Chapter 39
Iwalk out to the parking lot of the clubhouse, pulling my veil in place to join the other Blood Order members to ride to the Market Ebon together.
Andras has already issued our orders, splitting us up in pairs of two to patrol the busiest parts of the ungoverned district.
There’s enough of us that we take shifts, allowing everyone the opportunity to participate in Esbat.
Though my spirit feels far from festive.
I know I pushed Zeke too far this morning. I asked for too much. And now he’s taking that anger out on himself, rather than punishing me properly for abusing his dominance.
I’ve been dead to the world since then, barely waking up with enough time to chug the coffee Zeke brought me and ready myself for the festivities.
But all I want to do is see Evangeline. Explain my absence.
Make sure she’s okay, with my own eyes. Not Zeke’s reassurances that she’s okay.
Not the frustrating and sudden high spirits between Quinn and Aamon as they ready their bikes beside me.
I need her.
My soul won’t rest until it has her.
As if an answer to my very own prayer, I turn around to see her walk out the doors to the clubhouse.
My heart bottoms out, the sensation going straight to my cock.
Her lavender tresses are curled delicately, their wispy ends dusting her arms as she struts forward.
Her eyes burn brighter than they ever have before, ignited with the power of the Arcane.
And to top it all off, she’s wearing another one of those short, flowy black dresses.
This one is a mock corset that has the swell of her breasts nearly spilling over the neckline.
I let my eyes trail down her body, taking in the fishnets caging in the smooth curves of her legs and I’m instantly envisioning what her ass looks like in them, without the dress in the way.
She’s finished off the look with a pair of leather combat boots and a cropped leather jacket that nearly mimics the Blood Order cuts.
By the time she stops just in front of me with a “Hey,” I’m a drooling, incompetent fool.
“Evangeline, I—” I swallow, trying to find the words to say, but she holds up a hand before I can continue.
“I’m so sorry, Sterling.”
“Sorry?” I ask, shaking my head. Why is she the one apologizing?
“I feel awful for how worried you must have been this morning. I wanted to find you and check in, I just . . .” Her sweet little voice trails off and I swear the rosy color of her cheeks deepens.
“Angel,” I hum, pulling her into me. “You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me for going MIA.” My heart aches from being away from her, especially after almost losing her last night.
But the weight of her in my hands now as I run my palm over the curve of her ass .
. . It’s a blessing I don’t deserve. It settles the anxiety in my bones in a way I don’t think it’s ever been settled before.
“Ride with me?” I ask as I lean in, my nostrils flaring at the scent of my soap on her skin.
She pulls back just enough to look up into the eyes of my veil.
She nods, the movement almost imperceptible with how transfixed she is in my presence.
I mirror the grin on her perfect lips and guide her back towards my bike.
I slide onto the saddle, careful to keep her hand in mine as I guide her onto the bike behind me.
She settles in against me, the inside of her bare thighs hugging my ass, and I stiffen slightly as she adjusts closer to me.
I turn to look at her over my shoulder, about to ask if she’s ready to go, but then I see Aamon making his way towards us.
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath.
“What’s wrong?” Evangeline cocks her head, her arms slipping around my middle and squeezing in tighter.
“Now I know you aren’t leaving,” Aamon lectures, a haughty tone hanging on his words. Evangeline nearly jumps out of her skull at his sudden presence. Aamon’s veil sits precariously atop his head, not yet donned, and I can’t help but notice the way the corner of his eyes crinkle at her reaction.
I open my mouth to argue that he’s had all of yesterday with her and that the least he could do is allow her to ride with me to the Market Ebon. But he huffs out something akin to a laugh and pulls a hand out from behind his back to reveal a helmet clutched tightly in his grip. “Not without this.”
I breathe the smallest sigh of relief that he’s not actually fighting me on this, but can’t help but notice the hint of irritation in Evangeline’s features. Aamon ignores it, stepping up to the side of my bike and fastening the helmet in place.
“You’re ruining my hair,” Evangeline gripes, and I can’t contain the amusement that bubbles inside me. It’s nice to have someone here that doesn’t immediately bend to Aamon’s will. A refreshing change.
