Chapter 18
Eighteen
Blair
Please be over. Please be over. Please be over.
My limbs tingled with every step as I moved through the tunnel. I clung to the delusional hope that this was the end of the Initiation.
I suppressed an angry laugh.
From the hell these men had already put me through—not only today, but since the moment I’d arrived at Saint Vale—I knew better. They weren’t done with me yet.
The corridor stretched on in the same dull gray. I kept my breathing steady and counted my steps. Anything to keep my mind from spiraling.
I stared at the guy in front of me, wondering if they had Initiations too. If they did, I hoped they were brutal.
The thought of them getting beaten up sparked satisfaction inside me. They deserved the pain.
I was at least thankful that, whoever this guy was, he wasn’t manhandling me. He kept a careful distance as he walked ahead of me.
Is it Cedric?
He was the only one of Enzo’s friends I could put a name to.
A pang of regret hit me for not grabbing the gun before I left. I could’ve attempted to conceal it. Insurance, just in case I needed to save my life.
Though with the scraps they’d dressed me in, hiding a weapon would’ve been nearly impossible.
I was proud of myself for not breaking and using the gun.
Whatever was next, I’d keep staying strong.
We stopped at a door marked with a symbol I didn’t recognize. The man opened it and stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter first.
Nausea burned through my belly as hot and fierce as my fear. Being alone with him in such a cramped space was the last thing I wanted.
Scratch that. Being chained to a wall, hearing that fucking lullaby, was worse. This was a close second.
The door clicked shut, and my mind instantly went to the worst-case scenario. I was nearly naked and alone with a masked man.
Without a word, he unhooked a black robe and tossed it toward me. “Put that on.”
I caught it before it hit the ground.
I quickly slipped it on, clutching it around my body as if it were my only source of warmth in a blizzard.
He stood there silently, arms crossed, while I took my time fastening the robe. The robe was heavy and ceremonial.
Directly over the heart, a red heart had been stitched into the fabric. At the cuff, a single letter—B—was embroidered above a pair of antlers in silver thread.
“Lift the hood,” he instructed.
I nodded, pulling the robe over my head.
He opened another door other than the one we’d entered through and pushed it open. “It’s time.”
When I stepped into the pitch-black room, my insides felt paralyzed. A chill settled in the air, something heavy with dread.
Wickedness clung to me with every step I took. Each one felt like it drained a little more of my spirit.
Eerie orchestra music vibrated against my eardrums.
The man guided me to what I assumed was the center of the room. I gasped, my gaze drawn to a flicker of light in the upper left.
I spun on my bare feet and saw a vibrant neon glow from that direction. A light beside it turned on, casting a faint glow. Then, one by one, tiers of masks came to life until the entire chamber was illuminated by rows of silent masks staring down at me.
The masks varied in color and style, though they all had the same X as eyes. Some displayed unsettling grins while others had scowls or thin lines.
Even at a distance, they felt looming, as if they were right above me.
A soft light shone a few feet away, drawing my attention toward it. I noticed another group of masked figures in robes seated around a long table.
The arrangement struck me immediately, as if they were mirroring Da Vinci’s Last Supper. But instead of saints and apostles, they were devils.
Knelt before them was a line of other masked men, their heads bowed.
The door behind me creaked open. Another masked man entered the chamber, cloaked in the same robe as the others. He moved straight toward me.
By his height, broad shoulders, and the way he carried himself, I knew instantly it was Enzo.
I loathed myself for the small surge of relief that swept through me.
Stop it, Blair. This man is why you’re here.
Why you just went through mental hell.
He nearly drowned you. Humiliated you. Cut your fucking hair.
Yet, in this moment, I craved to run to him for refuge.
To beg him to stop this.
Realization hit me. That was probably their strategy with us. Break the Fawns down until we clung to the very men destroying us.
How profoundly fucked up.
These predators, the very creatures that hunted us, were now our saviors.
Enzo crossed the chamber in long, steady strides, and a light came on above me.
Glancing at my bare feet, I noticed symbols carved in the floor.
Intricate markings, like they were used during rituals.
My gaze lifted back to Enzo. The mask might’ve hidden his eyes, but I could still feel the weight of his intense stare.
My mind screamed for me to run. But my body only calmed when he came closer.
