Chapter 43 #2
“Who knows what I’ll do?” says Carrson. “You said it yourself. I’m impulsive. I murdered my own father. You think I’ll hesitate to kill Jackson too? I don’t even like him.”
“Kill him, and I kill her,” Jack threatens back.
Carrson doesn’t react. “Then we both win or we both lose.” He pauses, lets that sink in, then adds, “The choice seems clear to me.”
Jack shifts behind me, his weight rolling forward like he might lunge for Carrson, then back again, like he’s calculating how fast he could take me and run.
Carrson doesn’t waver. His arm stays raised, his palm open.
“How do I know?” Jack says finally. “That you won’t kill him anyway.”
Carrson’s quiet for a minute, considering that. Before he answers, his eyes go to me. The emotion I see there, the devotion, makes my throat go tight.
“Because I’m not willing to risk her,” he answers. “I kill Jackson, then you kill Becky. Whether it’s today, tomorrow, five years from now.”
He focuses back on Jack. “Make no mistake. I graduate in two years, and then I’m coming for you.
Ashfords made The Order. You’re just borrowing it for now.
I’ll take back what’s mine. But I won’t kill your child to get it.
” The knife presses into Jackson’s neck, the threat clear. “Not unless you make me.”
Jack’s arm pulls close, crushing my windpipe in a final, desperate show of force.
A reminder to Carrson and me that this isn’t over.
Then he lets go, and I stumble forward. My hands fly to my neck, running over tender, bruised skin.
I have one second of freedom, then Jack’s hand is back.
It goes around my upper arm, and he hauls me over to Carrson.
“This isn’t how it’s supposed to done,” Jack grumbles. “We don’t have the right equipment. The box. There should be witnesses. Going to have to collect—”
“Enough,” Carrson barks. “Finish it.”
We’ve reached Carrson now. Jack releases my arm and shoves me forward.
Then his hand is on my shoulder, forcing me to my knees.
I move into position next to Carrson while Jack unsheathes the knife.
It gleams in the moonlight, sharp tipped.
The cross of The Order, the same symbol that’s branded onto Carrson’s shoulder, is etched on the blade, and the handle is black.
“Put your hand near mine,” Carrson tells me, his eyes moving between me and the knife he still holds to Jackson’s neck.
I do as he asks, hovering my hand over his. Close enough that I can feel the heat rising from his skin.
I almost jump when Jack steps closer and explains, “I’ll put the blade between your hands. Clasp them together as tight as you can.” He looks at me. “Carrson will speak; he knows what to say. You repeat. Then I’ll pull the knife out quickly, and it’ll cut your palms. Press them together. Got it?”
I nod, my nerves kicking. This is it. The thing I’ve been asking Carrson to give me for weeks. I thought I’d be excited, happy, but now that it’s here, I don’t know what to feel.
All I know is that this changes everything.
There’s no walking this back. No undoing it.
Whoever I am right now, I won’t be after this.
My life will always be tethered to Carrson. And to The Order.
Carrson’s eyes find mine, his brows lifting just slightly, not quite a question but close enough that I understand it anyway.
Are you sure?
He’s leaving the choice to me.
Ever since Remi died, I’ve been looking for a home. A place to belong. I found it in Carrson. He never tries to make me small or slow me down. Instead, he meets me, matches me, sees the world the same way I do. Together we’ll be stronger. Untouchable.
I give him back a single, quick nod. Certainty locking into place.
I’m sure.
That’s all he needs.
“Do it,” Carrson tells Jack, who moves forward and places the blade between our hands.
The clearing narrows down to the crunch of leaves under my knees, the presence of Jack behind me, Jackson unconscious on the ground. And, most of all, the cold steel and warm flesh I hold in my hand.
“Press your hands together.” Jack’s eyes are fixed on the knife.
I do as he says. I don’t let my expression change even as the cold edge of the blade separates my flesh with terrifying ease. I wrap my hand around the dagger and around Carrson’s hand on the other side, locking us together.
Staring straight into Carrson’s eyes, I tighten my grip and squeeze.
The blade slices deep. The pain burns, biting so far into my palm I’m sure it’ll hit bone. Carrson doesn't flinch. He matches my force, his fingers pushing down on mine, grinding our wounds together against the steel. Sealing it with blood.
Then he speaks.
“I, Carrson Ashford, under the laws of The Order, bond you, Rebecca Dawson. In blood and will, I claim you as mine, bound to my name, my house, and my purpose. Your strength is mine. My power and protection are yours to bear. From this moment forward, we stand as one, unbroken, unchallenged, and unending.”
Our blood flows faster now. Mine indistinguishable from his. It drips to the ground between our knees in a steady patter.
“I, Rebecca Dawson, under the laws of The Order, bond you, Carrson Ashford. In blood and will, I claim you as mine. I take your house and your purpose as my own. My strength is yours. I accept your power and protection in return. From this moment forward, we stand as one, unbroken, unchallenged, and unending.”
Carrson keeps his eyes fixed on mine, his gaze anchoring me through the agony.
The air in the clearing feels alive, heavy with the scent of copper and the damp earth.
“Now,” Jack whispers, with an air of grim satisfaction.
Using a sudden, violent motion, he jerks the blade from between our palms, a stinging cut that makes me gasp. I don’t let it go. Before the air can hit the open wounds, I slam my palm against Carrson’s.
Our blood mingles, hot and slick.
Carrson’s fingers lace through mine, his grip bruising, as if he’s trying to fuse our skin together. The transformation is complete. I can feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way the world settles into a new, darker shape.
