Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Eve
I’m feeling a certain kind of way as I watch Christian clean himself up and pull his clothes back on. What the fuck just happened between us? The sex was wild, unhinged, incredible, and I have no idea what to do with that…with him, with us.
Is there an us ?
As I watch him move around the room, my thoughts drift to the way he dealt with the pregnancy scare, his steady voice cutting through my panic. His calm confidence stirs something raw and vulnerable in me.
God , my head is a mess right now.
There’s a part of my brain that wants to pull him back into bed and straddle him again. Meanwhile, the other, more logical part is screaming to run as far away from Christian West as possible.
Rush House was supposed to be a temporary blip on my map, not...whatever the hell this is becoming. My brother, the blackmail—that’s what matters. That’s what I came here for. Not these messy, complicated feelings. Definitely not Christian looking at me like that.
I seriously need to pull myself together before I do something insane like beg him to stay.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” He leans forward and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. “Be good. Don’t leave this room. Lock the door.”
“Oh, right. Because someone in the house is trying to kill me.” I flash him a bright smile. “How could I forget?”
Just another reminder that I don’t belong here.
Focus on the plan, Eve.
I need to find Skye.
The ceremony is tonight, and she has the keys. Hopefully, she was able to find out which building they open. Otherwise…fuck, I don’t know.
When the door clicks shut behind Christian, I launch to my feet and throw something on, the first and easiest thing I can find—underwear and a cotton sundress. Then I creep down the back staircase to the kitchen.
Just as my toe touches the cold marble tiles, I nearly collide with a wall of muscle. With a sharp breath, I reel back and catch myself on the banister.
“Damn, girl.” It’s Cash, just coming up from the basement. We’re alone in the kitchen, and he’s wiping the blood off his hands with a rag. “If you wanted a feel, all you had to do was ask.”
I make a disgusted sound. “Gross,” I scoff, my gaze flicking over him. There’s something wild about how his tattooed hands are literally dripping blood while the rest of him looks like he just stepped out of a luxury brand commercial. It’s disturbing. “Hand getting tired?” I ask snidely.
Fuck, I hate him.
He laughs, the sound smooth and rich. “Just another hard day at work,” he says. “But I’m making progress. The asshole downstairs is so close to cracking, it makes my dick hard.”
“Great,” I say flatly. Hopefully, the guy has a face left when Cash is done.
He shoves the rag into his pocket. “Your boyfriend should be proud—these guys really don’t want to talk. The Sacred Sons have some very loyal minions.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I correct. “And they’re members, not minions.”
I can’t believe I’m actually defending the Burning Crown, but for the most part, the members are cool. It’s their ego-centric leaders that are the problem.
He shrugs and flashes me that perfect smile. “Same thing.”
I step around him and head for the hallway. “You’re an actual monster, Cash, you know that?”
“Birds of a feather, baby,” he laughs as I walk away. “Birds of a feather.”
Shaking my head, I move down the hall to the living room. If Skye is here, that’s where I’ll find her. As I approach, I slow down and peek around the doorframe first. The absolute last thing I need right now is to walk straight into Christian after he just told me to stay put. I quickly scan the room, and there’s no sign of him, thankfully.
But I do spot Skye. She’s sitting on the floor, cross-legged in front of someone, holding a wooden box in her hands. It must be some kind of game, because it has a green felt bottom and a row of little numbered tiles from 1 to 12 across the top.
The girl across from Skye grabs a pair of dice and rolls them. As the dice hit the felt, they both scream, “Ohhhh!” then burst out laughing.
“Skye,” I say, approaching from behind her. She doesn’t hear me. “Hey. Skye!”
Still laughing, she twists around, and when her eyes land on me, her laughter fades away. “Oh, Eve! Hey.” Something unreadable crosses her face before she quickly recovers, handing the box to the girl. She gets to her feet and stands in front of me. “I, um, have the thing you need.”
“Okay, let’s talk in the other room,” I say quietly.
