17. Chapter 17
Maddox
The top floor hums with low electronic bass before we even open the door. It thrums through the walls like a second heartbeat for the building. Gluttony is never silent.
Arwen slows beside me, careful and contained.
She glances up at me, awareness coursing through her. I feel the nerves she’s trying to hide.
She’s got pants on now. Dark fabric, practical. Better than the skirt she was ready to kill me over earlier. I guess that’s something.
We’re supposed to be keeping distance and staying controlled through this, but I can’t follow my own rules
My hand finds hers. Her fingers stiffen for half a second—then settle.
Here goes nothing.
The door opens, and the music doubles in intensity, swallowing the hallway behind us as we step inside.
The club stretches out before us. Low, wide tables scattered across a darkened floor like islands in a shifting sea of color. Lights roll across everything in slow waves: deep purples, golds, electric blues that catch on glass and skin, and metal.
The air is thick with the smell of champagne and expensive perfume. It doesn’t smell luxurious. It smells sickly sweet.
Arwen is trying not to stare. I can see it in the way her eyes move, tracking everything while trying not to let it show on her face.
She’s never seen this level of excess before—the way the elite pour themselves into their wealth.
Silk, metal, and crystal accents that catch the light in deliberate ways.
Overpriced indulgence worn like armor. Like status can be stitched into fabric.
I tighten my grip on her hand slightly and start forward, moving straight ahead to my father’s table in the back.
A woman steps directly into my path.
“Maddox!” she sings. “We’ve been missing you.”
Bright pink hair twisted into an aggressive topknot. Heavy, long lashes that extend above her purple-tinted brows. A fake smile stretched wide enough to be recognized across the room.
I recognize her immediately. One of Amaya’s inner circle.
I don’t respond. She doesn’t wait for one, anyway. Her eyes flick briefly to Arwen, revealing a level of interest and assessment.
“You should come sit with us,” she continues smoothly. “We just opened two more bottles of Vail’s finest.”
She tilts her head slightly, lips pursed, looking at Arwen like she’s deciding what category she fits into.
I look towards Arwen and notice the whispers rippling around us now. I tighten my grip on her hand and shift my weight forward.
“Excuse me,” I cut in flatly, “my father is waiting.” I walk around her and push forward through the crowd, dragging Arwen behind me to get her away from the vultures.
I try to keep my face impassive so they can’t get a read on the relationship.
Bodies shift just enough to let me pass.
My father is in his booth where he always sits—a raised dais of polished obsidian that elevates him just above the swirling decadence of the club.
It’s a wide, predatory curve of black leather, stitched with threads of gold that catch the low light like veins of ore.
Two guards flank him, motionless as statues, their tailored suits hiding what I know are holstered guns.
My father rises the moment we approach. Arms opening wide, like this were some warm interaction.
“My son,” he says, smiling.
I instinctively recoil at his tone, like a blade wrapped in silk. Stopping at a respectful distance, I eye him up and down.
I stop at a respectful distance.
“Father,” I reply evenly. “You summoned us.”
“Ah,” he says, like I’ve amused him. “Straight to the point. Typical Maddox.”
His eyes flick briefly to Arwen. “I simply couldn’t wait to meet the newest addition to our little family.”
Nothing about this family is little.
He steps forward and holds out his hand to her. Arwen doesn’t look at me. Just like we agreed. We remain neutral, controlled, blank. She places her hand in his with a small nod.
My father’s grip closes around her hand, and I keep my expression flat as I watch. But my eyes don’t move. I track every inch.
My father notices. His gaze lifts to me without moving his head, and he holds it as he lifts the back of her hand to his lips. I don’t blink as Arwen stays still.
“Such a pleasure to meet you, dear,” he says warmly.
“A pleasure,” Arwen replies. I can see the strain of disgust around her mouth as she tries to hide her distaste.
A slow, dangerous smile spreads across my father’s face. “Why don’t you both join me?” he says casually. “Sit. Eat. Drink.”
He gestures lazily toward the table. “I can have anything brought up. Anything at all.”
His eyes drift to Arwen again.
“Have you ever had Ortolan bunting, Arwen? They’re divine!”
“You eat them whole,” he continues, almost fondly. “Bones and all.”
He lets out a faint chuckle. “You know what? I’ll order three.”
“We can’t stay,” I cut in, stepping forward.
My father’s gaze flicks to me again in amusement at my interruption.
“I wanted to introduce you,” I add, forcing calm into my voice, “but we need to get back to our rooms and pack.”
My father tilts his head, one eyebrow raised. “Pack?”
