits:
He should be liked. Beloved, sometimes.
He can handle just about any request.
He can make a good decision.
And he never lets anyone threaten his power.
I still plan on running this shit like a king, this year. I don’t care how cocky that sounds, and it’s why I earned the name Royal, anyway.
“I need about a gallon of this champagne tonight,” I tell Noah.
Already, I can’t stop myself from endlessly glancing over at Hunter.
The way his cheekbones look in the candlelit room.
The thin, black leather bracelets he wears around one wrist, peeking out from under the sleeve of his suit.
The fucking nerve he had to push his cock against my lips the other night, just to display some sort of depraved dominance.
“Wes told me that Hunter always used to get suspended from school for fights,” Noah says.
I nod. “He never got along with Wes. He kept his distance from us unless it was for a fight. Always had knives on him, all that sort of shit.”
“Bet the girls loved that. Bad boy with a pretty face.”
“Hunter had whichever girl he wanted. Never for very long.”
Noah’s looking at Hunter like he’s a choice piece of meat. “He could be good for us. We need someone threatening in Onyx, other than Roman.”
“Can we stop talking about him? It’s bad enough that he’s here.”
“Fine. How did it go, visiting Ethan earlier in the hospital?” Noah asks me.
I stopped by the hospital for an hour today, and I was one of many visitors in Ethan’s room.
“He can’t really talk much, but he’s going to make a full recovery, same as James. Some miracle shit, I’m telling you.”
Noah shakes his head. “It has to be intentional.”
“What do you mean?”
Noah gives me a serious look. “Both James and Ethan were attacked, but both of them will make full recoveries,” he says. “I think that’s on purpose. I think people don’t want them dead—they just want to fucking scare them, and terrify us.”
I chew the inside of my cheek.
Could that be real?
Are the attackers just trying to send a message, or is their intent to kill, and they’re just bad at finishing the job?
I’m not sure which is more believable.
Weston cuts across the room a minute later, heading straight for me and giving me a pained look.
“Kill me,” he mutters as he steps over, pouring himself some champagne.
“Come on. Is your brother dearest really that bad?” Noah asks.
“He’s playing nice now, but I don’t trust it,” Weston says. “Hunter must have decided to transfer to Crimson College months and months ago, because the process isn’t fast. And then he somehow sweet-talks Roman into letting him into Onyx? It’s sus. As fuck.”
“Quit saying sus. The word is ‘suspicious,’ and it works just fine,” Noah tells us. “You know that word has Latin roots, too? Suspiciosus.”
“Is he ever going to stop giving us Latin lessons?” Weston asks me.
“I doubt it.”
Noah grins as he reaches over and flicks me on the front of my shoulder.
“Fuck, I’m still healing there,” I say, smoothing my fingers over the area.
“Oh, God. Sorry. Forgot about the tattoos.”
I only got my new wing tattoos along my collarbone a few days before I returned to campus.
The decision was made on such a whim that sometimes when I look in the mirror I’ve been doing a double take, forgetting that I still have them.
Ink on my skin, forever.
And the memory of a night when the world felt like it was mine.
I got the tattoos to kick off this year. The first school year where I’d be out and proud with a real boyfriend, for the first time.
The wings symbolized freedom.
But now, so far, this school year seems to be cursed.
“The other new kid seems a little lost,” Weston says, nudging me to look to my side.
“He looks like a goddamned model, if you ask me,” Noah comments, his eyes scanning the guy’s body.
Over by the tall bookcases, a freshman recruit named Oliver is standing with a cup of water in his hand, looking very shy.
He’s dressed in a suit with a simple onyx black cape behind it, just like the rest of us, but his eyes glance around the room as he tries to give people halfhearted smiles, while everyone else has broken off into little groups to talk.
Oliver really does look like a model who just stepped off the beach and into our cutthroat college, especially with his sandy-colored hair and its natural sun-kissed highlights.
But his good looks don’t seem to translate into any social confidence.
I let out a sigh and toss back the rest of my champagne. “You guys are going to just stand here and feel sorry for the new guy? He’s one of our brothers, now.”
I walk over toward the bookcases and give Oliver a smile. At first he looks past me, like he doesn’t expect that I could possibly be approaching him. But finally his eyes widen, and he runs a hand through his hair as I nod at him.
“Hey, Oliver. Come help me and my buddies with a bet,” I tell him.
He joins me as I return to Noah and Weston.
“Welcome, Oliver,” Noah says. “Champagne?”
“Sure,” he says with a shy smile. “What’s the bet, by the way?”
“Last year, we kept a tally up on the main board in the entryway,” I explain. “Every time somebody came home in the morning on a walk of shame, we added a tick to the board. Last year, Noah won.”
“Shut up,” Noah protests, but he’s grinning proudly a moment later.