With a nod, she follows me out into the hallway. I start heading toward the study, but stop cold when I hear the low murmur of male voices coming from behind the double doors. Christian and the other Sacred Sons are no doubt plotting whatever ritual nonsense they have planned for tonight.
“This way,” I whisper, motioning to the music room instead. It’s usually locked and rarely used. I open the door, checking inside before leading her through, then close it behind us.
“Okay,” I say. “What did you find out?”
Skye pulls the keys out of her pocket and places them in my palm. “Well, the guy at the Key Office was super unhelpful. He’s one of those suspicious, by-the-book kind of guys. So fucking annoying.” She rolls her eyes. “When I struck out there, I stopped by the Security Office and they were much more helpful.”
I lift my hands and flash her a frantic look. “Okay, and…?”
“The Humanities building,” she says proudly, like she’s just single-handedly deciphered the Voynich Manuscript.
“And the other key?” I ask. It must open an office in that building, but which one?
She shakes her head. “He only had the codes for the buildings, not the offices. But it’s something, right?”
I flash her a smile. “You’re awesome. What would I do without you?”
She returns my smile, that look crossing her face again—Sadness? Guilt?—I don’t know. Maybe she’s conflicted about betraying her new society.
“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” she asks.
“When everyone leaves for the ceremony, can you hang back and distract one of the guards while I slip out?”
“Yeah, sure,” she answers. “I can find a reason to come back to the house, like I forgot my jacket or something.”
“Lowe is super nice, and he’s usually stationed at the back door. He’s into Buddhism and stuff like that. He’ll talk for days about it,” I say, guilt settling like a stone in my stomach. Using what I know about Lowe against him feels wrong on so many levels, but desperate times…
Skye nods. “Okay, got it.”
We go over a few more details, then we say our goodbyes, and I quickly make my way back upstairs before Christian returns to the bedroom and finds me missing.
When I get back, I grab the decoder from the vase and slip both it and the keys into my dress pocket. Then I step in front of the standing mirror and smooth my hands down the soft cotton fabric, checking every angle to make sure nothing bulges. Perfect. No one would even know the dress has pockets, let alone that I’m carrying keys.
Climbing onto the bed with my psych textbook, I open it to some random page and lean back. I read several passages, but my mind doesn’t absorb any of them. I’m too anxious. My heart is pounding, my mind working through all the possible things that could go wrong tonight.
A while later—I don’t even know how long—there’s a soft metallic scrape of the doorknob, and it turns slowly, then the solid oak slab swings open to reveal a familiar silhouette. Christian. My eyes dart to my textbook, and I try to look casual, but my heart is racing.
“Hey,” he says, walking straight to the closet.
“Oh, hey,” is my breathless reply, like Oh, I forgot about you.
When he steps out of the closet a few minutes later, I swallow hard . The casual guy from thirty minutes ago is gone, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. He’s wearing black slacks and a black dress shirt, the fabric stretching across his broad shoulders, the buttons fighting a losing battle against his pecs. He looks like sin personified, and it makes every cell in my body purr in response.
Damn.
I bite back an appreciative whimper. He has no business looking this hot.
None.
“Let’s go,” he says, buttoning his cuffs, his eyes avoiding mine. It’s almost like he can’t look directly at me, for some reason.
I sit up a little straighter. “Where?”
Maybe he wants to grab something to eat before the ceremony?
Lifting his gaze, his eyes meet mine for the first time since walking into the room. There’s a coldness expression that wasn’t there before he left, and it takes me by surprise. What’s going on?
“The ceremony,” he replies flatly. “It starts in a few minutes.”
I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. It takes a full ten seconds for my brain to catch up. “I’m not a member,” I remind him. “So why would I go? Anyway, I have to study.”
He shakes his head and approaches the bed, hand held out to me. “You’re attending. Don’t argue,” he says, his tone hard.
Fuuuck! This derails everything. My whole plan.
Tears prick the backs of my eyes as my mind scrambles for an excuse, but I’m so thrown off by this that all I can think to blurt out is, “I don’t feel well.”
