Chapter 37 - Raphael
Raphael
“WILL MY NEW HOME BE WITH THOSE BONES IN YOUR PIT?”
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Burden” - (Projected to Briella)
The cottage is small—the layout of a studio apartment, with the bed sharing space across the kitchen. But it’s hers. It was hers.
Quaint, it’s tucked amid weathered farmhouses and sloping fields, its edges softened by ivy and old timber, like it’s been part of this land longer than memory. The trees crowd the back of the property, a patch of woods dense enough to swallow sound. It suits her. Or it did.
The first thing she did was change into an indigo corset over a black long-sleeved shirt—lacings in the front—and a dark green plaid wool skirt falling to her ankles.
Her belief that she can hide from us so easily is amusing to say the least. If I wanted her to be naked all day, she would.
Regardless, she looks lovely in the cottage core outfit, especially with her violet hair in a messy bun, loose curls dangling about her face.
Hands in my trench coat, I stand on the front porch and watch her through the glass, moving slowly, gathering her clothes, a few small things she won’t leave behind. There’s a wistful pull to her mouth as she takes in the few rooms. While I cannot feel her loss, I understand it too well.
I know what it is to leave everything behind. We all do. This loss simply reinforces her place with us. She shares our punishment, our blood, our pain. And she will reap the rewards.
Meanwhile, Jude is loading supplies from her greenhouse into the pickup truck. It will be good for her to have something to occupy her time. The more she contributes, the more she will feel she’s one of us.
Every night, we won’t let her forget. Our touch upon her flesh. Our breath on her skin. Our brand on her ass.
“We’ll winterize it,” I say, stepping forward, my voice carrying through the open door. She startles, glancing back at me. “Board it up. You can sell it later. Leave it behind.”
It’s not a request.
She stares at me, and I see it—the challenge tightening in her jaw, the questions she’s still too stubborn to swallow. “And what if I want to come back?”
There it is. That flicker of defiance. A subtle challenge. Brave. Foolish.
I step inside, the old floorboards protesting under my boots. Jude crosses the distance, following me inside.
“You won’t,” I tell her, closing the distance between us. “Your home is with us now. The sooner you accept that, the better. There’s no escaping it, Briella.”
Her chin lifts. She’s shaking, but she stands her ground. I admire the heat and fury dancing together in those wild, stubborn eyes. “And when you get sick of me? What then? Will my new home be with those bones in your pit?”
Jude shifts beside me, silent as stone, but his presence is both a warning and an anchor.
I reach out, gripping her chin harder than I should, tilting her face up to mine. “The only way your bones end up there, little witch, is if ours are with you. Because you’re not going anywhere. We’re keeping you. To the grave. And beyond.”
I watch the pulse flutter in her throat, the war in her eyes. She pushes back, because she always does.
“How can you just…take it away?” she demands, her hazel eyes burning. “After everything—the Initiation—how can you take my freedom like this?”
My grip softens, just enough to keep her still.
I lean in, so close my words ghost across her lips.
“Your version of freedom is flimsy at best. Your purest freedom is with us.” I glance around the room—the plants, the half-packed bags, the false safety this place gave her.
“Here, you had your plants. With us, you will have your plants, a greenhouse, purpose that comes with valuable hard work. And five men who would tear the world in half, set it on fire, and gift you the ashes to scatter in hell.”
Her eyes glisten, still fighting.
“And what if you get tired of me? What if one day I go too far, say too much, and you finally snap and—”
I silence her the only way I know how—my mouth crashing into hers, brutal and searing, a promise written in teeth and breath and heat. I grip the small of her back, regardless of her raw wounds, reminding her of that promise.
At first, she fights me, a weak fight with her fists pushing my chest. But they flatten instead, her palms stationed above my heart as she opens for me, giving me her taste, her scent.
Along with my control over her, every vision of her during the Initiation fuels me.
The power gets me hard every time. Not the desire.
And certainly no empathy, though I understand her mind more than anyone in the world.
Her heart? That is for the rest of them…even Rory. Eventually.
When I pull back, her lips are red, her breathing ragged.
“You are us now,” I growl, my forehead resting against hers. “Blood-bound. Five chains around you. Not to trap you—to keep you. You’re the eye. The point of convergence. Our core. And that’s final.”
She blinks up at me, trembling, angry, aching.
And I know she feels it too—whether she admits it yet or not.
After Jude helps her load her luggage into the truck, we move on to the plants. The light in her bedroom is soft, golden, catching on the leaves of a fern she’s cradling in her arms like a damn infant.
It’s ridiculous. She’s trying to juggle the quilt and pillows from her bed in one hand and the potted fern in the other. I watch her stumble, nearly knocking into the wall.
I sigh. “For fuck’s sake, Briella—give me the fern.”
She stiffens. “No. I’ll carry it.”
Stubborn to the end.
She shoves the blanket and pillows at me instead, and I take them, rolling my eyes. But something’s off. There’s a nervous twitch in her jaw, an unease in the way she holds the plant too tightly, her fingers white-knuckled around the ceramic pot.
I frown. “What are you hiding, Briella?”
She forces a smile. Too quick. Too tight. “Nothing. It’s just…sentimental. Nothing you would understand.”
True. But the damn thing looks heavy. Too heavy.
I set the blanket and pillows down and reach for the plant. Her eyes widen with fear, and she jerks it back, but I’m faster, grabbing the rim and pulling it from her grasp. It’s weighty, not like dirt and roots should be. Suspicion festers low in my gut.
I dig my fingers into the dark soil. She gasps, hovering like she might dive in to stop me. A few seconds of sifting, and my hand hits something solid. Cool. Heavy.
I pull it free: a brick of gold, caked in earth. I turn it over in my palm, feeling the heft, the unmistakable shine catching the light.
“Well, well,” I murmur, rising to my feet. I press her back against the wall with my free hand, the gold held between us. “You wanna tell me how a little fern farmer in the middle of nowhere ends up with this?”
Her face pales, her throat working around words that don’t come.
“Inherited?” I push.
She shakes her head, eyes watery.
“Somebody give it to you?”
“No.”
“You steal it?”
It takes a moment, but then she nods, barely a breath of motion.
I stare at her for a beat, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “Is that why you ran out here? Tucked yourself away in the sticks? Too much heat in town?”
She swallows hard. “Something like that.”
Her eyes lock on mine. They don’t narrow. They simply gaze as she did in the cavern, staring into the Abyss. This time, she’s begging it to understand. And I’m reminded of her words the previous night regarding her background. One I took seriously, unlike my brothers.
I nod, deep understanding settling between us. We know what it means to run. I will pry her for more information later, such as the situation with her dismembered ex. A theft like this…it doesn’t come without heat. I simply need to know how much heat is tracking her—and how close it could get.
“You’re in good company,” I tell her.
But she’s not getting this back. I turn, tossing the gold bar to Jude, who catches it easily. “It belongs to the Kinship now,” I tell her, my voice firm. “Everything does.”
She opens her mouth, as though she might argue, then thinks better of it.
“This,” I say, tapping the side of the bar before Jude pockets it, “this will keep our complex running. And it’ll buy you everything you will need for your greenhouse.”
I watch her blink, a hundred things she’s not ready to tell me flickering behind her eyes. That’s fine.
I’ll get them out of her, piece by piece, sliver by sliver.