CHAPTER 28 FAE
FAE
The kitchen smells like coffee and crumpets when I step inside, like any normal morning in any normal house. Riggs spots me first. His entire face lights up like someone has flicked a switch and suddenly he is moving fast, loud and unstoppable.
“FAIRY!” He booms, his arm already wide as he charges towards me.
I barely have time to brace before he barrels into me.
His arms snap around my waist as he lifts me clean off my feet into a crushing hug.
I chuckle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping my arms around his neck.
A low territorial sound comes from behind me and Riggs, Atlas and Felix burst out laughing whilst he still holds me hostage in the air.
“Easy, big man,” he calls over my shoulder. “She’s not breakable.”
“I’m aware,” Roman replies flatly.
“I hope so,” Riggs nods emphatically, “if you weren’t I’d have words with how hard you fuck her every night.”
“Really, again?” I groan to Riggs and he pats my head like a dog.
Riggs squeezes me once more for good measure before spinning us around and away from Roman. He carries me deeper into the kitchen like he is smuggling treasure and deposits me on one of the chairs by the kitchen island.
“You’re with us now,” he declares dramatically, nodding in exaggerated movements.
I can see Roman’s hands twitch at his side as I look up and Felix rolls his eyes, stepping towards me.
“She’s always been with us you twat, well, with me anyway considering we shared a womb.”
Felix leans in and kisses me on the cheek before jumping up onto the island beside me, scrolling on his phone.
Atlas brings a mug of tea over, watching the exchange with a quiet, knowing smirk and mine matches his.
Every one of these men pretends Riggs is annoying but I know without him they would be broken.
Who else could ease tension on initiation day like him?
“Morning,” Atlas says, leaning down to kiss my cheek.
Felix pockets his phone, his gaze sharpening before a frown marks his face.
“You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I did,” I lie automatically, rolling my eyes at his raised eyebrow as Riggs gasps theatrically.
“She lies,” he booms, pointing at me. “Roman, control your woman.”
“She doesn’t require control around you heathens,” Roman states, stepping in from the doorway and making a beeline to the coffee pot.
“Oh, I know when she does.” Riggs wiggles his eyebrows and winks at me as my face heats.
“Can we not do this at eight in the morning?” Felix groans, rubbing his hand down his face.
“I agree,” Atlas chirps, “you are all insufferable.”
They start bickering back and forth. It’s easy, familiar and stupid in the best way. Riggs exaggerates, Roman deadpans, Felix moans and Atlas balances whoever takes it too far. Their laughter fills the room as I stare into my cup. The sounds fade slightly at the edges like I am underwater.
My palms are already damp as I rub them against my trousers, hoping no one notices. My heart beats too fast for someone just standing in a kitchen. It presses against my ribs, asking to be let out as I lift the cup and swallow the lukewarm tea.
I have done this dance before. I know how to stand.
How to keep my chin high. How to let the pain pass through me without giving it a home.
But this time it isn’t just my blood that will touch that floor.
My brother will feel it too. My twin, the other half of my soul.
The thought makes my chest constrict so tight I have to force a steady breath through my nose.
Roman will bleed into a bowl, be touched and prodded. He hates touch. The thought is gut-wrenching. And it’s not just them. It’s Riggs, Atlas and Victor. All of them.
All of us.
The ceremony isn’t just tradition. It’s theatre. It’s power. A reminder that loyalty is measured in sacrifice and the sacrifice is our soul, our morals, our beliefs.
They will cut us, not enough to kill but not shallow enough to dismiss.
A scar will linger long after we leave that room.
It binds us, reminds us that we belong to something bigger than ourselves.
My pulse slams against my throat. What if something goes wrong?
What if Father goes too far? What if he sees fear in my eyes and hurts me more for the weakness?
I inhale slowly, but the kitchen feels too warm now.
Riggs is arguing about whether Felix would survive without a phone for a week.
Atlas claims he would become feral and Roman counters that he already is, but he’s watching me.
It feels like a safety blanket on my skin.
He might be engaging, but he knows. He always knows.