He reaches down and pulls me up by the arm, so I’m standing in front of him. He looks down at me, his eyes narrowing darkly. “Are you plotting something, Eve? Is that why you’re looking for an excuse not to come?”
Oh. Fuck.
“Um, n-no,” I say quickly, stumbling over the word like an idiot. “I just?—”
“Good,” he says, cutting me off. He turns toward the door with the expectation that I’ll follow. “Everyone’s waiting. Let’s go.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, my mind working through all the careful planning that’s crumbling like ash in my palm. The keys suddenly feel like heavy chunks of lead in my pocket. Tonight was supposed to be the night. But now Christian expects to parade me around at this stupid ritual, and there’s no way to refuse without looking suspicious.
I’ll just have to improvise. What other choice do I have? Maybe there’s a way I can sneak away during or after the ceremony, when everyone is distracted. My plan with Skye is shot to hell, but whatever. Adapt and survive, right? I’m in too deep to turn back now.
“I need a jacket,” I say. The beach is always cold at night, and this dress was meant for the sun.
“Don’t worry about it.” He opens the door and waits for me. “You’ll be wearing a cloak.”
A cloak? Um, okay. Must be a Burning Crown thing, so I don’t ask what that’s about. After being chased around this house half-naked, I’m just happy this ceremony involves any clothing at all.
He watches me, head bowed, as he holds the door open for me, and I brush past him. We leave through the back door, passing Skye and Lowe on our way out. I catch Skye’s shocked gaze as she watches us pass.
It’s pitch black as Christian and I make our way across the back lawn. There’s no moon, nothing to light our path down to the beach. But Christian seems to know every twist and bump by memory, and he offers his hand to help me past the more difficult sections.
When we land on the beach, I remove my sandals to make it easier to walk across the cold sand. Fifty or more cloaked figures have already assembled, their faces concealed behind masks, forming a silent circle around the massive bonfire, hungry flames clawing at the black sky.
Fear rises like bile in my throat. This is creepy as fuck , seriously. On the surface, this looks like some kind of cult, and I have no idea what I was expecting, but this definitely wasn’t it.
Christian is holding my hand, and must feel the hesitance in my step, because he glances back at me. “They’re waiting for us.”
“What is this?” I dig my heels into the sand to slow us down.
As we approach the bonfire, someone steps forward and hands us both a mask, along with a black robe and matching hood. I’m grateful for the thick fabric as I slip it over my shoulders. It creates a barrier against the cold.
Christian pulls me into the heart of the circle, then addresses everyone. “Brothers and Sisters of the Burning Crown,” he intones. “As winter gives way to spring, we gather to renew our sacred covenant.” He raises his hand to indicate the bonfire. “This flame is not merely a light against darkness, but the expression of our enduring principles. It’s a reminder that we must strengthen our position among the powerful and protect our secrets from unworthy hands…” His head slowly turns toward me, and he pins me down with an ice-cold stare. “...identifying those worthy of joining our circle.”
Why does that feel like it was directed at me?
Before I can even guess at what he’s talking about, he continues, “May the Vernal Awakening Ceremony remind us all that the flame of the Burning Crown burns eternally.”
The crowd erupts into a chant, “Semper Fidelis,” over and over, which means God knows what. It sounds like Latin, though the meaning is completely lost on me.
After a few seconds, the chanting dies down, and a large bowl-sized chalice gets passed around. One by one, each person lifts their mask and takes a sip before handing it off to the person next to them. When the chalice gets to me, I cup it with both hands and look down at the mysterious, dark liquid inside.
What is it? Wine? Something else?
Whatever it is, there’s no way I’m drinking it. So, without taking a sip, I quickly hand the chalice to the person next to me.
I don’t even realize Christian is watching me until he walks up with his own chalice and hands it to me. “Everyone must drink from the chalice,” he says. “It’s a symbol of unity.”
“I’m not a member,” I remind him again . “So I’m not unifying with anyone.”
