CHAPTER TWO
Idon't realize Elijah is stopping until he gently bumps his arm against mine. It's kind of a sweetly playful gesture for a hotheaded hockey player like him.
"What are you worried about?" he asks, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry beyond the space between us.
I glance away, forcing my shoulders into something that feels casual even though nothing about me feels casual right now.
“Nothing important, really,” I say, because it’s easier than explaining the way my thoughts have been circling the same point all afternoon, tightening and tightening until I can barely breathe around them.
Elijah lets out a quiet snort, and I know that means he doesn’t believe me for a second. “You’ve been chewing on your bottom lip for the last twenty minutes.”
My hand immediately flies to my mouth. “I have not.”
“I haven’t taken my eyes off of you all night,” he says, and there’s a faint edge of amusement in his voice now, like he can sense the heat rushing to my face at his admission.
“Even when you were ready to pummel Jonathan?” I shoot back at him, and I have to curb my laughter when his nostrils flare and he twists his neck, looking behind us where the group is still bickering.
“I would have fucking murdered him if he said you were going to be his Chosen One again.” I push up on my toes and brush the wavy dark hair out of Elijah’s eyes.
Gosh, he’s just absolutely stunning.
Elijah’s long fingers come up to cup my face, ensuring that I can’t look away from him. “I want all of your attention right now…” he trails off, like he wants to add something, but settles on, “what’s bothering you, little dove? Tell me, and I’ll fix it.”
A sigh slips out of me before I can stop it, heavier than I mean it to be. The words feel lodged somewhere behind my ribs, like they’ve been waiting for the right moment to bubble out all day and I’ve finally run out of ways to keep them buried. “I got my letter from the Society today.”
The shift in Elijah’s mood is immediate.
Whatever teasing warmth had been in his expression drains away so quickly it almost feels like watching a light go out.
He doesn’t ask me what the letter said. He doesn’t need to.
We share a quiet, resigned understanding that comes from growing up in the same world, under the same rules, where certain things are never questioned because they’ve always been inevitable.
Of course he knows what that means. He and Jonathan both are going to be in the first ceremony of the year, which means I could be paired with either one of them. Or one of the other eight Saints initiates.
My stomach plummets at the thought.
He nods once, slowly, and turns his gaze back toward the ocean as if he needs the distance to process what I’ve said. “I didn’t think they would be sending them until the semester starts,” he says quietly. His sharp jaw flexes, and I know he’s grinding his molars.
"I don't want them deciding my life," I admit quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
"They won't," Elijah says at once, as if the answer is simple, as if his certainty alone is enough to make it true.
I look up at him, needing to see whether he actually believes it or if he's just saying it because it's what I need to hear. His blue eyes are already on me, steady and unwavering.
"They already did," I say, and even though my voice is soft, it feels like the truth lands heavier than anything else between us. “It’s very likely the Elders already know who I’ll be given to at the ceremony.”
Elijah shakes his head immediately; it’s a small, stubborn motion that doesn't leave room for argument.
"They can decide whatever bullshit ceremony they want," he says, his tone sharpening just slightly now, frustration bleeding through the calm.
"I have been stewing on this for months. Years, really. I won’t let them give you to anyone. "
"Elijah—" I start, because we both know the repercussions. Even the Moretti name and money can’t protect Elijah from Onyx Dominion.
"No." The word cuts through my protest cleanly, in a way that makes it impossible to interrupt him. There is no hesitation in it, no space for doubt, just the kind of certainty that has always made people listen to him without question.
I never question him when he tells me something.
Elijah steps closer then, closing the small distance between us until he’s brushing against me.
He’s so freaking big. It's such a simple contact, barely anything at all, but the familiarity of it settles something restless inside me, easing the tightness in my chest in a way I don't know how to explain.
"You're my best friend," he says quietly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, like it has always been true and always will be. "Do you honestly think I'm going to let anything happen to you?"