My fingers curl into fists. I can feel the ghost of the blade against my skin already, the phantom sting, the metallic scent of blood.
But worse than the pain is the memory of helplessness.
Being twelve and powerless.
Being fourteen and hopeless.
Being sixteen and used.
I am not that girl anymore.
I am not that child.
Still, my heart rate doesn’t slow. Today isn’t just about me surviving, it’s about watching the people I love step into the same fire I burned in. My brother, my lover, my friends. All of us standing under the same unforgiving gaze.
“Tinkerbell,” Roman’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I blink, looking at him.
The room has gone quiet and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Roman looks at me with a worried gaze from across the kitchen.
“You with us?” Felix asks lightly, though there is concern beneath it and I force a smile as I face my brother.
“Yeah,” I nod.
“Okay,” he nods back before looking over his shoulder and back at me. “It’s time to go.”
We drive towards my family home in near silence, the mood inside the car feels suffocating with every mile that passes. Too soon, I see the iron gates as they loom ahead. They are still just as black and unforgiving.
Jeremy patches us through without question, his nod is stiff with understanding.
The tyres crunch along the winding gravel drive and then it appears…
all stone and shadow, standing proud against the green hillside like it has nothing to answer for.
I have described it a thousand times in my head, but seeing it still makes something cold settle beneath my ribs.
We step out and the air feels sharper here.
I notice other initiates’ cars already parked on the drive as I fist my shaking hands.
No one speaks as we cross the threshold into Father’s marbled hallway, our footsteps echoing too loudly against the chequered floor.
None of us linger, but then we never did anyway.
Victor met us on the way here. He wasn’t in the kitchen, but I presume he was looking after Hazel for as long as he could.
We move as one, straight down the corridor toward the crypt.
Felix shoots me a look as we reach the heavy, damaged doors and I nod once for him to open them.
We descend the final stretch of stone steps, the air suffocating me regardless of how cold and empty it is.
The crypt opens before us. It is far larger than anyone would assume. It stretches beneath the entire mansion like a buried cathedral, as shadows pool in the corners where the light can’t reach. The stone walls swallow sound but not tension… no, that lingers. It is a breathable, malleable thing.
My breath hitches at the sight of the crucifix.
At the far end, instead of one, there are three.
The centre cross is the largest; it’s the one I am most familiar with.
It’s dark oak, aged and covered with chains.
On either side are two slightly smaller ones.
They are identical in shape but lighter in colour…
the wood looks newer but still marred by years of rituals.
Three symbols, three offerings, three reminders.
My stomach tightens and I try to control my breathing.
Roman leans in, his shoulder brushing mine.
I look up at him, taking in the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his eyes.
He looks like the devil himself. I can feel the rage pouring off him, but when he sees the fear on my face, that soft look he often gets when he looks at me melts through and he squeezes my hip gently before stepping away.
“I need to pretend to have no favourites.” His words from last night ping around my head.
It’s weird coming in here knowing I will be promised to someone after thinking for so long I wouldn’t be, but I can’t help the doubt that creeps in.
He wants me to trust him, but the only person I truly trust is Felix and that’s because I have no other choice.
Roman could be lying for all I know, buttering me up because he couldn’t bear to deal with a sad, soppy girl crying on his shoulder on his last night of freedom.
But then I remember how he held me all night, how he tried to give me control this morning and looked gutted when he failed.
The rage he feels for me and his overprotectiveness, even with his friends.
You can’t fake that, can you?
The rest of the cohort stand waiting, arranged in two distinct sections.
The men are to the left, twenty of them in total.
Felix stands tall, his jaw tight but composed.
Atlas is beside him, shoulders squared and unreadable.
Riggs looks uncharacteristically serious and Victor’s expression is carved from granite.
Roman… Roman stands like he was built for this place.
His whole body screams don’t fuck with me, with a level of control you cannot shake.
To the right of me, fifty-five women stand. I see Roman tense when he realises we will be separated, but I try to look as unbothered as he does.
Fifty-five women, including me.