I’m no longer Rebecca Dawson, the girl looking for a home.
I am the other half of Carrson Ashford.
I am a member of The Order.
Carrson lets out a slow breath, his eyes dropping to our joined hands before snapping back to Jack.
His gaze flicks to me, to the knife at Jackson’s neck and then to the one in Jack’s hand.
I nod to let him know I understand.
Jack’s not looking at us. He’s looking at his son, so he doesn’t see how Carrson throws the knife he was holding up in the air, just enough for me to move my hand below his.
The perfect position to catch it mid-fall and put it back to Jackson’s neck.
Meanwhile, Carrson rises and in the same motion snatches the bonding knife from Jack’s hand. That knife goes to Jack’s neck.
Now they’re mirrors.
Father and son. Both held under our daggers.
“It’s done,” Carrson tells Jack, his voice low and lethal. “Now, take your son and get out.”
Color floods Jack’s face, a mottled angry red that creeps up his neck. Without taking his eyes off us, he reaches down and grabs Jackson by the collar. Hunched over, he drags his son’s limp body away.
When he reaches the edge of the clearing, Jack turns back. “You think you won,” he calls out, his eyes on Carrson. “Just remember, The Order doesn’t reward love. It rewards survival.”
Then he’s gone. The sound of Jackson’s sneakered feet dragging over the ground slowly fades.
***
Carrson doesn’t move until the forest goes quiet. Only then does the tension leave his shoulders. He turns to me, his hand still locked in mine, our blood drying into a dark, permanent seal.
I break it. Let go of his hand and step back.
My gaze falls to our feet and the space between them. “How’d you know I’d be here?”
“Because this is where we go when we’re upset.”
I will my lip not to tremble. “I am upset.”
“I know,” he answers, voice rough, “me too.”
The clearing goes quiet, just the sound of us breathing. There are so many thoughts swirling through my mind, so many things I want to say to him, but I don’t know where to start. It takes a minute before I find it. The beginning. Her.
“When Remi died,” that word getting stuck in my throat, the part of me that still wants to deny she’s gone.
“I was lost. I needed there to be a reason, a purpose. Something to explain it. So I started looking, following whispers of power, scraps, and rumors.” I peek at Carrson and find his head tilted, listening.
“They all led me here. To you.” I meet his eyes.
“You were right, what you said earlier. When I first got here, you were an idea. A person I built in my head.”
I take a breath. “Then I met you.”
His eyes are on me, watching.
“And you were worse,” I say.
That almost makes him smile.
“More complicated. More infuriating.” My voice softens just a fraction. “More real.” I look at the ground again, and whisper softly, “That’s the you I fell for, and I don’t regret it.” I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
I straighten. “I’d like to tell you I’ll never lie again, but I can’t,” I admit. “I still want power. I want to shape the world until it fits in my hands.” I meet his gaze. “People like us don’t rise by being harmless.”
“I can promise I won’t lie to you. Not ever again. Even when the truth is ugly.” I take a step closer. “But when I’m honest, you can’t ever do what you did earlier tonight. Threaten me. Push me away. Pretend like I’m the only one who breaks rules. That hurt me.”
Now it’s Carrson’s turn to avoid my gaze.
“I’ve spent my entire life being trained to see threats.
To eliminate them before they get close.
” His laugh is sharp. “Then you show up, and I let you in anyway.” His shoulders slump, “When it mattered most, I didn’t know if you were real or just really good at pretending to be. ”
That makes me wince because I can’t fully deny it.
“I believed you were lying,” he says, quieter now. “Because it was easier than believing you weren’t. Less risky.” One foot moves, one step closer to me. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I should’ve trusted you and, even more, I should’ve trusted how I felt about you.”
“Love is always a risk. It’s the ultimate act of self-sabotage.” I move forward, until our toes touch. “Handing over your heart and hoping it doesn’t get a knife driven into it. Knowing how exposed you are and doing it anyway.”
I look down and realize we’re both still holding our daggers.
His stained red.
Mine still clean.
“Once,” I say softly, “you told me you wanted to mark me. Carve your name into my skin so I’d carry you with me forever.”
His eyes darken instantly.
Standing there with blood dripping off the knife in his hand, I’ve never been more aware of how dangerous he is or how little that seems to matter. I only know that I love him. Want to be with him always.
I hold his gaze as I slide my fingers beneath the collar of my shirt and pull it aside, exposing the skin over my heart.
“The Order. The bond?” I shake my head once. “They aren’t the reason I’m yours.”
Before I can think better of it, I press the dagger to my skin.
Carrson goes still.
Completely.
The blade bites. Pain flares as I drag the knife in one clean curve. It’s a single letter. A symbol of what he means to me.
The letter C.
Blood beads over the cut and flows, a thin ribbon of crimson, down my chest.
Carrson stares at it like he’s forgotten how to breathe.
“Becky—”
“I’m not a good person, but I promise to be good to you,” I tell him. “So tell me,” my pulse pounding against the fresh wound, “are you in or not?”
Carrson’s answering grin is the most beautiful, ruinous thing I’ve ever seen. He follows my movements, not going for elegance. He carves a large, bold B in jagged slashes across his chest, marking himself with a violence that matches my own. “You know I’m in.”
Our daggers clatter into the dirt. There’s no space left between us. Our hands find each other, grasping at hair, throats, bare skin. When our lips clash, it isn’t soft. It’s all teeth, breath, and the blood that mingles between us, leaking from our hands, our hearts.
His laugh breaks against my lips as he kisses me again and again.