Chapter 24
Delilah
“Come forward, recruits.”
The command, formidable and sharp, pierces the veil of intimacy Xavier and I have cloaked ourselves in for the last hour, reminding us of the world we truly inhabit—one of danger, of shadows, and of a duty that’s always lurking just beneath the surface.
I stiffen on Xavier’s lap, and he goes rigid underneath me, our bodies now flooded with adrenaline instead of desire. He’s quick to remove his fingers from my pussy, his gaze sharp.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
The leaders of the Order, enigmatic and authoritative, step onto the dais as the lights turn on, their presence demanding the attention of everyone in the room. They stand with their masks firmly in place, their cloaked figures the stuff of nightmares.
“Recruits, it’s time,” one of them says.
The influx of conversation ceases, the atmosphere shifting palpably as the weight of the summons lands on those present.
It’s a call to embrace the path they’ve chosen—or that has been chosen for them.
For me, it’s a stark reminder of my place here, not just as Xavier’s bride, but as a pawn in a game whose rules I’m still learning.
Xavier’s expression hardens. He turns to me, his voice low and urgent. “You need to go back to the dorm room. It’ll be safe there. Wait for me, and don’t leave my room under any circumstances, no matter what anyone tells you about me.” He pauses, and then adds, “Or McKenzie.”
I ignore his hesitation concerning Ben, too focused on the panic building inside me. “But I—”
My protest is cut short by the widening of his gaze, the alarm swirling in its depths a silent plea for obedience.
His facial expression is a look that speaks of battles fought in the past, of the countless times he’s had to don the mantle of the Order’s expectations to his detriment.
The undercurrent of concern for my safety is unmistakable.
It tugs at my heart, adding to my resistance to leave.
I shake my head, hard enough for wisps of hair to slap my cheeks.
Xavier digs his fingers into my hip. “Delilah, please. For me,” he adds, his voice hoarse, revealing the strain of the moment.
Xavier has never said “please” to me. Ever.
I slowly nod, reluctantly accepting his decision, even as a part of me rebels against the idea of being parted from him. Especially now, when everything is uncertain and the threat of danger surrounds us.
“Okay, I’ll wait for you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the sudden tightness in my throat.
He kisses my temple, his lips lingering as though he’s tortured by the thought of leaving me. “I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”
He offers me this promise while brushing his thumb against the slope of my neck in a comforting gesture. I lean into his touch, soaking in these final seconds with him. For all I know, I’ll never see him again.
“You better not die, or I’m going to be fucking pissed,” I say. I wait for him to smirk or give me an incredulous look. He does neither. His gaze remains steadfast, the gravity of what lies ahead clouding his eyes, making them a dull, metallic gray.
“I won’t. I have too much to live for, little raptor.”
Before I can respond, Xavier deposits me on my feet. He keeps his hands on my waist, the hesitation clear in every ounce of strain in his body. It’s as though he wants to say something else, something that’ll change the dynamic of our relationship.
I wait, not daring to breathe while my lungs scream for air. Instead of speaking, he takes a step back, his arms falling to his sides. The act severs the connection between us, but the warmth of his touch lingers, a silent promise in the cold air.
After one final look, he turns in the direction of the other recruits gathered in front of the dais.
Each step he takes away from me feels like a tether unraveling, each stride testing the invisible string that binds us.
He doesn’t falter, his posture resolute, the set of his shoulders indicating he’s already bracing himself for whatever lies ahead.
The recruit has put on his proverbial mask.
I stand there, surrounded by the buzz of conversation generated by the spectators and the rustle of movement as some people make their way toward the exits.
The air in the ballroom is filled with a tension that makes it hard to breathe.
I can almost taste the tang of anxiety, and my tongue rails against the bitterness.
A profound isolation, despite being in a crowd of people, descends on me.
Xavier, Declan, and Ben follow the leaders, funneled toward an ominous set of doors that could lead to their doom.
I wrap my arms around my middle to steady myself, touching the place where Xavier’s hands were, the warmth a fleeting memory now.
His last look, intense and full of unspoken words, stays firmly planted at the forefront of my mind.
What did he want to say to me? Will I ever get a chance to hear it?
Turning slightly, I catch my reflection in one of the grand mirrors that line the ballroom walls. The woman staring back at me appears strong, composed on the surface. If you miss the tumultuous emotion swirling in her eyes behind the mask.
Before I can turn away from the mirror, a shadow looms over my shoulder in the glass. The reflection is masked, yet instantly recognizable by the timbre of his voice—a familiar deep, cold murmur that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Bride,” the council member says, his voice barely more than a whisper but laden with menace.
Without waiting for a response, Xavier’s father clamps a hand down on my arm, his grip painfully tight. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“You will come with me,” he says.
Driven by instinct, my gaze darts across the room, catching Xavier’s just as he turns at the disturbance.