He towered over my smaller frame and bowed his head to look at me.
In what felt like slow motion, he reached out, his leather glove cupping my face beneath the hood.
I shivered, goose bumps rising along my skin, and I winced at the sudden intimacy when he brushed his thumb along my cheek.
My eyes slipped closed at his gentleness, as if he knew that single touch would force my body to surrender to him.
“Kneel,” he ordered.
Before giving me a chance to obey, he placed his hand on the top of my head and forced me down.
Pissed off, I tried to stand, but he shoved me back down.
The man who’d escorted me to the room approached us.
“Who kneels before the Son?” he asked, his voice sounding monotone, as if deliberately disguised.
“Electa mea,” Enzo replied.
My chosen in Latin.
“Is she unclaimed?”
“Yes.”
“Mark her. Name her. Bind her.”
A low chorus rose from the masked figures around the chamber.
“A Fawn claimed is a Fawn protected. With blood, she is chosen. From us, she shall be free. Stay loyal. Do not run.”
The words vibrated through the room like a biblical prayer.
Enzo grasped my hand and pulled me to my feet before lowering my hood. My breath caught in my throat.
He turned my wrist in his grip, exposing my palm. For a moment, he studied it, his index finger tracing the line like he was reading a map and searching for his next stop.
When the man beside him handed over a knife, my fingers curled inward.
The blade caught the light, and I recognized it as the one he’d played that stupid knife game with.
My pulse pounded when he traced the same lines as before with the tip of the blade.
I squeezed my eyes tight when the blade pierced my skin, sharp pain shooting up my arm. A single tear slipped free before I could stop it.
“Eyes on me,” Enzo snapped. “Do not fucking look away.”
The command was quiet, meant for only me to hear.
My eyes flew open just as the blade dragged across my palm. Another sting burned through my wrist as it split my skin. Blood welled around the fresh cut.
“Electa mea,” he said in a low rumble.
I wished I could see his face.
The mask hid every clue to what he felt in this moment.
I kept my cut hand still, afraid one wrong move would ruin the ritual.
Enzo freed his other hand from the robe and returned the knife back to the man beside him. Then he peeled off his glove and extended his palm.
Without hesitation, the man sliced into it.
The cut was deeper than the one Enzo had given me.
A sharp hiss escaped me before I could stop it, like I was reacting to the pain Enzo should’ve felt.
Blood spilled from the wound, but he didn’t flinch.
His posture stayed loose, his body calm, as though pain meant nothing to him.
As though he welcomed it.
As blood dripped from his hand to the floor, Enzo reached for mine and pressed our wounded palms together.
His grip was firm.
Like he never wanted to let me go.
Warm blood slicked between our fingers.
He left it there for one second, two seconds, three seconds.
When he let go, it felt like I’d lost a vital organ.
His bloody palm rose to my cheek. He smeared our blood across my skin, his fingers dragging slowly over my face.
His grip tightened, as if he wanted the blood to seep beneath my skin, into my veins, to mark me as deeply as he could.
To infect me with himself so part of him would always live inside me.
The tension drained from my shoulders when he eased his hand away.
But the relief didn’t last.
His hand moved to my other cheek and did the same before trailing to my lips, coating them with our blood.
I couldn’t break eye contact when he gathered more from my cheek onto his finger and pressed it to my mouth.
I barely had time to react before he forced his finger past my lips.
I gagged, tasting the coppery tang of his blood mixed with mine.
He pushed it so deep I choked on it before slowly withdrawing it.
I watched in stunned silence as he tore off his mask and tossed it aside. It hit the floor with a quiet thud.
Our eyes met beneath the harsh lights.
In that moment, during the ritual that bound me to him, I’d never felt more exposed.
His eyes were like fire, the burn consuming me from the inside out.
Agonizingly slow, he lifted his blood-covered finger and slid it between his lips, sucking it clean.
He closed his eyes, his shoulders loosening, as if the taste soothed every muscle in his body.
Like it was the drug he needed to settle himself.
He opened his eyes and stared back at me.
“She is Chosen,” the man standing beside us declared. “She is Sworn. The Fawn is claimed.”
And just like that, with a little blood and a few words, I was officially a Fawn.
I belonged to Enzo … though I had no idea what that meant.
I was stepping into a world I didn’t understand, and I was fucking terrified.