Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Brooks
Istraightened the cuffs of my black robe, adjusted the collar, then raised the hood.
Tonight is the night.
When I’d officially make Daphne mine.
During past Initiations, Sons watched their Fawns break from behind video monitors.
That was how I’d done it with my first two.
I watched. They broke. I moved on.
Daphne had fucked up that simplicity.
Part of me wanted a front-row seat to her breaking.
The other part wanted her to know I was there if she did.
Which is fucking pathetic.
I’d even told her the video of her dad was fake. That little performance had been my father’s brilliant idea. It was meant to gut her, and it had. I’d watched the life drain from her face when she thought her father was being murdered.
I fucking hated it.
Her father would happily dance on my dad’s grave, but Daphne would never speak to me again if I murdered hers.
It seemed there were limits to how far I was willing to go for revenge when it came to her.
With Sinclair, I’d had to ask permission to kill him. At first, everyone told me I’d lost my fucking mind. You couldn’t just kill a professor without enough reason.
So, I found them more reasons.
Nico hacked into the university database and dug up prior complaints from female students. Daphne wasn’t the first one. There were even rape accusations buried in his history. After that, the vote was unanimous.
The Initiation Chamber was cold when I walked in. Hundreds of candles cast dancing shadows across the room.
Daphne was already waiting for me in the center.
My Fawn.
The black robe swallowed her body, but I knew every inch hidden under it. Every curve. Every place that made her shiver.
Above us, rows of masked figures stared down from the tiers. On the main level, the other Sons stood like statues against the wall.
I adjusted my mask and headed straight for her. Her gaze cut through the shadows and found mine.
I stepped in front of her, pulled off my mask, and dropped it at our feet. Up close, I could see exactly how hard she was working not to fall apart.
“Daphne,” I silently mouthed.
Just for her.
No one else needed to see that shit.
I’d told everyone that choosing Daphne was nothing more than revenge.
A Fawn I wanted because Cory wanted her.
A way to punish her father.
I wasn’t sure I believed my bullshit anymore.
And I sure as fuck didn’t need anyone else figuring that out.
I scanned her from head to toe, taking in her black robe. Hers had a hidden heart sewn into the lining, and a D wrapped in a saint’s halo marked her sleeve.
Then I noticed the blood staining her hair.
Sinclair’s.
Nothing ruined a moment like another man’s blood in your Fawn’s hair.
I would tear the world apart for this woman.
Bleed out on this fucking concrete for her.
Kill anyone who tried to hurt her.
And soon, I’d have to let her go.
Daphne was supposed to be temporary.
One year to fuck her out of my system. One year to punish her, possess her, get my fill of her until I could finally walk away.
Except every time I fucked her, I wanted her more.
Every time I had her, I got greedier.
I stared down at her. “Kneel.”
She dropped to her knees without a fight.
Enzo stepped forward. “Who kneels before the Son?”
“Electa mea,” I said to the room.
“My chosen,” I mouthed to her.
For one fucked-up second, it felt like a wedding.
Except our altar was concrete, our witnesses wore masks, and Sinclair’s blood was still in my bride’s hair.
“Is she unclaimed?” Enzo asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
Enzo held my stare as he gave the final command. “Mark her. Name her. Bind her.”
The masked men began to chant.
“A Fawn claimed is a Fawn protected. With blood, she is chosen. From us, she shall be free. Stay loyal. Do not run.”
I didn’t join them.
Only looked at Daphne before pulling her to her feet.
I closed my fingers around her wrist, then turned her hand over and slowly dragged my thumb across her palm.
Years ago, I’d overheard Daphne and Adelina debating palmistry and how every line in your hand held some secret about your life. I’d called bullshit. After that, I’d gone home and researched the fucking thing anyway.
I’d wanted to know what those lines said about Daphne.
And maybe what mine said about me.
I ran my thumb along the curved crease wrapping around the base of hers.
Life line.
I found the one cutting toward the center of her palm.
Fate line.
I followed it more closely.
I’d spent my entire life thinking fate was bullshit people used to make sense of shit they couldn’t control. Now I wanted to believe in it for one pathetic reason—I wanted to be somewhere in hers.
Finally, I found her heart line.
The one I wanted to believe somehow led to me.
Enzo handed me his knife. I’d asked to use his instead of mine since it’d gotten him a somewhat compliant Fawn.
Maybe some of that luck would rub off on me.
I traced Daphne’s heart line with the tip of the blade. Her fingers twitched when it broke skin, and I tightened my hold around her wrist before she could pull away.
She watched me the entire time.
I wanted to do the same thing, but cutting up her hand because I couldn’t stop looking at her would be fucking stupid.
She hissed between her teeth as I carefully dragged the blade along the crease. One bead of blood surfaced. Then another. Soon, red filled the lines of her palm.
I’d wanted Daphne for years.
Hated her for some of them.
Wanted revenge.
Tried fucking her out of my system.
I’d tried everything except admitting the one thing becoming harder to ignore.
None of it had fucking worked.
Now, I was standing in front of the Night Sons, carving my claim into a line that supposedly controlled her heart.
How fucking poetic.
“Electa mea,” I said.
I passed the knife back to Enzo and offered him my open palm.
Right before he cut me, I caught his wrist. “I want her to do it.”
Enzo frowned. “What?”
“I want her to cut me.”
He glared at me.
I knew what he was thinking.
This wasn’t how the ceremony worked.
The Son marked the Fawn. Not the other way around.
Giving Daphne the blade shattered the hierarchy the Sons had spent generations protecting.
Fuck tradition right now.
Enzo sighed before handing me the knife. Agitated murmurs rippled through the tiered balconies. I ignored them all.
Daphne accepted, her grip unsteady.
I opened my palm for her, but she only stared at it.
“Do it.” I pushed my hand closer.
She wrapped her fingers around my wrist.
A sharp sting sliced across my palm. I didn’t flinch or look down.
I watched her.
Her concentration. The slight pinch between her brows. The way her lips parted when the blade cut deeper.
Pain burned through my hand, and I savored it. She was marking me. I loved it. When blood spilled into my palm, I smiled. That smile turned into a full-ass grin when she pressed harder.
There’s my girl.
Enzo reached for the knife, but I caught Daphne first and pressed our bleeding palms together. Warm blood slicked between us as I threaded my fingers through hers.
“All right, man,” Enzo warned under his controlled breath.
I held on for one more second before forcing myself to let go.
After taking the knife from Daphne, I passed it to Enzo. I cupped her jaw with my bloody palm, dragging a red streak across her cheek.
My blood. Our blood.
We were bonded by blood.
By words.
And by her fucking heart line.
“She is Chosen,” Enzo declared. “She is sworn. The Fawn is claimed.”