80. Briella
Briella
THIS PAIN DOESN’T DIMINISH ME. IT CROWNS ME.
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Death of Me”
“If I Surrender”
“Cannibal”
ONE WEEK LATER
I’m ready to see the sun again and feel jackfrost nipping at my nose and snowflakes sprinkling my eyelashes.
We did go home—in a way.
The mine. Raphael said it was the safest place while we regrouped, and he formed a plan for a new home.
The mine is well stocked, but they’ve also managed to get some of the supplies from the cabins thanks to the tunnel.
I may have asked them to bring the Christmas tree.
But I miss all the traditions we were supposed to have on Christmas Day.
Vincent’s contact transported the goats, chickens, and horses to a farm an hour away. My Tats assured me they would come with us.
In the meantime, it’s been a lot of healing. Thankfully, I heal fast according to Jude, though I believe it’s largely due to his help. He relocated my wrist shortly after I came to, back at Easthaven. He splinted it to reduce swelling and said I had to wear it for two weeks.
Healing and worship.
Rory’s complained about the cooking conditions. Loudly. Repeatedly. And creatively. In between taunting them about my “I love you”. I shake my head and laugh softly, letting him have it. They do, too.
Because I don’t know if I would have made it without him there. In the Circle.
“This is not a kitchen,” he growled the first morning, waving a dented camp pot like it personally offended him. “This is a goddamn medieval torture chamber with a hot plate.”
He’s still complaining.
It’s not that bad. They’d planned this place well in advance. The generators hum, powering the lights, air vents, and one working chest freezer. The shelves are stacked with long-life food, jars from the cabins, and sacks of flour and dried beans.
But the cooking setup? That’s where Rory draws the line.
They’re using a pipe stove welded from old mine ventilation shafts.
It’s set up near one of the draftier tunnels to help vent smoke.
It runs hot—too hot, according to Rory, who’s singed off his arm hair twice and claims he’s aging ten years every time he has to crouch over it.
There’s a couple of battered cast-iron pans, a tripod rig, and a Dutch oven that’s seen better centuries.
“It’s like cooking on a goddamn dragon’s nostril,” he groans. “You either burn it or serve it raw. No in-between. And don’t even talk to me about baking down here. Unless y’all want biscuits like throwing bricks.”
Despite it all, he still shows up at meal times, sleeves rolled, apron tied like he’s on a cooking show no one asked for. He’s kept us fed with hearty stews and even managed eggnog for me one night.
But until they have a real stove and an honest-to-god kitchen again—Rory’s going to be impossible.
And secretly, we all know he loves the challenge.
Especially when I do this.
“Ack! Woman,” he mutters when I pounce on him from behind, throwing my arms around his neck, chest on his back. “Ye trying to kill me?”
I rub my face against his jaw, inhaling the scent of him. Scotch and smoke and his natural masculine musk. Scottish fire, as I like to call it.
“Hey, Red.”
I don’t know why I’ve been pouncing on him more the past couple of days. I’ve also been cuddling between him and Seth on the couch more while I introduce them to some decent movies. Like Saw, The Quiet Place, and The Terrifier. I revel every time Seth squeezes my hand or pales.
Right now, he’s lounging on the couch, fast asleep, holding an axe across his chest. He’s been pretty protective lately. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear at any moment.
“Smells good,” I tell Rory, inching a finger toward the hot stovie—a Scottish dish of stewed potatoes and onions. But he’s paired it with
He smacks my hand away. “Nah, naughty Lass. Ye wait for dinner like the rest of ‘em.”
“Ugh! I’m hungry.”
“Ye’re always hungry.”
“I’m wasting away!” I moan as the smell of the dish sends my taste buds into a hyperdrive of longing.
“I’m wasting away in this damn mine.”
“I believe we can help with that,” Vincent announces behind us.
I snap my head up and get to my feet, limping toward him. Raphael and Jude enter the cave following him.
When I stagger too quickly and lose my balance, Vincent lunges for me, catching me, and I blush under his gaze. Especially when I’m not wearing anything more than his sweater. A backup he knitted for me. No panties either.
But the hat…I’m also wearing the old newsboys cap. It’s ironic how Alden burned the original. Maybe poetic irony. We all left our pasts behind to burn in that place.
Jude holds up a tablet, wagging it in the air before gesturing me to the bed. I glance at Raphael, who nods to me, and Vincent carries me to the bed, placing me between him and Jude. The tablet hums to life, revealing three different properties for sale. A thrill surges through me, and I perk up.
