Chapter Thirty-Seven
I’ve longsince stopped pitying the fledglings, no matter how brutally their trials test them.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
They chose this, after all. They were given a chance—multiple chances—to escape. They were shown exactly what the Order had in store for them, and they still elected to join.
But I still hate bearing witness to their initiation rites. The girls, especially. Stripped to nothing, paraded around like whores for my father and his greasiest associates. It’s fucking revolting—and it’s not like there’s anything good waiting for them on the other side of the trials. Wealth, maybe, but that doesn’t mean much when you’re locked in a loveless marriage and sentenced to a lifetime of meek servitude.
And this fledgling—when her eyes met mine, I almost thought?—
I can’t let myself believe it. Lia can’t be a part of the Order. She’s my escape from that hell, the one thing that I’m allowing myself to claim. Plenty of girls have blonde hair and hazel eyes. My Lia wouldn’t have disgraced herself like that, crawling all over some sweaty old man’s lap. Hell, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and join the Order—and my father would never invite her in the first place. She’s here on a scholarship, for fuck’s sake. She’s nothing more than trash in his eyes.
Still, since the night at the casino, I can’t help keeping her closer. She starts spending nights at the frat house, even begins getting along with some of the guys—she and Freddie really seem to be hitting it off, but not in a way that makes me jealous. If anything, he treats her like a favorite little sister—and she puts up with it, no matter how many times I tell her that she doesn’t need to bother.
I know I’m fucking up, but it’s hard to make myself care.
Seeing her dance. Showing her the Crypt. Spending night after night with her flaming hot body under mine, my hands tangled in her hair—each time lasts a little longer, goes a little further.
All of it. Overwhelming me. She’s like a fucking addiction, and I know that the more I indulge myself, the harder it’s going to be to rip myself away when that day inevitably comes.
I have to believe it’ll come. If I don’t, I might start to hope that things will stay this way forever.
They can’t. Lia thinks she knows me, and maybe she does, to an extent. But not really. She doesn’t have any idea who I am at my core, and she never can. Not only because she would despise me—I could force myself to deal with that—but because it would put her in danger, and I would rather break her heart a thousand times over than risk her life.
What the hell would she think if she knew the shit that I get up to? I’m used to leading a double life, but over the past several weeks, it’s more like I’ve been split into three. One version of me is cold and stoic, the merciless king of the GODs and Viscount of the Order. Then there’s the traitor, the one who’s been sneaking away to the city every weekend, donning an enforcer’s apparel, and doing everything in my ability to fuck up my father’s twisted web of evildoing. To Freddie’s delight, that’s meant a hell of a lot of torture lately—probably more than necessary, but if he wants to, in his own words, spice up an interrogation, I’ve been tending to let him go for it. Every part of me that once would have cared is occupied with something else now. With the third side of my life. The most tender and the most terrifying of the three. The side I show to Lia.
Right now, lying in bed with her soft, sleeping form beside me, it’s hard to understand how I got to this point. When did I stop being careful? It was supposed to be straightforward. I was supposed to sleep with her once, just to get her out of my head, and then return to my normal nightmare of a life. Instead, I was weak. I didn’t stop. I kept on seeing her, and the ache didn’t ease up.
It’s not just about her body anymore.
I’m beginning to think it never was.
She stirs in her sleep, nuzzling against my shoulder. I lift a hand and parse my fingers through her hair in slow, smooth motions. She relaxes under my touch, easing back into a deeper slumber.
The sooner I end this, the better. For both of us.
But—God, just the thought of it is almost enough to make me physically sick. It’s not going to be easy, that’s for fucking sure. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to look her in the eyes when I explain that all of this was a mistake. That she might think that she wants to be with me, but that’s not true. It can’t be true, for her own sake.
I can already imagine her voice—maybe thickened with tears, maybe dry and ice-cold.
Was any of it real, then?
And I’ll have to lie. That’s the easiest way to do it. A clean break.
Though I have a feeling it’s not going to be that easy. Not just because she’s seen too much and might not believe me when I try to break it off. But more so because I’m not sure I’m ready for it to end. To stop this between us. There’s something about her that I don’t want to let go.
Maybe it’s selfish of me to want to keep her, knowing that the longer she’s with me the more her life could potentially be at risk. But I can’t help it. Hell, I don’t want to help it.
But I have too. I have to let her go, it’s for the best.
It’ll hurt her, but she’ll get over it. And maybe someday, I will as well.
A rattling buzz draws me from my thoughts—my phone, vibrating against my bedside table. Lia stirs at the sound, eyelashes fluttering.
“Shh,” I murmur. “It’s okay. Just a text message.”
“Mm… s’loud.” She presses her face against my bare chest, her breath tingling across my skin.
“I know. I’ll take care of it.”
I reach over and grab my phone, planning to just put it on silent—but the sight of the message on my screen freezes me in place.
Anonymous: CRYPT. NOW.
“I have to go,” I growl.
“What? Why?” Lia props herself up on an elbow and frowns, blinking sleep out of her eyes. Her hair spills over the swell of her perfectly round breasts in a frenzied tangle as the curve of her waist seems to invite me below the blanket?—
But I can’t keep my father waiting.
“Just frat business. Nothing interesting. It might be a while, though—don’t wait on me.”
She pulls herself fully upright as I swing my legs out of bed. “I don’t mind staying for a bit—do you have a copy of that reading for Winters? I was meaning to finish it up this morning.”
“It’s lying around somewhere—but seriously.” I tug on my boxers and T-shirt. “You should get out of here. I don’t want you here with the other guys—I don’t trust them to leave you alone.”
She sighs, but doesn’t protest further. “Can I see you later, at least? Maybe we can get lunch?”
“Dinner’s more likely.”
“Okay… and—Ryker?”
“Mm?”
“Are you… okay?”
Wasn’t expecting that. I frown over my shoulder. She’s still sitting in bed, wide-eyed and solemn-faced.
“What do you mean, am I okay?”
“You seem stressed. Or… distracted, or something.”
“I’m fine.”
“Ryker.” A frown darkens her face. “You know you can be honest with me. If there’s anything I can do?—”
“There’s not.” I finish getting dressed and run a hand through my hair. Could really use a shower, but my father sure as hell won’t be willing to wait for something like that. “You’re imagining things. I’ll text you later.”
I don’t look back again—don’t want to see the look on her face.
I do, however, knock on Freddie’s door before I go.
“Huh?” he calls from inside. From the slurry quality of his voice, he’s only half-awake.
“I’ve got to run. Lia’s in my room—make sure she gets out of here without issue.”
“Mm… mhm. I got you.”
I’d be more assured if he didn’t sound borderline comatose, but this’ll have to do—all the more so because my phone is buzzing again.
Anonymous: Five minutes. I am not in the mood to be tested.
Me: I’m coming
He’s going to grill me about the girl, no doubt. And I’m going to have nothing to tell him… again. The list that Dixon made for me ended up coming to nothing—at this point, it’s clear that not a single girl on campus bears any substantial resemblance to Rosalinda Lombardi. I’ll have to tell my dad that his info must have been faulty, which means that I’m anticipating a decent share of bruises, maybe even a lashing or two. The whole don’t shoot the messenger concept isn’t something that Draven has ever subscribed to.
Still, maybe he’ll at least decide that he can give up on the stupid fucking task. That would be a hell of a relief—I’ve got enough on my shoulders without trying to hunt down a girl who doesn’t even seem to exist.
But when have I ever been that lucky?