The question catches in my throat, tightening around everything I want to say but can't quite manage to form. I want to believe him. God, I want to believe him more than anything, because believing him would mean believing that none of this has to end the way I already fear it will.
But the Society has existed longer than any of us, older than our families. And boys like Elijah—even boys born into families as powerful as the Morettis—don't get to rewrite traditions simply because they don't like them. Not when those traditions were built to outlast all of us.
Changes have been made in the past within the Society. It started off as one unit and then branched off into The Sinners, The Saints, and Onyx Dominion. The premise is the same, but the way in which they function is very different.
Another burst of shouting echoes across the rocks, cutting through our moment. I can hear Annabell screeching, but I can’t tell who she’s directing her outburst toward.
"For fuck's sake!" Benjamin’s voice is unmistakable. He sounds far more annoyed and bothered to be in the presence of mere mortals than anyone who has ever lived.
When I glance toward the sound, I realize that Annabell and Jonathan are out of sight.
I finally spot Benjamin farther down the rocks where Paris is sitting beside him with her knees tucked against her chest. She's laughing at Noah’s crude hand gestures while Benjamin looks approximately one second away from throwing his brother into the crashing waves.
And despite everything, I can’t help it—I laugh too. The sound has barely left me when warm fingers slide gently beneath my chin. My heart stutters in a way I’ve never felt before.
Elijah turns my face back toward him with a touch so careful it almost doesn't feel real, and suddenly there’s nothing but the boy I’ve known my entire life standing in front of me.
Elijah’s eyes search mine with an intensity that makes me think he must be able to read my mind. "Hey," he murmurs, like the simple word is meant to calm me.
His thumb brushes lightly along my jaw, and I can't help thinking how strange it is that everyone on campus talks about Elijah Moretti like he's a lit match waiting for someone to strike.
They whisper about his temper before he even walks into a room, about the way people move out of his path in the halls because no one wants to be on the receiving end of it, yet standing here, he's looking at me like I'm something impossibly fragile.
There's nothing harsh in his expression now, nothing reckless or intimidating.
If anything, he looks almost... gentle, and I think that's somehow more dangerous because this version of him is mine alone.
"You calm me down, little dove," he murmurs, his voice barely louder than the waves crashing against the cliffs below. "I want to have the same effect on you."
My chest tightens so suddenly that I have to look away before he notices.
"You already do." The words come out quieter than I mean them to, almost lost to the wind, and I immediately wish I hadn't said anything at all.
He doesn't let me retreat, though. His hand slips from beneath my chin to the small of my back, drawing me another step closer until the toes of my sneakers nearly touch his. Elijah towers over me, and somehow instead of feeling trapped, I only feel... safe.
“I’m going to fix everything. Do you trust me?” he asks softly. His hand remains steady at my waist, grounding me in a way that makes it harder to lie, harder to pretend I’m not suddenly aware of everything I’ve been trying to push down.
I shake my head almost immediately, the motion small and instinctive, because saying it out loud would make it real in a way I’m not ready to face.
My throat tightens as I force the words out anyway, barely above a whisper.
“Of course I trust you.” I can feel the weight of his gaze sharpen as if he already knows I’m hiding something.
I swallow, looking away for half a second before adding, quieter still, “It’s stupid. ”
“Tell me.”
I let out a slow breath, watching it disappear into the salty breeze before I finally meet his eyes again. “I know what happens after the Choosing Ceremony."
I see his jaw tighten. The muscles flex beneath his skin, and his eyes darken with something that looks a lot like disgust. Whoever I’m paired with will put the ring from the chain on their neck on my finger.
I’ll kiss their neck, leaving my lipstick print, and then it’s done.
I’ll be owned, and the only thing left is the tradition of the chase.
My Saint’s mask will stay on, and I’ll be given a head start.
My stomach rolls at the thought of losing my virginity to someone like Jonathan in that way.
"I haven't even..." My voice catches embarrassingly in my throat.