Aamon’s jaw tightens, but he ignores the comment, pulling down roughly on the chin strap to ensure it’s secure. “You can ride with him, but that’s it.” His words trigger a storm within me. He can’t possibly be serious.
“I don’t take orders from you.” Evangeline rolls her eyes and turns forward, lacing her arms back around me in a way that I’m sure Aamon can see and has me grinning ear to ear.
I’m about to turn towards the road, say fuck off to Aamon and leave him in the dust, but a yelp from Evangeline stops me.
Aamon’s fingers are tucked meticulously in the shell of the back of her helmet, pulling her backwards on the bike.
Helplessly, she follows his direction, and squeaks again when he yanks her head back so that her face is skyward and she can’t move.
“I said, you can ride with him. But tonight, you’re mine.” He leans in, pulling back harder and making her squirm. “Understood?”
She tries to nod, but in his grip, she’s not really capable of much. His authority over her is grating, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying this the tiniest bit.
“A little help here, Sterling?” she grinds out, looking down to try and meet my eyes.
I cross my arms over my chest and shrug.
“Seems like he’s got you in a tight spot, Angel.
Better give him what he wants.” Evangeline stares back at me, aghast—or at least tries to with her limited range of motion.
Even Aamon has a hint of surprise in his eyes, clearly not used to me agreeing with him, but he recovers quickly and directs Evangeline’s attention back to him.
He doesn’t repeat himself, just fixes her with a stern glare and waits for her to answer. She waits a moment. Two. But eventually her resolve wears away and she’s grumbling back up to him: “Understood.”
He smiles, a small grin that only touches half of his face, but there’s desire in his dark eyes that communicates to me just how much he already has planned for her tonight.
And fuck is she in trouble. He nods, eyes assessing her as he holds firm on the back of her helmet, refusing to let her go.
Instead, he guides her lips to his and leans in, stealing a kiss.
Okay, now I’m fucking pissed. And incredibly turned on.
Her thighs tighten around me, her fingers curling into my T-shirt.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to her, and exactly how her body is reacting against mine, thanks to this kiss.
And as if he hears the fucking thought in my head, he pops his eyes open, casting me a sidelong glance—mid-kiss—and throws me a wink.
Fuck it all. I wait for him to pull away—and not a second longer—before taking off and spitting gravel at his feet, Evagenline shrieking in terror as we disappear into the night.
Aamon stays true to his word. The moment we arrive in the Market Ebon, he’s whisking Evangeline away before I can protest. I’d go after them, but Andras has assigned each of the Blood Order members shifts for tonight.
I don’t particularly care about disobeying direct orders, but I don’t want Andras’ attention on Evangeline.
And Zeke wastes no time to remind me it would be if Andras finds out I disregarded my shift to be with her.
So instead, I walk the aisles of the market with Zeke by my side. He remains silent for the majority of our shift, the tension between us palpable. I focus my mind on only one thing to pass the time—what Aamon plans to do with Evangeline to celebrate Esbat.
The market itself is packed with patrons, which only makes the time go by slower as we have to take our time picking through the crowds.
We slip past street performers, musicians busking for coin, and makeshift stalls crammed in the busy streets that weren’t here less than a day ago.
We watch from the shadows as more suspicious members snake their way through the rows and even have to stop and break up a few fights.
None of it is enough to distract me from where I truly want to be, unable to help the viscous tunnel vision I get as I count down the remaining minutes of our shift.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Zeke murmurs as we turn the last of the aisles.
A vendor holds out an offering from a stall to our left—some sort of dark liquid, most likely a mix of alcohol and blood, in a small glass—and Zeke takes it begrudgingly.
It’s not abnormal to receive such things during Esbat.
The Blood Order is highly respected, or rather feared, and the people of the ungoverned district know it’s in their best interest to stay in our good graces.
I hate it, the feel of their fear over the title we hold.
Every gift and offering laced with the bitter stench of their dread at what might happen if they didn’t.
It's not for me—this life, this role. But it’s who I’ve had to learn to become for the sake of survival.
The tenderness and pain I’ve seen in Evangeline has reminded me of that, how far removed I am from the person I used to be.
“I could say the same to you,” I shoot back.