XVII
SILAS
With each passing day, I grow more restless.
There’s a feeling inside me—hot, suffocating, unbearable. No matter how much time I spend with Eden, it doesn’t get better. It only gets worse. I can’t think. At times, it feels like I can’t even breathe without her.
Eden is mine—she knows she’s mine, everyone knows she’s mine. But I just can’t shake the feeling that I don’t own her completely, the way I need to own her. There are moments—fleeting, infuriating moments—where I feel like she’s slipping through my fingers. A look, a hesitation, a flicker of something behind her eyes that isn’t complete devotion, complete adoration, complete surrender.
“That’s unacceptable.”
I clench my fists, pacing the length of my dormitory room, my mind spiralling. This uneasiness? I don’t understand it. The Spirit gave me a vision—a snippet of my future. So why do I still feel this way? Why don’t I feel the satisfaction I felt in the vision? Why does it feel like I still need to do more?
Cedric is asleep in his bed, his breathing deep and even. The entire school is silent, wrapped in the stillness of the early hours before dawn. But I’m not calm. I’m burning alive. It’s been getting increasingly hard to keep myself calm. Cigarettes, alcohol…it’s all the same. My whole world is blurring into one singular thought—I need Eden.
I need to know.
I need to see.
I must visit the Spirit again.
I stalk the campus.
The Spirit requires blood.
Finally, after lurking in the shadows of the cloisters for what feels like an eternity, I spy a lone girl walking through the courtyard. She’s busy on her phone, the remnant of a joint hanging from her lips. She’s also completely alone, which is perfect.
She’s not as pure as I would like, but she’ll have to do. As she gets closer to my hiding spot in the shadows, I recognize her. Meka Saunders-Forte. She’s in all my science lectures, a scholarship student with hopes of being a neurosurgeon or something.
Too bad that all ends tonight.
I take the small vial from my pocket, filling the needle with what I need.
“Meeka!” I say, to get her attention.
She looks up from her phone, smiling when she recognizes me. We’re cordial in class, there’s no reason for her to think of anything of this interaction—if anything, she must feel special. I don’t give most girls here the time of day .
“Silas,” she says, taking the roach from her mouth. “What are you doing out here this late?”
It’s a lighthearted question I suppose, so I laugh—all while drawing closer to her.
“I needed some fresh air,” I say.
She looks up at the sky. “I needed some space to clear my?—”
I jab her with the needle quickly, then cover her mouth to muffle the scream.
The poison is fast-acting, and within seconds her eyes are rolling over in her head, her body limp. We stopped using this poison when it became clear that it severely impaired the cognitive abilities of our victims. They never recovered enough to come back to school. One girl even became a vegetable.
But since I’m doing this ritual alone, I don’t have any ketamine. And technically, I’m not supposed to do the rituals alone—it’s not like I could ask for some.
Like I said, this is quite an unfortunate situation for Meeka.
At the very least, I won’t have to hypnotize her, she’ll be a blabbering mess by the time she comes back to whatever fucked up version of reality the poison decides to bring her back to. She isn’t light by any means, but I hoist her over my shoulder nonetheless.
I stick to the shadows and lesser travelled paths, keeping my steps as light as possible. I’m not wearing my robes. As leader of The Order, I have more free will than the others. The Spirit communes with them through me.
And the closer I get to the catacombs, the more I realize that the uneasiness I’ve been feeling is The Spirit calling to me. I feel calmer and more at ease with each step .
If you wanted me here, why didn’t you just summon me?
A cacophony of voices whisper in my head but nothing clear enough for me to understand. I take Meeka underground as quickly as possible.
The darkness inside welcomes me. I don’t need to light the lamps to know where I’m going—I feel the inevitable pull, allowing it to guide my steps.
The air changes the deeper I go. It thickens, turning into a living thing, pressing against my skin like invisible hands. A stiff breeze rushes through the corridor.
My welcome from The Spirit.
“You’ve come to give me what I deserve?”
The Spirit’s voice cuts through the chaos in my mind.
My steps halt. “I have come with a sacrifice for you, My God.”
The catacombs breathe.
And then all the torches ignite simultaneously. Ahead of me, the chamber containing the altar stands—waiting. I toss Meeka on it.
She’s limp, unconscious. I doubt I’ll even have to restrain her. The others aren’t here. This ritual is mine, and mine alone.
No Max.
No Cedric.
No Alistair.
Just me and The Spirit.
