Chapter 34 Sutton
SUTTON
The Pit makes my migraines a thousand times worse, which is why, when the ranked Death’s Teeth members drag two initiates down to the ground level, I’m too busy nursing a bottle of water to give a shit.
I’m only here for show anyway. To keep them from going after Beckett or Elle, since I haven’t attended any actual gatherings in a while.
A few fledgling members flank my sides, kneeling on the ground. Their hands slide back and forth over my legs, my arms, down the center of my stomach. They stop just at the waistband of my pants, and I brush them away, not interested in even pretending to entertain them.
Not now that I know what pleasure’s supposed to feel like.
As the two masked figures are led to a makeshift altar in front of the stage, I drop my head into my hands, willing the throbbing sensation behind my eye to go away. Any other group on campus would’ve respected how debilitating a goddamn migraine can be, but not Death’s Teeth.
All they care about is satiating their debauched needs.
I lean back in my chair—one of the few not carved from the very rock we’re sitting within and instead an ornate throne made of gorgeous mahogany and velvet cushioning.
“Death’s Teeth presents a fine pair for our Incarnate-to-be’s choosing, to whose lineage we owe our existence. Won’t you take your pick and lead?”
One of my eyes pops open. “Quelle est la signification de ceci?”
My question is for the Director, who I know can translate it.
She says nothing.
Leaning forward, my other eye opens, and I fix my stare on the Director’s back as it separates me from the newcomers. She stands between me and the offerings, as if purposely blocking my view.
“Deux? Comment deux d’entre eux ont-ils réussi le processus de vérification?”
“Silence, s’il vous pla?t,” the Director commands.
I clench my jaw tight. “Réponds-moi ou je marche pour toujours.”
“Non.” Clearing her throat, the Director turns slightly, still obscuring the pair from my sight. “If Incarnate will not choose, then the decision falls on the shoulders of the offerings themselves.”
A few of the members at my feet caress harder, cooing under their breath as if I need soothing. Like I’m some wild beast about to break through invisible restraints and slaughter them all.
“Which of you then offers yourself?” the Director continues, adjusting her gold mask.
The snakes slithering up the sides resemble devil horns tonight, which I find fitting.
“To be Incarnate’s closest companion, his trusted partner, the Maiden of Death through whom a new era can be ushered in, mos maiorum. ”
No one says a word. Even the members watching up on the stone balconies are silent.
Something feels off about this. Each semester and new season, they have these extravagant ceremonies that lead to a day of brutality, but nothing much ever comes of it because they don’t have an actual Incarnate filling the position.
Normally they’re satisfied with my presence alone, and the one offering goes ignored.
I’ve never seen two at once before.
Incarnate represents their god, the Maiden is his backbone, and the sacrifice is the connective tissue bridging the gap between this world and the next.
My stomach sinks as a realization hits me. That’s why they’re offering two candidates.
The discarded offering will become the sacrifice.
“If no one wants to pick, I shall do so for you.” The Director’s hand whips out, and a scream peals from one of the offering’s throats, echoing through the cavern.
With my chest twisted in knots, I push to my feet and edge past the Director at the same moment as someone shouts, “Wait, wait! I’ll do it! I’ll go!”
I freeze, ice flooding my veins.
That voice…
The Director turns, glaring down at one of the masked figures kneeling on the stage. They’re both in heavy, shapeless gold cloaks, their identities obscured, but a sliver of the speaker’s neck is visible, and it’s all I need to see for confirmation.
Black fabric.
Snake charm.
The Director appears unimpressed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Speaking out of turn is a violation of our rules. My mind’s been made up. Take these two to the—”
Without thinking, without considering the consequences of this action or the fact that it goes against everything I’ve spent the last eight years resisting, I step forward.
The offending masked figure’s head turns in my direction, but we’re too far apart for her to see my eyes. Still, a current of something unidentifiable ripples in the air between us, like a thread of fate raging against separation.
Fuck, what is she doing here?
Does she know what this is—what danger she’s in?
Do they know who she is? Would she still be alive if they did?
Or maybe that’s why they’re letting her sit in. Maybe they think I’ll choose the other offering, and they’ll be able to remove her from the equation, saving Avernia from imaginary collapse, if she tries to violate the unwritten pact barring an Anderson and Incarnate from coupling.
The way our ancestors did—Cronus and Manon, the last two surviving members of the original founders.
Their union had caused destruction, shaking Fury Hill to its foundation. Even outside the belief in the curse, Duponts were expressly forbidden from interacting with Andersons, which is why I tried so hard to stay away.
Why I didn’t want them to know about her.
But I can’t just let them take her from me. I won’t let them.
My options are limited. If I ignore her, they’ll make her the sacrifice for sure. If I step in…
Clearing my throat, I walk toward them. The Director watches me like a hawk, unyielding in her perusal.
“Is there a problem?” she asks.
“Let them go,” I say, approaching the infuriating, troublesome temptress hidden behind that costume. “Take them to the back rooms and I’ll make my decision there.”
The Director shakes her head. “It’s not that simple. You have to—”
“I know what I have to do,” I cut in sharply, bending so I’m eye level with Elle. From here, her hazel irises sparkle in the torch lighting, glistening with unshed tears as if she thinks I’ve somehow saved her.
When I reach out to take her chin, she relaxes slightly.
For some reason, it makes me feel a bit better too.
What happens next doesn’t.
“I accept,” I tell the Director over my shoulder, though I’m too nauseous to meet her gaze. “Sanguis meus tibi.”
Surprise flickers in the Director’s eyes. She lifts an arm, instructing the crowd to rise to their feet before sweeping it low. The crowd bends, bowing, each of them flipping over like dominos in favor of their new leader.
Their Incarnate.
“Welcome,” the Director says, ducking her own head. “We’ve been waiting for—”
“I have a condition.” Straightening to my full height, I turn to face her. “Since I’ve had this sprung on me, I’d like the opportunity to prepare more. Extend the deadline for my choice and allow me more time to decide which offering deserves to be at my side.”
“That’s highly unorthodox.”
“I’m aware, but that is how I wish to do things. On my own time. This is an important decision, and it shouldn’t be made in the heat of the moment. We haven’t survived this long without proper vetting of our members, and we shouldn’t cut corners for our leaders.”
“I’m certain the recruiter did his due diligence—”
“You have my condition. In turn, should you grant this wish, I will take a more active role as Incarnate and…” I swallow, mouth dry, as I glance at the second masked figure. My chest aches. “I will personally deliver the sacrifice for the joining ceremony.”