22. Luca
Chapter 22
Luca
T he scent of burning flesh made me want to vomit, and if it wasn’t for Gideon pressing himself into the brand, I don’t think I would have gotten through it. I was thankful for the hood because it hid my tears and muffled my cries. Listening to the way Gideon grunted through the barbaric ritual was the straw that broke me, the absolute misery and unfairness of all of our lives crashing down on my shoulders all at once. There had to be another way.
“It’s done,” he said, the crisp words drawing me back into the present, back into the clearing.
I tried to drop the brand at our feet, but it stuck to his skin, hot iron still burning. I had to pull to get it off, and without the sizzle of his flesh, I had to bite my lips between my teeth to quiet my own noises of discontent.
“It’s done,” everyone around us repeated back.
“It’s done,” I muttered from behind the wet cloth, even though my heart wasn’t in it.
Gideon closed the space between us, loosening the buckle on the collar before pulling it off entirely. He untied the cord around the opening of the bag, the cool fall air rushing into my nostrils as he pulled it off. I was so close to being sick, so close to throwing my entire life into the garbage. I looked away from him, choosing to stare at the ground instead of his face.
Instead of the brand.
I hated myself. I hated myself and I wanted to die.
Pressing my hand flat over my heart, checking to make sure I hadn’t somehow taken the brand myself, I screwed my eyes shut, tears leaking out from the corners and racing down my cheeks.
“Walk with me,” Gideon said, spinning on his heel and heading away from the bonfire. He didn’t look back to check if I would follow—we both knew I would.
With thoughts racing through my head, I waited until we were well out of earshot to speak to him.
“Can I be candid, B?” I asked him, falling into step half a pace behind him to his left.
“I still don’t want to fuck, Luca,” he said, huffing out what sounded like a laugh.
The lightness in his voice and the pride in his gait was enough to tear a strangled sob out of my throat. It took all my strength to not double over and throw up on my shoes. I just needed a minute, needed the nausea to pass, needed to remind myself this mattered, even though I couldn’t remember for what.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out the apology that would never be enough for him…or for me.
“You need to get it together,” he said, turning back and grabbing me by the biceps, giving me a shake. With him so close, it was even harder to breathe, impossible to not break down. His shirt fluttered open in the breeze, his skin still charred from where I’d pressed the rose into his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
“This is what I signed up for. What you signed up for.”
“I wasn’t born for this,” I whispered.
“You were,” he said, “whether you want to admit that or not.”
“I want to just…go.”
“Enough of that fucking nonsense!” he roared, shoving me back. I stumbled over my own feet, falling flat on my ass in the dirt.
Gideon intimidated everyone, but he’d never intimidated me. I’d always been awed by the way he commanded a room, a society, even from his quiet isolation. He was more at home in the pool or in the library than he was anywhere else, and I was admittedly curious to know what had made him that way.
“This is the hand we’ve been dealt,” he said, extending his to help me back to my feet.
And that was the way of him, wasn’t it?
I slid my palm against his, and he helped me stand. Brushing dirt off the backs of my thighs, I let out another sob when he spoke again.
“This is the hand we have to play.”
He was right. He was so right, and I was so hopeless for this life.
Dusting off the dirt, I swiped the tears off my face and righted my glasses.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I?—”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I’m s—” I clacked my mouth closed, teeth rattling in my head.
“I owe you an apology, actually,” he said.
“I don’t believe you.”
He inclined his head toward the path we’d been walking before my little meltdown, and we set off again with him in the lead where he belonged. He didn’t elaborate, and I was too worn down from emotion for my curiosity to get the better of me to ask.
“There’s three parts to the initiation,” he said, hand flexing at his side.
“I thought it was two.”
“I know.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “You’re not going to like the third.”
“You haven’t even done the second yet,” I reminded him, not having forgotten the sex element of the whole thing.
“And I’m not going to.”
“I wasn’t aware you had that kind of veto power.”
Gideon huffed another laugh. “I’ll deal with the repercussions of that one later. The third involves you, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“I can’t imagine there’s a single thing I’d like less than what we just did,” I told him.
He hummed thoughtfully as the trail ahead of us spread into another small clearing, the Black Thorn house visible on a hill in the distance.
“I’m glad you think that, because tonight you’re going home with Fletcher Sinclair.”