I can’t see his face behind the dark mask, but I can hear the smirk in his tone when he says, “You and I were pretty unified earlier.”
“That was—” a mistake “ —different.”
His body is close, shielding me from the wind that sweeps off the surface of the ocean and cuts through the thick cloak. He lifts my mask and holds the chalice to my lips, tilting it up. “Drink. For me. This is all about building trust.”
“What is it?” I ask, but it’s too late. The liquid is already touching my lips, and when I spoke, I accidentally swallowed a little. I expected wine, but whatever it is, it’s a synthetic orange flavor, sweet with a little tang at the end.
“Don’t worry, it’s harmless,” he says, his hand pushing past my robe to settle on my stomach. Even through the fabric of my dress, his hand is warm. When he pulls his hand and the chalice away, I notice he doesn’t take a sip. Maybe he already has.
Almost immediately, I start feeling dizzy, my vision blurring. I blink up at Christian, his mask weaving in and out of focus. What the fuck did he just give me? I should probably panic, but I can’t seem to drum up the feeling. There’s a warmth spreading throughout my body, actually, and I don’t hate it.
With a deep, calming breath, I glance around. No one else seems to be reacting to their drink. In fact, they’re not doing anything at all. They’re all standing motionless in their dark robes, a forest of masked faces watching my every move with a weird hive-like focus.
“What..?” My mouth is suddenly dry, and I swallow, but that doesn’t help. “...is happening?”
My body feels like it’s been weighted down with a sack of stones, and I sway. Christian catches me, and I rest my heavy head against his warm chest.
“Before the festivities can begin, we have one last item of business…” he calls out, each word a rumble against my cheek. My eyes drift closed, the warmth of his body lulling me into a blissful feeling of contentment. “Tonight, we initiate Eve Savano into The Burning Crown.”
I hear the words, but it takes a second for my scrambled brain to make sense of them. Tonight, we initiate Eve Savano…
What?
My eyes fly open, and I push against Christian’s chest, stumbling back over the uneven sand. Christian is right there to catch me. “What is this?” I ask.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers.
My head rolls back on my shoulders, and Christian eases me down onto a blanket that’s stretched across the sand. Then I feel his warm hands on my thighs, pushing my skirt up, bunching at my waist.
“Evangeline Savano,” he says. “You come before us with the desire to become a child of the Society of the Burning Crown.”
My mask is uncomfortable, so I pull it all the way off. “No.”
He continues on, like I haven’t said anything, “You come of your own free will.”
“No,” I say, more forceful this time.
Again, no acknowledgement of my denial. “You agree to serve the order, to do whatever it requires of you without question or hesitation,” he says.
“I don’t agree.” Can he even hear me? Are my words coming out slurred? Does he not understand what I’m saying? What the fuck is happening?
“You will now be given the opportunity to show your willingness to submit to the order. You may halt the ceremony at any point, but in doing so, you will be escorted off the premises and forbidden to enter forevermore…”
That sounds great, actually. Twisting on the blanket, I try to sit up, but the weight of my body drags me back down. “I don’t want this…” My voice is weak, faint.
He’s kneeling down beside me, his hand on my face, forcing me to look at him. “You need to affirm,” he says softly.
I try to shake my head again, but he’s holding my face. “No…”
Cold metal touches my lips, followed by the taste of that distinctive orange-flavored drink. “Drink deeply from the chalice of knowledge.”
I cough as more of that awful liquid slides down my throat, and Christian helps me up slightly, elevating my head. But once the coughing subsides, he lays me down again. I suddenly feel so tired, and the world around me bleeds together like neon watercolors on a black canvas.
“This paddle represents the adversity you will endure…” His words fade further and further away, until they’re nothing but an echo at the end of a very dark tunnel.
A flash of pain lashes across my bare thighs, but I’m too out of it to even flinch, my mind registering the pain through a dense fog of numb detachment.
But somewhere in the dark corners of my mind, I know what’s happening, and I wonder—is it my soul or my will that Christian is determined to break tonight? Maybe it’s both…