Chapter 43 Vane
VANE
The leather-padded walls of Purgatory's BDSM section absorb the sounds of pleasure—whimpers, gasps, the rhythmic crack of floggers against willing flesh. Bodies writhe in artful suspension, bound in intricate rope patterns that would've held my attention any other night.
Tonight, I can't summon even a flicker of interest.
I lean against the VIP railing overlooking the scene, nursing whiskey that's gone warm in my glass. Below, a blonde submissive kneels for her Dom, accepting the crop with practiced grace. Beautiful. Skilled. Completely irrelevant.
“You're killing the mood.” Knox drops into the seat beside me, Bianca curled against his side.
She's flushed from whatever they've been doing in one of the private rooms, her hair mussed and her eyes bright.
“The great Vane Blackwood, sulking like a kicked puppy while the best show in Ravenwood unfolds beneath him.”
“Fuck off.”
“Eloquent as always.” He signals for drinks, his hand never leaving Bianca's thigh. “How long are you planning to mope? Two weeks is bordering on pathetic, even for you.”
Two weeks since Lia moved into the Ravenwood Inn. One week since Jakub Orlov cornered her at the gallery.
“I'm not moping.”
“You're doing an excellent impression of it.” Xavier joins us, Mira tucked close to his side.
Unlike Bianca's post-scene flush, Mira looks composed, though there's a satisfied curve to her lips that suggests they've been occupied.
“The event coordinator asked if you're dissatisfied with the programming.”
I take a drink instead of answering. Below, the scene shifts—a new pairing takes center stage for fire play. The flames dance across the submissive's skin, each pass drawing soft moans from her lips.
Lia would appreciate the technique. The control required to inflict sensation without harm.
“She's here.”
Xavier's gaze sharpens, following mine to the main floor. “So she is.”
Lia moves through the crowd like water finding its path—unhurried, graceful, certain.
The gold mask covers the upper half of her face, but I'd know her anywhere.
The way her fingers trail along the velvet rope separating the viewing area from the play space.
How her head tilts when she examines the intricate knotwork of a suspension scene.
The subtle roll of her shoulders when she's processing something complex.
Every cell in my body screams to go to her.
“You're not moving,” Knox observes.
“Neither am I dying.”
“Could've fooled me. You look like you're being tortured.”
He's not wrong. My fingers tighten around the glass, the cut crystal edges biting into my palm. Lia pauses near the bondage section, her attention caught by a demonstration of shibari techniques. The Dom is skilled—precise, methodical, building a harness that's both beautiful and functional.
She watches with the focused intensity I remember from chemistry class. From The Hunt. From every moment, she's given me her full attention.
Two weeks of restraint. Of respecting the space she demanded. Of letting her come to me instead of hunting her down like every instinct demands.
“If you break that glass, Mira will make you clean it up.” Xavier's tone carries amusement.
I set the whiskey down before I do exactly that.
Lia shifts, her gaze sweeping the crowd. There's purpose in the movement—she's searching. For me? Or considering her options in a club full of skilled Doms who haven't spent the last two weeks watching her hotel room window like a fucking stalker?
The thought sends acid through my veins.
“You could go to her,” Bianca suggests quietly. “She came here. That means something.”
It means everything.
But for fifteen years, I chased. I orchestrated. I manipulated circumstances to bring her back to me. And the moment she saw the truth of who I am—what I'm capable of—she ran.
This time, she walks toward me.
So I force myself to stay exactly where I am, even as every muscle in my body coils tight with the need to claim what's mine.
Lia moves through the club's main floor with deliberate steps, weaving between scenes playing out on raised platforms and private alcoves.
A flogger cracks against bare skin to her left—she doesn't even glance over.
To her right, a submissive writhes in intricate rope suspension—her eyes track past without pausing.
She's searching.
Then her gaze locks with mine across the crowded space.
Neither of us moves. The chaos of Purgatory falls away—the moans, the music, the steady rhythm of impact play—until there's only her eyes holding mine. Hazel with flecks of gold, steady and certain.
She removes her mask.
Then she walks toward the VIP section.
Knox's hand tightens on Bianca's thigh. Xavier goes still beside me. Neither speaks.
Lia reaches the velvet rope. The security guard—Marcus, loyal to the family for years—looks past her to me. His expression asks the question without words.
I nod once.
Marcus unhooks the rope, allowing her into my sanctum. She climbs the three steps to the elevated section, her heels clicking against marble. Stops directly in front of my chair.
“You're here,” I manage.
“I wanted to see if I could still choose this.” Her voice doesn't waver. “Choose you, knowing everything.”
I stand, the movement fluid despite the tension coiling through every muscle. “Let's take this somewhere private.”
“That's what she said.” Knox can't resist, the grin spreading across his face like he's twelve instead of twenty-four.
I level a glare that's made grown men reconsider their life choices. “Shut the fuck up.”
He holds up his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk remains. Xavier doesn't bother hiding his amusement.
Lia's lips twitch—barely, but I catch it.
I lead her through the VIP section toward the private suites reserved for members who value discretion over exhibition. The hallway muffles the sounds from the main floor, thick carpeting and soundproofed walls creating a cocoon of silence.
