Chapter 31 Lia
LIA
The attendants remove the last pin from my hair, letting it cascade down my back in loose waves. I barely recognize myself in the mirror—dressed in emerald green. The fabric is translucent, making it almost like I’m naked.
“It's time,” one of the women says, her voice soft but firm. “He's waiting.” She hands me a green mask that matches Vane's, and I put it on.
My heart pounds against my ribs as they lead me through the dimly lit corridor. The cool air caresses my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. I'm not cold, though—I'm burning from the inside out, anticipation coursing through my veins like fire.
We reach the entrance to what was once the orgy room.
The doors swing open, and I step inside to find it completely transformed.
Gone are the chains, the heady scent of sex and sweat.
The space has been cleaned and redesigned, now illuminated by hundreds of candles, casting a golden glow across the gathered hunters who stand around a mirrored dais.
And there is Vane.
Our eyes lock across the room, and just like that, I'm seventeen again—sitting in chemistry class with my heart racing while pretending I hate him.
One look. That's all it takes for Vane Blackwood to reduce me to that teenage girl with a crush I never wanted to admit to.
I take a deep breath and begin my walk toward him, toward the man who has held my heart all this time.
Vane steps forward and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me against his side. He doesn't guide me onto the dais—the raised platform stands empty, waiting for whatever comes next in this ritual.
“The claiming happens there,” Vane whispers against my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “No one stands on it until the ceremony begins.”
His fingers trace patterns on my hip, possessive and tender all at once. Around us, the other hunters and their claimed prey stand in a circle. The anticipation in the room is palpable, thick enough to taste.
Vane's gaze returns to my face, and something in his expression shifts. The predatory hunger that's been there since he caught me softens into something else—something that makes my heart stutter in my chest.
“You look gorgeous,” he says, but it's not the words that matter—it's how he says them.
Like I'm water in a desert. Like I'm the answer to a question he's been asking his entire life.
His voice wraps around me, a physical thing as tangible as the arm at my waist. “Like everything I've ever wanted, dressed in the color that's been waiting for you.”
“You don't look too bad yourself,” I say, my eyes traveling over his bare chest.
Vane stands before me in just his black pants, his upper body completely exposed. Despite everything we've done over the past however many hours, I realize I haven't taken the time to truly appreciate the artwork etched on his skin.
I reach out, unable to resist tracing the intricate pattern that begins at his collarbone and spreads across his pectoral. My fingertips drift over each line, each shadow, following the design down to where it disappears beneath his waistband.
“You're so fucking handsome,” I whisper. “So perfect.”
My fingers trail lower, following a particularly intricate design that curves around his hip. The muscle beneath my touch tightens, and suddenly his hand closes around my wrist, stopping my exploration.
“Stop,” he growls, his eyes darkening behind his mask. “Unless you want me to break the rules and fuck you right here before the ceremony starts.”
I feel my lips curl into a smirk behind my own mask, the familiar thrill of challenging him coursing through me. Fifteen years apart, and we still dance this same dance.
“I wouldn't mind that,” I reply, pressing my body closer to his.
Vane's grip on my wrist tightens. “You always were a fucking tease, Morgan.”
“Only with you,” I reply, deliberately pressing closer until I feel his arousal against my hip. “Something about you just brings it out in me.”
I recognize the look in his eyes—the one that says he's barely holding himself together. God, I love having this effect on him. After hours of being his submissive, of surrendering to his every command in the maze, there's something delicious about reclaiming this power.
“I think you forgot who caught who in this Hunt,” he states, but there's a hint of amusement beneath the warning.
I lean in. “I think you forgot I let you catch me.”
He pulls back; eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Is that what you're telling yourself?”
“It's what happened.” I shrug one bare shoulder, letting the silk slip a little further down my arm. “I could have hidden better. Could have made it much harder for you.” I trace my finger along his jawline. “But where's the fun in that?”
Vane's laugh is dangerous. “Fifteen years apart and you're still the most infuriating woman I've ever met.”
“Infuriating?” I tilt my head, letting my hair cascade over one shoulder. “That's not what you called me when I was suspended in those ropes.”
His nostrils flare, and I feel a surge of satisfaction at winding him up. Around us, the other hunters and their prey fade into the background. In this moment, we're the only two people in the room.