“We’ve been scoping out some for the past week or so. Not perfect, but not too run down. They all got bones to keep us busy,” Jude explains while Vincent nuzzles my hair, inhaling me. “This is the first.”
It reminds me a little of their cabin compound. But the cabins stand side by side, their roofs covered in fallen leaves, a few windows boarded, others busted through.
“Used to be a kid’s camp. There’s a central fire pit, rusted-out picnic tables, and what might have once been a bathhouse. Forest creeping in. But plenty of space.”
No, my gut tells me. It’s too similar. We need a fresh start. I don’t want this place following us.
Once I shake my head, he swipes to the next. It’s a hollowed-out church on a windswept hill, with sun-bleached siding and tall, arched windows—some still holding shards of stained glass. A small cemetery on one side and a rustic barn on the other.
I shake my head again. “Sorry, I’d rather not trespass on some poor ghosts’ grounds. And the church…well.” I shrug, not needing to explain why I want no religious reminders.
Jude nods, scrubbing a hand down his face like he’s kicking himself. Vincent tightens next to me.
“Fuck me,” Jude mutters.
“Fuck us,” Vincent echoes.
“It’s okay,” I assure them, leaning my head on Jude’s shoulder. “Just show me the next.”
The final image loads slowly, as if the tablet knows it’s saving the best for last. A massive log cabin ranch stretches across a rise in the land, paint sun-faded, windows clouded with dust, but it’s still standing strong.
The barn behind it leans slightly but looks like it’s been waiting for hooves and hay again.
To the east, it’s a vast forest, perfect for Raphael’s hunting grounds.
To the west, there’s a rocky outcropping, the ocean glitters, wild and silver beneath a gray sky.
“This one’s near the edge of a coastal reserve,” Jude points out. “Good cover, but you’ve got high ground. You can see everything.”
“Storms get wild now and then. But it’s sturdy. And the barn’s big enough for livestock,” Vincent points out. “The power lines were cut a long time ago, so it’s fully off-grid. Quiet. Isolated.”
“You can hear the sea from the porch,” adds Raphael.
I glance up. We share a moment of clarity. Because he already knew what I wanted before I did. My lungs take in fresh air. Well, musty mine air. And nod with a smile. “That one. It’s perfect. I want a big house for all of us to share. No more separate cabins. Just rooms close to each other.”
“It’s settled then.” Jude turns off the screen and kisses my brow. “We’ll start packing and moving out tomorrow.”
“Soup’s on, everyone,” Rory grunts.
Seth wakes up at that, and I laugh, sliding out of the bed and making my way over to him. “I thought they were stovies.”
He smacks my ass, and I yelp, but he doesn’t expect me to smack him right back.
None of them will expect what I want to do after dinner, something I’ve had whirling in my thoughts for the past week while I’ve been waiting to heal. Not just something I want. Something I need. A last farewell to this place. Resolution. Closure.
And taking back what was stolen from me.
“Why are we here, Briella Darling?” Seth asks.
It’s been a few hours since dinner. We played a few games and watched a movie.
Now, my five kings are gathered around me in the dungeon. My damned monsters. My chains. Raphael locks eyes with me as if understanding what I am planning.
So, I circle my gaze around them, one by one, until I brace myself and finally reveal, “I want another initiation.”
Their jaws drop. But not Raphael’s.
Rory’s vein throbs in his neck. Vincent’s jaw clenches like iron. Seth’s eye twitches. And Jude’s lips have parted.
Before any of them can have an aneurysm, I hold up my hands, cutting in, “It doesn’t have to be as intense as the first. It won’t be the same.
It can’t be. We’re different now. I’m different.
But I want it. I need it. A slate wiped clean.
We’re leaving this place and never coming back.
The blood, the pain, the screams…everything washed away in one night. ”
Raphael steps toward me first, closing the distance in two strides.
My breath hitches as he gazes down at me.
The hunter/killer in him makes my soul melt.
When he cups my chin, I almost buckle, but I pour the strength of a queen into my body, standing tall, unshaking before him. Okay, a little shaking.
“It won’t be the same,” he confirms, but shadows grow around him. “But we will bring you hell nonetheless. I will make you remember this, feel this as strongly as the first time.”
With a nod, I touch his chest, lightly, not daring to tread more. He doesn’t flinch or look down. “Could you promise me one thing?”
“Go on.”
“Don’t open the scar,” I plead softly, referring to his arrow mark. “I’d really like not to be bedridden when we move to our new home. I want to help. Even if I need a couple of days’ rest after, I want to be a part of everything.”
After a tense pause, Raphael says, “As my Queen requests.”