Suite Seven is unoccupied. I key in my code, holding the door for her.
She enters without hesitation. Scans the space—the leather furniture, the discreet cabinet that holds toys and implements for those who choose to use them, the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Returns her attention to me.
“I'm not going to apologize for who I am.” The words come out rougher than intended. “The violence—what you saw—that's part of me. It always has been.”
“I know.”
“But I should've been honest with you from the start.” I close the distance between us, stopping when I'm close enough to touch. I don't. “About what I do. What my brothers and I are capable of. The empire we've built and what it takes to maintain it.”
Lia watches me with those eyes that see too much. “Why weren't you?“
“Because I wanted to keep you separate.” The admission scrapes out of me. “From the blood and the darkness. I spent fifteen years building this life—power, control, everything I thought I needed. And then I got you back, and suddenly there was something in my world that wasn't stained by it.”
Her breath catches.
“I wanted to protect that. Keep you pure from the parts of me that are...” I search for the word. Can't find one that fits. “You were the one clean thing in my otherwise filthy existence, wildflower.”
“I'll never understand it.” Her hand lifts to my chest, palm flat over my heart. “The way violence lives in you like breathing. How you can carve someone apart and then touch me with those same hands.”
My jaw tightens.
“But I don't need to understand it.” Her fingers curl into my shirt. “I just need to know that when you're covered in blood and darkness, you'll still come home to me. That you won't let it consume everything we are.”
“Lia—”
“I spent fifteen years running because I thought love was supposed to be simple.
Clean. Something that fit into the life I'd built—career-focused, organized, controlled.” She rises on her toes, bringing her mouth closer to mine.
“But we were never going to be simple. You're chaos wrapped in emerald smoke, and I'm the girl who can't stop breathing you in.”
The words crack something open in my chest.
“I love you.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Not despite the darkness. Not separate from it. I love the man who orchestrated my return and the one who hunted me through a forest. The boy who kissed me at eighteen and the man who tortures his enemies. All of it. All of you.”
I crush my mouth to hers.
She opens for me immediately, her body molding against mine as if she were designed for this exact fit. My hands slide into her hair, tilting her head to take the kiss deeper.
“I can't go back.” She breaks away just enough to speak, her lips brushing mine with each word. “To New York. To a life without you in it. I tried, and it nearly destroyed me.”
“No more running.” I walk her backward until her spine hits the mirror. “From me. From this.”
“No more running,” she agrees.
I spin her around, pressing her palms flat against the glass. She watches me in the reflection, her pupils blown wide with desire. My hands slide under her dress, bunching the fabric at her waist.
“Watch.” I position myself behind her, my cock hard against the curve of her ass. “See how perfect we fit together.”
Her breath fogs the mirror as I hook her underwear aside and thrust into her in one smooth motion. She gasps, her back arching.
“Perfect,” I growl against her ear, pulling back only to drive deeper.
Her body clamps around me, wet heat pulling me deeper as I set a brutal rhythm. The mirror magnifies everything—the flush spreading down her neck, the way her breasts sway with each thrust, how her mouth falls open when I hit that perfect angle.
“Look at you.” I wrap her hair around my fist, forcing her gaze to the reflection. “Taking my cock like you were made for it. Like your body remembers exactly who owns it.”
“Vane—” My name breaks on her lips.
“Tell me what you see, wildflower.”
Her eyes meet mine in the glass, hazy with pleasure. “I see us. Together.”
“What else?” I slide my hand around her throat, not squeezing—just holding. A reminder of who commands this moment.
“I see how you look at me.” Her breath stutters as I grind against that spot inside her. “Like I'm your world.”
My hips slam forward harder, chasing the building pressure at the base of my spine. “Because you are. Fifteen years without you, Lia. Fifteen fucking years of suffocating while you were an entire state away.”
She pushes back against me, meeting each thrust with desperate need. “Never again. I'm right here.”
“Mine.” I release her throat to grip her hip, angling her so I can go impossibly deeper. “My wildflower. My fucking everything.”
“Yours.” Her palm slaps against the mirror as tremors wrack through her thighs. “All of me. Every—oh god—every piece.”
Her walls flutter around me, the telltale sign she's close. I reach between her legs, finding that swollen bundle of nerves and circling it with ruthless precision.
“Come for me.” The command rumbles from somewhere primal. “Let me feel you shatter.”
She screams my name as the orgasm tears through her, her entire body convulsing. The sight of her undone in the mirror—hair wild, skin flushed, completely lost to pleasure—breaks my control. I follow her over the edge, burying myself deep as release crashes through me in devastating waves.
We stay locked together as the aftershocks fade, both of us trembling. I turn her in my arms, needing her face. Her real eyes, not the reflection.
“I love you.” The confession comes easier this time. “More than sanity. More than the empire I built. You're the only thing that matters.”
Tears glisten on her lashes. “I love you too. So much it terrifies me.”
I kiss her softly, pouring everything I can't articulate into the press of lips. She melts against me, her fingers threading through my hair.
“No more secrets,” she whispers against my mouth.
“No more running,” I counter.
She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “Deal.”