“Yes,” I say evenly. “My bonded and I will leave for Gravesend tomorrow. I’ve been away too long.”
The word bonded tastes wrong coming out like that. Too casual. A word that should be said intimately. But I force myself to continue.
“And she’ll come with me. Obviously,”
My father takes a slow sip of his drink to fill the silence. The most expensive suit money can buy in Gluttony wrapped around his beefy form.
“Ahhh,” he says finally. “Unfortunately, that won’t do.”
My shoulders tighten a fraction as he sets the glass down carefully.
“You see,” he continues, voice smooth as oil, “I’ve organized a family dinner for tomorrow night. And a few events in the coming days.”
“Absolutely not.” It bursts out before I can contain it. My father looks at me like he’s scolding a silly child.
“I thought it only proper,” he adds lightly, “to welcome your bonded to the family.”
His gaze slides to Arwen again, and my knuckles crack on the hand not holding hers.
“You brothers and sisters will want to meet her. And they’ve already RSVP’d. No turning back now.”
I tighten her hand in mine. My father leans back slightly, watching me now instead of her. Smiling faintly.
“She’s one of us now, after all.”
And I know the meaning behind what he’s saying. Even if he’s not saying it out loud…
And she’ll be treated like one of us.
***
We leave the club without another word, and Arwen stays close as I guide her through the building to her room.
All I can feel is the weight of what just happened pressing against my ribs. The dread. I don’t want her near a single one of my siblings, much less all of them at once.
She’s silent as we reach her door. She knows a bit about my family dynamics, but what she knows barely scratches the surface. The danger. The depravity I have to deal with daily.
I need to get my thoughts in order. I take a slow breath through my nose.
“Look,” I say, finally getting control of my voice. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. I’ll make sure you’re prepared for this.”
Her brow furrows slightly.
“Prepared for the dinner?” she asks.
I step closer without thinking, and my hand tightens around hers again, grounding me.
Her eyes stay on me, paying attention. My thoughts are spiraling. “I wish we had more time to prepare. This is important, Arwen.”
I grip her like a lifeline, hoping she understands.
“Treat Riven the same way you treated my father tonight,” I say. “He may try to dig in or ignore you fully. Either way, give him nothing.”
She nods.
“Amaya will act like she’s your best friend. She’s not,” I add before she can ask. “Don’t fall for it. Keep your guard up.”
Arwen exhales through her nose like she wants to cut in, ask questions, know more. I wish we had time, but I need to work on contingency plans.
“Just stay away from Kael,” I continue. “He probably won’t bother you and will spend his time wasting all the air in the room to talk about his ‘conquests’.”
Her eyes narrow slightly.
“Actually… stay away from Teeth too.”
“Teeth?” she repeats, one eyebrow raised.
I roll my eyes, thinking of my brother’s stupid name.
“He changed his name from Tibbon years ago,” I say. “Thinks it makes him sound more imposing. He’s not a threat, but if you speak to him, he’ll probably just try to get under your skin.”
She nods slowly. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Good,” I exhale. I hate this already.
“If you can,” I continue, “sit by Valentine. She’s probably the most trustworthy person in the room…. But! Sit as far away from Wicka as possible.”
Her eyes widen. “Slow down. This is a lot to remember.”
I huff a quick breath. “We’ll try to go over as much as possible tomorrow.”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Just remember two things for now.”
Her gaze locks onto mine again.
“Trust no one,” I say. “And if shit goes sideways—you come directly to me.”
I hold her gaze, hoping she understands the importance of those two rules.
I exhale slowly, and before I can stop myself; I lean forward and rest my forehead against hers. The contact is soft. Her body eases. Tension releasing at the contact in the same way as mine.
The warmth of her skin. The quiet hum of the bond threading between us like something alive.
I wonder—briefly, stupidly—if she knows…
If she had any sense of the feelings that were forming on my end before the bond activated. All those moments at the academy that started as intrigue, then friendship, then pulled into something more.
Did she start to feel it too? Or was it just me?
My jaw tightens slightly. Probably just me.
She had a bond to Atticus. Even if it wasn’t complete. She probably only ever saw us as friends. I have to take this slowly.
Even if everything in me is already too far gone.
I really try to remind myself of that… but my hand moves anyway and tangles into her hair at the base of her neck, anchoring her closer for just a second longer.
I tilt my head slightly and press a soft kiss to the side of her mouth.
I know I’m going to feel that on my lips for hours.
I drop my hand. “Goodnight, Arwen,” I say, turning and walking away before I can change my mind.