His expression shifts from confusion to fury in an instant, his body tensing as if to rush forward.
I want to warn him off, to discourage him from breaking rank and getting in trouble.
But I can’t let his father discover my feelings for his son, so I stand still, my expression neutral.
Xavier watches me, his jaw clenched tightly, muscles rippling along his neck as he fights against the invisible chains of loyalty that bind him to his place in line.
To the Order. His hands, balled into fists at his sides, reveal the battle raging within him, a storm of anger and helplessness that reflects what I’m experiencing.
The council member leans down, his proximity making my stomach churn with nausea.
“‘A bride represents a recruit’s standing within the ranks, as well as the victories he’s earned through prowess, cunning, and strength.
’” His words from the night of the Bride Hunt wrap around me like a hand to the throat.
He continues, every syllable a reminder. And a threat. “How you act reflects on your recruit. So, what are you going to do, bride? Call for my son’s help? Or behave and come along quietly?”
I can feel the blood drain from my face.
Xavier’s eyes, still locked onto mine, convey a new torrent of emotions.
There’s still anger, yes, a fierce, protective rage that seems to make the very air around him shimmer.
But beneath that, there’s also fear, a stark terror at the idea that he can’t intervene and save me from his father.
Just like I’ve never heard Xavier beg, I’ve never seen him afraid.
I turn back to the reflection, meeting the eyes of the man who holds me captive. “I’ll come with you.”
The words are like acid in my mouth, but I won’t do anything that will get Xavier hurt. Not when he’s done so much to protect me. The scar on my stomach, once a source of conflict between me and my recruit, is now a reminder of his willingness to keep me safe.
Xavier’s father leads me briskly away from the ballroom, his grip firm and unyielding on my arm.
I quicken my steps to keep up, using my free hand to grip my skirts and keep them from getting tangled in my feet.
As we walk, the opulent corridors of the castle give way to more austere and functional areas.
Each step takes us farther from the grandeur where the evening began and deeper into the strategic heart of the castle.
As we enter a large, dimly lit room, I’m immediately struck by the array of screens and equipment that fills the space.
It’s a big contrast to the historic charm of the rest of the castle.
This room is modern, clinical, designed for surveillance and control.
A large table takes up the center of the room, surrounded by twelve chairs, each place set with a legal pad and a pen.
Aside from that, there are desks along the wall that support several monitors.
They display live feeds from various cameras positioned throughout the castle, particularly focusing on a collection of dungeon cells.
Is that where the recruits are being taken?
The council member releases my arm, allowing me a moment to rub the sore spot where his fingers dug in too tightly.
He moves to the center of the room, gesturing broadly at the screens.
The other men, younger and less important crows, operate the stations, keeping their gazes from me and on the computers.
“Here they come,” the older man begins, his voice eerily calm, almost proud. “This is where we’ll watch and evaluate the second Trial. Every moment, every decision—it’ll all be observed and analyzed here. As my guest, you’ll be allowed to watch.”
I follow his gesture, scanning the monitors.
I catch glimpses of the recruits being ushered into the cells, the small figures pacing or sitting in sparse stone rooms. The only thing in the space is a wooden table, the surface full of chemistry equipment.
My heart clenches as I search for Xavier among the men, my fear and concern for him gnawing at me incessantly.
The council member smirks at me. “Looking for Xavier, are you? Don’t worry, he’s here.
” He taps on a screen to bring up a clearer image of a cell where Xavier stands alone, his expression tense and alert.
“Your effect on my son has been . . . interesting to watch,” he continues, turning back to face me.
“Xavier has never been one to show emotion. Yet with you, he seems to forget himself. It’s quite fascinating. ”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, waving my hand in a nonchalant manner. “He just likes to fuck me. And I like expensive shit. That’s all. So why am I here, Mr. Donovan?”
“Call me Edward.”
“I’ll stick to D-bag, thanks.” When he narrows his eyes, I say, “D for Donovan, you know?”
He walks up to me, his gaze probing mine so fiercely that I step back.
“I almost believe you,” he says, “but I know my son better than you ever will. I’m the one who trained him, the one who made him the man he is today.
The cold and unfeeling bastard that everyone fears and respects.
You can drop the act and I’ll give you what you want. ”
I tilt my head. “What I want?”
“Freedom, of course. If you tell me the truth about my son’s feelings toward you, I’ll guarantee that you’ll be given financial security and the opportunity to live a life where you won’t have to worry about being a prisoner of the Order. But if not . . . who knows what will happen to you.”
I stare at him, absorbing the gravity of his words.
Despite my playacting, this deranged man is fully aware of my lack of finances and my desire to be rid of the Order.
It could be chalked up to common sense, but that doesn’t stop tendrils of vulnerability from snaking around me, constricting and inducing panic.
I don’t want to betray Xavier, but his father might not give me a choice.
Am I willing to die for Xavier?