I’ve always believed it was better this way. The others wouldn’t understand it. They think The Order of the Holy Sacrament is just some secret societies that their fathers bequeathed them membership to. But I know what it really is. The rites aren’t just a tradition, a way to gain power.
For me, it’s personal .
My connection to Him is what strengthens me.
The Spirit knows that I revere Him the most, which is why I am the leader. I press my hands against the base of the altar.
The moment I touch it, I feel the shift. The air shudders, a low vibrating hum filling the space. On the other side of the altar, a darkness starts to materialize. It takes a vaguely humanoid shape, its body made of whispers and broken promises.
“You’re showing yourself to me…”
“You’ve shown yourself worthy .” The voice sounds like a thousand men talking at once, reverberating through my chest.
I look down at Meeka, then back up at The Spirit.
“What is it you seek, my son?”
“Answers, my God.” I say. “The vision you gave me during from last ritual?—”
“Was it not enough? ”
The flames of the torches around us flare.
“I want more.”
There’s a tense silence. The Spirit has a sense of humor apparently, because a throng of laughter fills the room. I crack a smile.
“You know what you must give to get more.”
I take the dagger out of my pocket without hesitation. In a few quick slices, Meika is completely naked. Turning her on to her stomach, I spread her legs—then I stick the hilt of the blade in her ass, using it to work her until she starts bleeding.
With each squelching thrust, I feel a bit calmer, even though the blade is digging into my own palms. I only stop when both of our blood starts dripping onto the altar. The air hums in approval, in acceptance.
The Spirit wants blood. Fresh blood. So I forgo the chalices .
I pull the dagger out of her bloody asshole, then waste no time in slitting her throat. The blood spills from her—thick and rich, sliding down her neck in a slow, lazy trail. The torches blaze violently, and the whole place starts to shake.
A shiver runs through me, deep and primal. The hair all over stands like static electricity skitters across my skin. My cock is hard as a rock, straining painfully against my pants. I missed this feeling.
With feverish resolve, I keep cutting Meika open, giving The Spirit more and more blood. I slit her down the chest, across her stomach, her thighs—any and everywhere until her skin looks like a fielding of blooming blood-stained roses.
I stand and watch as the life bleeds out of her. It overflows the altar, dripping to the ground beneath me. The room starts to shake even more, and for a brief moment I wonder if the catacombs will collapse on me, but then I hear Its voice.
“This sacrifice has pleased me. Tell me what you seek.”
So, I pray.
Not to God.
Not to the Saints.
To The Spirit, the One beneath the earth. The One who grants power, who bends fate, who whispers to me in the dark. I bow my head.
“I want to secure my future with Eden Grace Lockhart. I want her to be mine in every lifetime, forever.”
The words barely leave my lips before the air shudders. Dust on the floor stirs, rising into the air in swirling patterns. The flames stretch, casting grotesque, elongated shadows against the walls.
A deafening hum fills the room, turning into a voice—layered and fractured, like the wailing of a thousand banshees— speaking in a tongue that doesn’t make sense, but I understand somehow.
“You must seal your souls together. Then all that you desire will become yours.”
And then?—
I see her.
Blinding. Overwhelming. Consuming.
Eden in white.
A patterned sheer veil draped over her auburn hair, cascading down her back.
A ring on her finger—the ring I bought her.
Blood stains on the hem of her dress.
The scent of roses and candle wax.
The taste of wine on her lips.
Her voice whispers, “I do.”
A church filled with shadows.
A congregation that does not breathe.
A priest with hollow eyes.
It is a binding more sacred than vows—more sacred than God.
Mine.
Mine.
“Yours.”
The vision slams into me like a tidal wave, stealing the breath from my lungs. My knees buckle, and I fall backwards against the stone walls, choking on the power rushing through me.
I feel it. The certainty. The inevitability.
Eden is mine.
She was always mine.
She will always be mine.
“She is yours, my son. Do what you must. ”
“And what must I do?” I say, breathless.
“Seal your souls together in a binding ritual. Ask her parents for her hand and then propose to her. She will say yes. Do not let the next full moon pass before doing so.”
I nod fervently. Stumbling to my feet, I look around—finally getting a grip on reality for the first time in days. My palms are bleeding from holding the blade of the knife while I sodomized Meeka.
As for her? She’s losing blood quickly.
“Are you worried?”
I hesitate.
The air gets thick again, heavy.
“Take the torch beside you.”
