Chapter 9 #2
“Save the creepy ghost stories for someone who gives a shit,” I snap, taking my seat at the center chair. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel my pulse in my fucking teeth. “Let’s just get through this.”
The door to the chamber opens with a creak, and my body tenses instinctively as they file in—our Chosen ones.
First comes Valentina, her face a perfect mask of composure despite the rage simmering in her eyes.
Then Ophelia, looking like she might set the whole fucking place on fire if given the chance.
And finally, Seraphina—my Little Sinner—her chin tilted up defiantly even as her hands tremble at her sides.
All three of them glance at each other, then back at us, their expressions ranging from contempt to outright hostility. The tension in the room is thick enough to choke on, and I fucking love it.
I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face as I take in their expressions. “Well, I guess we’ll never be bored, brothers.”
Cassian shoots me a look that says I’m not helping, but Asher chuckles darkly beside me.
I don’t wait for their responses. I’m up and out of my chair in one fluid motion, crossing the room to Seraphina and wrapping my fingers around her wrist. Her pulse jumps wildly against my thumb—a hummingbird trapped in a cage.
I tug her toward the far end of the chamber where an alcove provides at least the illusion of privacy. She stumbles after me, not fighting my grip but not making it easy either.
“Let go of me,” she hisses once we’re away from the others.
“No.” I back her against the wall, caging her in with my arms. The black silk of her dress whispers against my suit as she shifts uncomfortably. “You knew this was coming, Little Sinner.”
“I know,” she says, her voice flat and cold.
I pause, thrown off by her response. “You know what?”
Her hazel eyes flash up at me, filled with venom. “That you’re my brother, what the fuck, Lucien? Is this some sick game to you? Some twisted power play?”
My lips curling into a cruel smile. “Yes, it’s a sick game, and we’re gonna play it.”
I lean in closer, my breath warm against her ear as I inhale the scent of her—berries and fear and anger.
“You’ve been Chosen,” I continue, my voice dropping to a growl.
“And you’ll play your part because I may not be able to have you again, but no one else will.
” I grip her chin between my thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at me.
“So you’ll be mine, and I’ll keep you in a cage of gold and ruby, and we’ll keep our little familial connection quiet. ”
Her eyes widen as the full implications sink in. She tries to jerk away, but I hold her firmly in place.
“Just between me, you, Daddy Dearest, and...” I grimace, the name tasting like poison on my tongue, “Mariella.”
“You’re fucking insane,” she whispers, but there’s something else beneath the horror in her eyes—a flicker of heat she can’t quite hide. “I won’t do it.”
“You don’t have a choice.” I trace my thumb across her bottom lip, feeling it tremble beneath my touch.
“I hate you,” she hisses, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.
“Hate me all you want.” I release her wrist to cup the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair. “But you’re mine now. Officially. The ceremony’s just a formality.”
“He’ll never allow it,” Seraphina says. “Your dad will—“
“Vincent will do nothing,” I cut her off. “The choice has been made. Even The Head can’t overrule tradition without revealing why and you know how we feel about infidelity amongst the founding families.”
I drag her back toward the center of the chamber where Cassian and Asher wait with their Chosen. The ceremony waits for no one, not even my fucking daddy issues.
“It’s time,” I announce, my voice echoing against the stone walls.
The elders enter silently from a hidden door, their faces obscured by ornate masks of black and gold.
My father leads them, his tall frame unmistakable despite the disguise.
His eyes lock with mine through the slits in his mask, and I see the moment he realizes who I’ve Chosen.
His shoulders tense, his stride falters for just a heartbeat.
Let him fucking squirm knowing I did exactly what I said I was going to do.
The elders form a circle around us, their black robes brushing the stone floor.
One of them approaches with a velvet cushion holding three ceremonial athames—exact replicas of the ones we used to pin our invitations.
I recognize mine instantly, the handle inlaid with emeralds that match my eyes, the blade inscribed with my family’s motto.
Quod meum est meum erit in perpetuum.
What is mine will be mine forever.
I take the dagger, feeling its familiar weight in my palm. Beside me, Cassian and Asher do the same, their faces solemn for once.
“The blood calls to blood,” the elders chant in unison, their voices creating an eerie harmony that raises the hair on my arms. “The crown demands sacrifice. The choosing binds what can never be broken.”
I turn to Seraphina, who’s gone deathly pale. She knows what comes next. Every daughter of Black Crown is taught the ritual from birth.
“Kneel,” I command, my voice dropping to a register that makes her shiver despite herself.
“Fuck you,” she whispers, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just resignation.
“Maybe later,” I promise with a smirk that makes her cheeks flush. “Kneel now, or I’ll put you on your knees myself.”
She sinks down slowly, the silk of her dress pooling around her like spilled ink. Her chin remains tilted up, defiant even in submission. Fucking perfect.
I grip the athame tightly and draw the blade across my palm in one swift motion. The cut is clean, precise, and deep enough to bleed freely but not enough to scar. The pain is nothing. I’ve felt worse during morning workouts. Blood wells up instantly, dark and rich in the candlelight.
Seraphina watches, transfixed, as I dip my finger into my own blood. Her breath hitches when I reach for her, exposing the delicate hollow of her throat. The dress I sent her was designed for this moment—cut low enough to give me easy access to the sacred spot where the mark must be placed.
“With my blood, I claim you,” I recite, tracing the ancient symbol at the base of her throat. My blood is warm against her skin, marking her as mine.
“Blood binds. Blood seals. Blood remembers,” the elders chant.
I watch my blood sink into her skin, disappearing like it’s being absorbed into her very being. The mark glows faintly for a moment. A trick of the candlelight, or something more fucking primal, I’m not sure—before settling into a dark red stain against her pale throat.
“The Sinner has Chosen,” one of the elders announces. “The blood has sealed the bond.”
Beside us, Cassian is completing the same ritual with Valentina, whose face is a perfect mask of cold fury even as she allows him to mark her throat.
On our other side, Asher traces the symbol onto Ophelia’s skin with trembling fingers, his usual cockiness replaced by something that looks almost like reverence.
My father steps forward, his masked face turning toward me. “The final step remains,” he says, voice tight with barely controlled rage. “The consummation must be witnessed.”
Seraphina’s eyes widen, her body going rigid against mine. I lean down, my lips brushing her ear. “Relax, Little Sinner. Not that kind of consummation.”
The elders form a tighter circle around us as another masked figure approaches with a silver chalice filled with dark red wine. The ceremonial cup is ancient, passed down through generations of Black Crown ceremonies.
I take the chalice, feeling it's cold weight in my hands. The wine inside is almost black in the dim light, thick and rich with tradition.
“With this cup, I seal my claim,” I recite, pushing the mask up and taking a deep drink of the wine. It’s bitter and sweet at once, laced with herbs that warm my blood instantly. I feel the heat of it spreading through my veins, making my head buzz and my cock even harder.
I hold the cup to Seraphina’s lips, my free hand cupping the back of her neck. “Drink,” I command, my voice rough with desire.
Her eyes lock with mine as she parts her lips, allowing me to tip the chalice.
The wine stains her mouth blood-red as she swallows, a single drop escaping to trail down her chin.
I catch it with my thumb, pushing it back between her lips.
She sucks instinctively, her tongue warm against my skin, and I nearly groan aloud.
“The bond is sealed,” the elders chant. “What is Chosen cannot be unchosen. What is marked cannot be unmarked.”
And just like that Seraphina Carvelli is irrevocably tied to me.
Never to leave again.
Never to belong to anyone else.
Just my obsession with my sister burning hot and deep in my gut.
What could possibly go wrong?