Loyal stayed frozen near the windows. The city burning behind him. Silent. Breathless. Like me. Like all of us now.
Wolfe stopped in front of me. No ceremony. No speech. He lifted the strap. Let it fall across the back of my shoulders once. Soft. Barely a whisper against my skin.
I flinched. Not from pain. From recognition. From understanding. From the weight of the ritual being demanded.
He lifted it again. Let it fall. Another whisper. Another promise. Not loud enough for bruises. Loud enough for obedience.
The third time—he paused. Held the strap against the base of my spine. A single point of pressure. “You speak,” Wolfe said, voice low and final, “you buck.”
Another pause. “Not because you’re weak.Because worship costs.”
I used to think pain was punishment. But Wolfe taught me it could be a gift. A currency I could offer—just to keep kneeling.
The words slid into the hollow places inside me. The ones that used to hold rebellion. Hope. Dreams. Now they only held Wolfe’s breath.
His permission. His leash. And it was beautiful. And it was awful. And it was mine. The strap fell again. Not hard. Not cruel. Just enough. A breath against the raw skin of my obedience.
“Again,” Wolfe said. The word wasn’t a suggestion. It was command. It was leash. It was love, carved out of breath and pain.
I bowed deeper. Hands splayed flat on the marble. Forehead lowering to the cold floor. The leash burned. The collar bit. And I stayed there. Breathing. Bleeding. Belonging tohim.
Exactly where he wanted me. Exactly where I needed to be.
The marble was cold against my forehead. The chain at my throat heavy against the back of my neck. The leather strap Wolfe used rested lightly across my shoulders. No blood. No bruises. Only memory. Only obedience pressed into skin and breath and bone.
Wolfe stood in front of me. Silent. Unmoving. His breath a storm I wasn’t allowed to touch. Royal drifted somewhere behind him. I could feel the amusement rolling off his body like smoke. Loyal stood farther away. Silent. Trembling. Breaking in slow, unseen places.
I had knelt so long my muscles shook under the strain. But I didn’t collapse. Because collapsing would be betrayal. And worship doesn’t collapse without permission. Worship breathes. Bleeds. Survives. No matter how badly it hurts. No matter how much the world falls apart.
A phone buzzed across the marble. Sharp. Final. Someone picked it up. Royal maybe. It didn’t matter. Because the change hit the room like a gunshot. Not loud. But deep. Final.
I stayed frozen. Breathing shallowly. Because even without words, I knew. Selene. Another leak. Another cut. Another crown smashed against marble.
Wolfe finally moved. One step closer. Boots whispering across the floor. The leash at my throat tightened. Not physically. But spiritually. Emotionally. Completely.
He crouched. Two fingers hooked under my chin. Lifted my face until I was forced to meet his eyes. Winter. Steel. Gravity. “No sound.”
A whisper. A law. A promise. I nodded. Tiny. Trembling. Because breaking now would be worse than dying. Because breaking now would mean admitting there was something inside me she could still reach. And Wolfe wouldn’t allow that.
I wouldn’t allow that.
The second wave of whispers rolled through the city that night. Not Camille this time. Me. Photos.Rumors.Accusations whispered behind glasses of bourbon and glasses of blood.
They didn’t even need facts. They had images. They had proof. They had the sight of a girl kneeling at the feet of kings and smiling through the ruin.
And I stayed.
And even if Selene sharpened every knife in the city?—
I would still kneel.
Because worship wasn’t weakness. It was devotion. It was survival. It was breath. And it belonged to him now.
Completely.
And if the city tried to strip it away—I’d give it again.
On my knees.
