I stiffen on Xavier’s lap, and he goes rigid underneath me, our bodies now flooded with adrenaline instead of desire. He’s quick to remove his fingers from my pussy, his gaze sharp.
“What’s going on?” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
The leaders of the Order, enigmatic and authoritative, step onto the dais as the lights turn on, their presence demanding the attention of everyone in the room. They stand with their masks firmly in place, their cloaked figures the stuff of nightmares.
“Recruits, it’s time,” one of them says.
The influx of conversation ceases, the atmosphere shifting palpably as the weight of the summons lands on those present. It’s a call to embrace the path they’ve chosen—or that has been chosen for them. For me, it’s a stark reminder of my place here,not just as Xavier’s bride, but as a pawn in a game whose rules I’m still learning.
Xavier’s expression hardens. He turns to me, his voice low and urgent. “You need to go back to the dorm room. It’ll be safe there. Wait for me, and don’t leave my room under any circumstances, no matter what anyone tells you about me.” He pauses, and then, “Or McKenzie.”
I ignore his hesitation concerning Ben, too focused on the panic building inside me. “But I?—”
My protest is cut short by the widening of his gaze, the alarm swirling in its depths a silent plea for obedience. His facial expression is a look that speaks of battles fought in the past, of the countless times he’s had to don the mantle of the Order’s expectations to his detriment. The undercurrent of concern for my safety is unmistakable. It tugs at my heart, adding to my resistance to leave.
I shake my head, hard enough for wisps of hair to slap my cheeks.
Xavier digs his fingers into my hip. “Delilah, please. For me,” he adds, his voice hoarse, revealing the strain of the moment.
Xavier has never said “please” to me.Ever.
I slowly nod, reluctantly accepting his decision, even as a part of me rebels against the idea of being parted from him. Especially now, when everything is uncertain and the threat of danger surrounds us.
“Okay, I’ll wait for you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the sudden tightness in my throat.
He kisses my temple, his lips lingering as though he’s tortured by the thought of leaving me. “I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”
He offers me this promise while brushing his thumb against the slope of my neck in a comforting gesture. I lean into histouch, soaking in these final seconds with him. For all I know, I’ll never see him again.
“You better not die, or I’m going to be fucking pissed,” I say. I wait for him to smirk or give me an incredulous look. He does neither. His gaze remains steadfast, the gravity of what lies ahead clouding his eyes, making them a dull, metallic gray.
“I won’t. I have too much to live for, little raptor.”
Before I can respond, Xavier deposits me on my feet. He keeps his hands on my waist, the hesitation clear in every ounce of strain in his body. It’s as though he wants to say something else, something that’ll change the dynamic of our relationship.
I wait, not daring to breathe while my lungs scream for air. Instead of speaking, he takes a step back, his arms falling to his sides. The act severs the connection between us, but the warmth of his touch lingers, a silent promise in the cold air.
After one final look, he turns in the direction of the other recruits gathered in front of the dais. Each step he takes away from me feels like a tether unraveling, each stride testing the invisible string that binds us. He doesn’t falter, his posture resolute, the set of his shoulders indicating he’s already bracing himself for whatever lies ahead.
The recruit has put on his proverbial mask.
I stand there, surrounded by the buzz of conversation generated by the spectators and the rustle of movement as some people make their way toward the exits. The air in the ballroom is filled with a tension that makes it hard to breathe. I can almost taste the tang of anxiety, and my tongue rails against the bitterness.
A profound isolation, despite being in a crowd of people, descends on me. Xavier, Declan, and Ben follow the leaders, funneled toward an ominous set of doors that could lead to their doom. I wrap my arms around my middle to steady myself, touching the place where Xavier’s hands were, thewarmth a fleeting memory now. His last look—intense and full of unspoken words—stays firmly planted at the forefront of my mind.
What did he want to say to me? Will I ever get a chance to hear it?
Turning slightly, I catch my reflection in one of the grand mirrors that line the ballroom walls. The woman staring back at me appears strong, composed on the surface. If you miss the tumultuous emotion swirling in her eyes behind the mask.
Before I can turn away from the mirror, a shadow looms over my shoulder in the glass. The reflection is masked, yet instantly recognizable by the timbre of his voice—a familiar deep, cold murmur that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Bride,” the council member says, his voice barely more than a whisper but laden with menace.
Without waiting for a response, Xavier’s father clamps a hand down on my arm, his grip painfully tight. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“You will come with me,” he says.
