Chapter 1
“Xavier.”
The silence that follows Delilah’s tortured whisper is deafening. My instincts are louder. They scream at me to rush to her side, to staunch the blood flowing from her stomach.
To save her fucking life.
And mine as well. Because if she dies, I’ll take the knife from her body and slit my throat. I can’t live in a world where she doesn’t exist.
The leaders of the founding families watch us with morbid fascination. The men are wearing masks, but that doesn’t hide the vicious light in their gazes. Is their silence one of approval? Or is it a continuation of the Trial, to gauge my reaction to Delilah bleeding out before my eyes?
If they don’t give me their blessing soon, I might fail entirely. I’d rather face punishment than let her die.
I turn to them while keeping my bride in my peripheral vision. Delilah grips the knife handle, and I grind my teeth, knowing firsthand the pain she’s experiencing.
My girl wrenches the blade from her body with a grunt, her chest heaving. Blood pours from the wound. I can’t stop my eye from twitching.
“Not bad,” she says, glancing down at the puncture wound, “but not good enough.”
Her voice is thin and airy but strong, fueled by an inner fire that I adore. Delilah’s words are the very ones I said to her three years ago when she stabbed me. If this were any other circumstance where her life wasn’t in danger, my dick would be hard.
She doesn’t wait for a response and tosses the knife as if it’s of no consequence. It clatters against the wooden platform, fracturing the tension in the air. She takes a step and groans softly, her hands hovering over her stomach.
I force myself to remain frozen in place. If I’m to protect her, my role demands stoicism, even as her suffering tears me apart. When Delilah drops to her knees with a small cry, all thoughts of strategy disappear, replaced by unadulterated panic.
“My bride needs medical attention,” I say, keeping my voice even. Barely. “If she doesn’t survive, I’ll revert back to a vow of celibacy, which would fucking suck.”
The leaders don’t react to the caustic statement. My heart, already thumping in my chest, beats even harder. I flick my gaze to Delilah, noting the blankness of her stare before her eyelids close and she falls onto her back. She smacks her head with a thud, and I wait for her to groan or curse. The stillness that follows has my skin prickling with terror.
Did I nick an artery?
I know my aim is excellent, more accurate than any other recruit, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t mortally wound her. If I’m the reason she dies…
I spin on my heel towards my bride.
Fuck. This. Shit.
“Don’t move, recruit.”
Halting, I look over my shoulder to find Daniel Kent, ruler of the medical empire, watching me. His stare is a challenge, a demand for submission. I hold his gaze, unwilling to back down.
“She’s dying,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
“We know.”
I stand there, struggling to contain the frenzy churning inside me. It builds with every moment, zipping along my flesh like electricity, until I’m ready to explode.
“What’s the point of this?” When he doesn’t answer me, I continue. “Do something, or I will.”
Kent’s gaze hardens, a construct of reprimand and authority. “Is that a threat, recruit?”
“No, it’s a statement. She’s my property, and it’s my right to determine if she lives or dies.”
His eyes never leave my face as though he’s searching for something. Defiance? Resolve? Fear? I keep my expression blank and my hands loose at my sides. Whatever he’s looking for, he won’t find it.
If I haven’t already exposed my weakness for Delilah.
In this moment, on the edge of insanity, I reflect on the enormity of my declaration. It could be viewed as an act of rebellion and disrespect, a direct challenge to the protocols and the chain of command. Or, it might be interpreted as a show of strength, a future leader taking ownership of what he’s been entrusted with.
There’s a fine line between insubordination and initiative.
“You have passed your Trial, recruit,” Kent finally says. “By dagger’s kiss, allegiance sworn.”
“In shadows deep, our oaths are borne,” the other leaders answer, their voices a low hum.
I bow my head, not only to show respect, but to hide the relief that has to be all over my face. When I meet Kent’s gaze once more, I’m in control of myself.
“Votum meum tibi,?1” I say, not meaning a fucking word. The last time I spoke that vow it was to piss off my father, but right now I’d say anything to keep the leaders from suspecting how much my little raptor means to me.
Kent nods, his body losing some of its tautness. “Votum tuum receptum est.?2”
It takes every ounce of discipline I have not to run to Delilah. I walk with an even stride until I’m on the platform kneeling beside her. My hands, normally steady and secure, tremble as I grab the fallen blade, still covered in her blood.
My bride blinks several times as if waking up. Her eyes are glazed with pain and an emotion I don’t want to acknowledge.
“Don’t move,” I say.
“Last time you said that, it didn’t work out so well for me.”
The snark in her voice, although weaker than a few minutes ago, still makes me want to smile. “Hold on, little raptor,” I whisper, not wanting the leaders to hear me.
The sight of Delilah pale and vulnerable spreads fear through every inch of my body. I take a deep breath to steady my hands and cut a strip from her dress to bandage the wound that’s still bleeding too much for comfort.
Balancing speed and efficiency, I wrap the cloth around her waist, tying it off with enough pressure to stem the blood flow. Each second feels like an eternity. Her hisses of pain cut me deeper than any blade.
With as much gentleness as I can, I lift her into my arms. She groans and stiffens in my embrace, becoming more rigid when I walk down the small set of stairs. My steps across the rooftop are measured and controlled, but as soon as we’re out of sight, I break into a sprint toward the medical ward.
Delilah’s breaths, shallow and uneven, skim my neck and ignite my adrenaline until I’m shaking again. Each tiny puff of air is a whispered plea, a mantra to save her life. I can’t fail her.
The halls of the castle blur past me until I spot the on-site physician lingering inside the waiting room. Another member of the Kent family, a crow who earned his wings six years ago. His forehead creases when I walk past him and set Delilah on one of the examination tables.
“She’s been stabbed,” I say. I meet his gaze, my voice resolute. “If she dies, you die.”
The doctor doesn’t flinch at my threat. His eyes narrow with scrutiny before he moves toward Delilah. Unlike mine, his hands are steady as he begins to assess her condition, his focus entirely on my girl.
“I need you to step back,” he says. His voice is authoritative and calm, and there’s a confidence in his demeanor that eases some of the panic in my chest. When I comply, he removes the bandage from her stomach. His movements are methodical and his examination swift. “She’s lost a fair amount of blood, but the blade missed her vital organs. I need to stop the bleeding and close the wound immediately.”
“Whatever it takes,” I say.
“I was informing you, not asking you.” Dr. Kent shifts his attention from me to the assistant who appears in the doorway. “Prepare her for surgery.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man says.
I fold my arms. “How long will it take?”
Dr. Kent meets my stare with one of his own. “As long as it takes, recruit. Listen, this isn’t the first time I’ve stitched up a stab wound. She’ll be fine.”
I give him a curt nod. One of the hardest lessons in life is learning when someone is more skilled than you. Right now, this doctor can help Delilah in a way that I can’t. Although I struggle to let him take her away, wanting to inflict violence on anyone who touches her, this is the only way to save her life.