I follow The Spirit’s guidance and my body moves of its own accord. I pick up the torch, the wooden base digging into my bleeding palm.
“Set her blood aflame.”
I drop the torch into the pool of blood at the foot of the altar.
The fire blazes bright, spreading across the altar as if her blood was gasoline. The smell of copper and burning flesh fills the air—then in an instant, the flame is gone.
Meika is still intact.
Her wounds have been cauterized without even a burn on her. Her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. She’s still alive.
“Now put your hands into the flame.”
I turn to the next torch, sticking my hands into the flickering fire.
It doesn’t burn. Instead, the blood on my hands evaporates and my wounds heal.
The torch extinguishes itself and then the figure materializes again on the other side of the altar. There’s an overwhelming sense that It is pleased.
“Your bravery has earned you my favor. Return her from where you took her.”
“Thank you.”
Then The Spirit disappears.
I don’t waste any time, the sun will be rising soon. Picking up Meeka, I hurry out of the catacombs, each torch extinguishing itself as I walk by it. The beginning of the sunrise is on the horizon. I sprint to the courtyard, tossing Meeka to the floor—right where I had left her phone.
Then, I make my way to my dorm.
By the time I stumble back to my dorm, my hands are shaking. But my mind is clear. Thanks to The Spirit, all the uncertainty within me has dissipated. My brain settles back into normalcy— regaining control of my emotions, of my future.
I know what I must do.
I send a text to my father.
Silas:
Please make Viscount Lockhart aware that I will be visiting him next week, to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage.
He’s going to call me as soon as he reads it, I’m sure .
My father has been unaware of my pursuit of Eden all this time.
He’ll think I’m doing it to save our family—but it’s more than that now. I need Eden in a way that I can only describe as a visceral need to merge our souls, to possess every single piece of her—inside and out. She’s the air that I breathe, the moon in my night’s sky. I cannot live without her, I refuse to.
Which reminds me to send my father another message.
Silas:
I would like three of the largest diamonds from Mum’s collection reset to create the ring I will propose to her with. We will speak more when you call.
My mother’s jewelry collection is the only thing my father hasn’t been able to get his grubby hands on, because they were bequeathed to me in her estate. My mother came from a prominent family herself—but she was their only child, effectively ending that branch of her family’s lineage.
While she was alive, she accumulated a near-mythical collection of jewelry. Nearly everything holds exceptional value. Discreetly lending a few of them out on consignment has been what’s kept the lights on at the estates.
However, I’m willing to take three of those diamonds to give to Eden as a symbol of my unwavering love for her. Her father will expect nothing less of me, as the son of a duke. I have to make the best impression possible—and the clock is ticking.
The next full moon is in a few weeks .
I strip off my shirt and pants, tossing them carelessly onto the floor. I collapse on my bed. The exhaustion has finally hit.
Cedric shifts slightly in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. He smokes weed to sleep, which means he’s nothing more than a corpse right now. Which is great thing for me, cause I can get to do whatever the fuck I like without his scrutiny.
I lay back, my pulse still racing, my body still thrumming with the echoes of the ritual. My skin tingles, my fingers twitch. All my thoughts are consumed by her.
Eden’s lips.
Eden’s voice.
Eden’s body, pressed beneath me.
Giving in.
Giving up.
Giving me everything.
My hand reaches for my erect cock. I groan, running a hand along my shaft, tilting my head back against the pillows. Instead of my own hands, I imagine Eden’s inexperienced grip. Instead of my own big hands, I imagine her tiny ones—clammy from sweat because it’s the first time she’s ever done it. I bite my lips, stifling the groan building in my chest so I don’t wake up Cedric.
Bucking my hips against my hands, I keep going until milky warmth spills out of my cock. The ball of lust in my chest unravels, just enough for me to fall asleep.
I pull the covers up, my eyes heavy with sleep. When I wake up in the morning, I’ll deal with the mess. But now, I’m floating away into a peaceful sleep for the first time in days. I close my eyes, my breathing uneven, the scent of blood still lingering in the air around me.
That’s when Eden appears to me—as real as ever. Whispering my name. Kneeling before me, surrendering, worshipping, devoting herself to me. She’s wearing the ring made from my mother’s diamonds, bound to me in a way that not even her god can undo.
I exhale sharply, losing myself in the thought of her. Eden will be mine, in every lifetime. And no one—not Lucian, not Vivienne—will take her away.
Not if they want to live.