CHAPTER 28 FAE #3
I gulp before pressing my fingernails into the palm of my hands a I watch the girls get up on wobbly legs.
Felix is released from his bindings and they all make their way to the back of the crypt.
This time, it’s not Father who steps up, but Roman’s dad as the air hangs heavy with what is coming next.
“Roman,” he booms, “please declare your promised.”
Roman’s shoulders push back as he keeps his gaze firmly on mine. I don’t breathe; I don’t dare. If this is all some sort of elaborate plan to break me, then I need to prepare myself.
“Fae,” Roman declares, the tension I felt eases from my pores.
“And…” his dad growls. A flicker of annoyance flashes past Roman’s eyes before he steels his shoulders again, still not taking his eyes off me as he announces,
“Quinn.”
His voice doesn’t hide his disgust and I feel smug for a small moment before I look to the front and remember exactly how cold that wood felt against my back the first time. For a second, I don’t move. Then my body does what it was trained to do and I take a step forward, always a step forward.
Every eye follows me. I can feel it, the weight of them, the expectation, the hunger disguised as reverence.
Some are clearly surprised, other angry.
It’s no secret that Swallows don’t get chosen, especially by someone like Roman.
The song hums low again, not loud enough to be music, but just enough to vibrate through my bones.
I have done this before but I was twelve, I remind myself. Twelve and terrified and pretending I wasn’t. Now I am older. Now I understand exactly what this is. Now I understand what is at stake.
Lives.
The walk feels longer than it should. My pulse is steady and more controlled. I don’t look at Father, I refuse. I look at Roman instead. He stands at the front now, strapped to the crucifix. His eyes are dark and his jaw is locked. He tracks my every step.
There is an apology in his gaze and something else. Helplessness, I realise with a start. It almost undoes me.
Roman’s dad demands that we kneel.
I kneel. The stone bites into my skin through the fabric of my jeans. I know what’s coming, but it doesn’t make it easier. My throat tightens as hands begin removing my clothes. I keep my gaze on Roman, gaining strength through him and willing myself not to cry at the humiliation and memories.
I will not bow. I will not shrink. Humiliation is their weapon here. The air feels colder against my bare skin. Every nerve ending wakes up from the shame and the memories.
The women wash me with the harsh cloth. I barely hear Quinn simpering next to me, but it still filters through. Cloth. Water. Whispered chanting brushing over my ears. It is supposed to feel sacred. Instead, it feels like you’re being erased. Like you’re being reduced to flesh and utility.
I focus on my breathing. On controlling my heart rate. On getting through this. The memories try to claw their way back into my brain. Of Dr. Fisher’s fingers, of his cock ripping me open, of his prodding and poking, but mainly of the pain. The pain so deep I still have nightmares about it.
The white dress is shoved on me as aggressively as they did when I was a child. Reborn. I almost laugh at the irony as they guide me to my old foe. The wood on my back is solid. Unforgiving.
When my wrists are secured, I don’t fight, I don’t cry, I square my shoulders and lift my chin. Stillness is power.
Roman’s dad speaks again, but I tune him out. Keeping my gaze ahead, I notice Felix’s ashen face as he takes me in. The blade comes towards me, and I brace for the pain. I welcome it. This type of pain is better than the other blade I was dealt in the past.
Betrayal stings worse than any cut could. The knowledge that the man who helps orchestrate this is the same man who tucked me into bed when I was small.
A sharp sting hits my wrist. I don’t flinch; I refuse.
Warmth slides down my skin, sticky and hot as the room watches on. The pain burns as they keep carving. I hear the squelch, I feel it, but my body remains impassive. My breathing turns shallow despite myself. Not from pain, from the knowledge that my blood is being used as currency.
My vision swims and my head pounds from the loss of blood. Nausea rolls in my stomach as I try not to gag. Breathing in deeply through my nose and out through my mouth, I try to focus on anything but the pain.
I feel the shift when the IV is put in. Medicine, he called it, but to me it will always feel like an invasion, like theft. For a split second, fear crawls up my spine.
What if something is wrong? What if my body rejects it? What if this is the moment it stops being a ritual and starts becoming fatal?
I swallow it down. I won’t give them the satisfaction of fear. Steeling my shoulders, I lift my heavy head. We are forced to Roman’s feet as I take him in again. His eyes have darkened to almost pitch black as he looks at me. Not from horror, but from a promise.
This will end, that look says. Not tonight. Not loudly. But someday. And honestly, that is all I can hope for.
When it’s my time to speak, I clear my throat and look at the man who has become my safe space. With everything in me, I lift my bowl to him as an offering, not ashamed that I am on my knees for him like I should be.
“I bleed for you,” I say, the words that last time tasted like ash now feel freeing in my mouth.
Roman gives me a look of adoration and love as he licks his lips. His eyes move over my body, not even taking in Quinn, who is to the left of me when she speaks.
“You bleed for me,” he responds, his chest heaving as his muscles tense.
It’s then I realise that those words may have made me. They may have broken me. But this is the last time I let them define me.