"I haven't even kissed someone. I’m starting to regret following the rules. "
“I know you haven’t.” Elijah’s words land between us with a quiet finality that makes me blink, like I’ve misheard him. It’s true he’s the closest person to me, but I’ve never told him about my love life.
“What?” I ask, because it doesn’t make sense—because there’s no way he could possibly know that. Confusion washes over me in a slow, disorienting wave. My brows knit together as I search his face for anything that explains it. “How?” I finally manage, the word slipping out softer than I intended.
The corner of Elijah’s mouth twitches, but there's nothing playful about it.
"Because it was my doing. I've made damn sure every guy who's ever wanted to...
" He exhales sharply, dragging one hand through his dark hair before looking back at me, a petulant scowl fixed on his handsome face. "And there have been a lot, Blair."
He what?
Elijah doesn’t pause long enough for me to ask any questions. He sounds so annoyed at the thought of anyone wanting to kiss me that I almost laugh. "No one wanted to see what I’d do if they even thought about touching your pretty lips."
I stare at him, completely stunned, my mind struggling to catch up with what he’s just admitted. “You what?” I ask, my voice coming so high that I'm embarrassed.
“I.” He leans closer. “Threatened.” His hand comes up, and his thumb swipes across my bottom lip. “Their.” He pulls me close to his hard body and his lips purse into a pout. “Insignificant.” His hand slides down my back and rests directly on my ass. “Lives.”
“Elijah,” I say only his name, and it comes out so breathlessly that he smirks, clearly impressed with the effect he’s having on me.
"I would've killed them if they tried to touch you," he tells me as his fingers flex into the globe of my ass. “Fuck, Blair,” he groans my name.
My heart is beating so loudly now that I wouldn’t be surprised if he can hear it.
Elijah studies me for another long moment, his gaze drifting from my eyes to my mouth before slowly finding its way back again. I feel the weight of his gaze over my entire body, like he's memorizing me, and suddenly breathing feels far more difficult than it should.
He speaks quietly, like the words are meant only for me, like the rest of the world doesn’t deserve to hear them. “No one is going to steal your first kiss…” His fingers slide up a little farther around my waist, tightening just enough to anchor me in place against him. “…except me.”
Elijah lowers his head so slowly that I have more than enough time to pull away, to turn my face, to stop what’s coming before it starts. Every instinct I have should be screaming at me to move, to breathe, to think. I don’t. I can’t.
The first brush of his mouth against mine is so impossibly soft that I almost wonder if I imagined it, but then his lips graze mine again, lingering this time, and the smallest gasp escapes me before I can stop it.
Elijah smiles into the kiss. I actually feel him smile. And that alone makes me want to kick my feet and giggle.
The sound I make must encourage him because his arm tightens around my waist, drawing me fully against him until every inch of me fits against his taller frame like we've always belonged this way.
One of my hands instinctively curls against the front of his T-shirt, bunching the fabric between my fingers as warmth blooms through my entire body.
Elijah and I have been through so many things in the time we’ve known each other, but none of the history, none of the years, none of the moments stitched between us—has ever felt like this.
Just as I'm beginning to melt into him, just as my eyes drift closed and I stop thinking about Black Crown, the Choosing Ceremony, and every impossible thing waiting for us back at St. Augustine, a scream tears through the air.
The scream is so sharp and filled with terror that my skin prickles with dread. Then comes the thud, and a loud crack that could only be someone's skull smacking against the rocks.
A heartbeat later, there’s the unmistakable sound of something striking the water far below us, followed by a harsh, echoing splash.
I turn toward the source of the sound just as Elijah’s hand closes around mine, firm and instinctive, pulling me slightly closer without a word. His grip is protective in a way that no longer feels soft or romantic. There’s an urgency like he’s bracing for impact.
“Don’t come over here,” Ben calls to us. “It’s not good.”
It’s with those words that I realize that every one of our lives is about to be divided into two parts.
Everything before tonight.
And everything that comes after.