“You’re dismissed,” he says. “But I’ll be watching, Xavier. They all will.”
Ten founding families. Hundreds of years of history. Thousands of members that have gone before me.
And one girl who makes my life worth living.
Chapter 5
XAVIER
Freshman Year at South Harbor University
A few weeks later...
Mors solum initium.
Death is only the beginning.
The ancient words resonate in my mind, in both languages. They dig into my psyche like an ax to wood, slowly chipping away at my calm demeanor. I knew this day would come, but it won’t be my last on this earth.
It could be for a weaker man.
Someone rips off the hood covering my head, leaving me to blink away the darkness. My vision is slow to adjust, but my instincts are fired up, ready to push me into action. To kill.
I’d bet my inheritance that’s why the league of assassins brought me here.
I’m quick to scan my surroundings, taking note of the others. My competitors. The men who will either be my brothers-in-arms or the ones who will attack me.
The setting for our initiation is a castle dungeon, a structure that’s probably older than the Obsidian Order itself. The air is thick with the scents of dirt, stone, and fear. A flickering torch along the wall provides light for us to see, but the space is still dark enough to create an ominous atmosphere.
The cold, unforgiving floor underneath me slowly drains my body’s warmth, just as the chains around my wrists and ankles clinking together siphon my patience. The sensation of being bound, of being another’s prisoner has memories clawing my mind, drawing metaphorical blood.
I’m more than ready to drawactualblood, if only to repress the dark images trying to emerge.
I run my gaze over the twelve other men sharing my predicament. All of them are like me, sons from one of the ten founding families. All of us were born for this purpose.
Except one.
The newcomer’s brow is furrowed with the standard “what the fuck” expression. He doesn’t bother to hide his shock or his frustration at being shackled. But he should. Giving anyone insight into your thoughts puts you at a disadvantage.
He’ll learn soon enough… or he’ll die.
A man stands in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, a pile of black hoods resting at his feet. If Mark Barnum could get away with it, he’d have a pile of corpses next to him instead. I don’t know anyone more ruthless than him, someone willing to do whatever it takes to survive.
Except me.
“Listen up, recruits.” Mark’s voice rings out, instantly silencing the mutterings of those around him. I summon my inner fortitude, the one that has kept me alive through a lifetime of torture. Both physical and mental. There’s nothing he can say that I can’t handle.
Mark grins. “You assholes aren’t getting out of here until someone dies.”
This immediately goes from being a dungeon to an arena. Blood will be spilled. It just won’t be mine.
From the corner of my eye, I watch the newcomer’s reaction. The young man runs a hand through his blonde hair, rattling his chains, and bringing everyone’s attention to him. Poor bastard just made himself a target.
The rest of us have been trained for this. Bred for this. Joining the Obsidian Order as an elite assassin is akin to serving our family. It’s an honor.
One that’s not allowed to be refused.
“To make thingsinteresting,” Mark says, drawing out the word, “I’ve provided an incentive.” He removes three knives from the back pocket of his jeans and places them by his feet. “Mors solum initium, motherfuckers.”