“Five minutes,” Xavier announces from somewhere behind us. “Positions in five minutes.”
Vane's eyes never leave mine. “Five minutes isn't nearly enough time for what I want to do to you.”
“Then I guess you'll have to wait,” I whisper, deliberately pulling away from his grasp. “Patience is a virtue, Blackwood.”
“One, I think I’ve proved I have, considering how long I waited for you,” he counters, pulling me back against him.
Xavier begins directing everyone to their positions, and we watch as the first claiming begins. Landon Blackwood steps onto the dais.
“I claim Sadie Reynolds for one full year,” he announces, his voice echoing through the chamber. “She belongs to me completely.”
I feel Vane stiffen beside me. When I glance up at him, his expression has transformed from desire to disbelief. His brows furrow deeply behind his green mask as he stares at his brother.
“You look like you've seen a ghost,” I whisper, squeezing his arm. “What's wrong?”
Vane shakes his head, still watching Landon, who leads a rather reluctant-looking Sadie to the dais—she's even fighting him. “I'm just... surprised,” he admits, voice low enough that only I can hear him.
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Isn't that the whole point of this Hunt? To claim someone?”
“Not for Landon.” Vane turns to look at me, genuine confusion in his eyes. “You don't understand. My brother is... well, psychotic is the kindest way to put it.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Coming from you, that's saying something.”
“I'm serious.” He glances at Landon. “He's never shown interest in claiming anyone for longer than a night unless it was to break them. He's not the kind of guy to lay claim on a woman for a year.” Vane's voice drops even lower. “He doesn't do relationships or attachments. At all.”
I watch as Landon places his hand possessively on Sadie's lower back, guiding her to stand beside him. There's something in the way he looks at her—intense and focused, like she's a puzzle he's determined to solve.
Vane cups my chin, gently turning my face away from Landon and Sadie. “Hey, wildflower. Eyes on me.” His thumb brushes over my lower lip. “Forget about them.”
I meet his gaze, captivated by the intensity I find there.
I can't help the smile that spreads across my face. “Worried I might change my mind if I watch too many other claimings?”
“Not a chance.” His confidence is as attractive as it is infuriating. “I claimed you years ago; this is a formality.”
“Always so sure of yourself,” I whisper.
“Only about you.” His voice softens.
Julian steps onto the dais next, guiding Elliot beside him. I watch my boss's expression—a mixture of apprehension and desire as Julian formally claims him for the year. The room fills with appreciative murmurs at the unexpected pairing.
Next comes Knox, his blue mask in place as he leads Bianca to the center. His claiming is more playful than the others, punctuated by a kiss that makes Bianca blush furiously.
“Our turn,” Vane whispers, his breath warm against my ear.
He takes my hand, leading me toward the dais.
The crowd parts for us, and I feel every eye in the room watching as we take our place in the center.
Vane unzips my dress and drops it to the floor beneath me and then releases my hand only to retrieve several lengths of emerald rope from a nearby table.
“Arms out,” he commands.
I comply, extending my arms as he begins to weave the rope around my body. Each pass of the silken cord against my skin feels like a caress, the pressure points creating a delicious sensation as he crafts an intricate harness across my chest and torso.
With each pass of the rope, I feel myself surrendering more completely to him.
He attaches the suspension ropes to the harness and, with a practiced motion, hoists me into the air.
My body lifts gracefully, suspended in the center of the dais where everyone can see.
I'm completely exposed, vulnerable, and on display.
“Mine,” Vane announces to the room, walking around me as I hang suspended.
Heat floods my cheeks as I feel the weight of everyone's gaze. But instead of shame, I feel a rush of power—I'm the center of attention, Vane's prized possession, and the thought makes me wet with desire.
“Tell everyone here who you belong to,” Vane demands, his hand sliding between my legs.
“You,” I gasp as his fingers circle my clit. “I belong to you, Vane.”
“Louder,” he growls, pressing his body against mine as I hang helplessly in his ropes.
“I belong to you!” I cry out. “I've always been yours.”
Vane positions himself between my suspended legs, entering me in one powerful thrust. The ropes shift with our movement, creating delicious pressure points across my body.