The Shadows carried her back to the House, wrapped in her robe, shivering so hard I thought she may fall into convulsions. The King’s word is law: no cage tonight, but no key to her old room either. She hasn’t earned doors that lock from the inside.
Hunter and I wait in the bedroom, the iron chandelier hanging overhead. Ares lies on his bed in the corner, ears pointed, amber eyes tracking every breath.
For the first time in weeks, my pulse is quiet. Out there in the circle, ringed by torches and silent brothers, I released the anger andrage I’d been holding since the fire and took her the way I was born to. It was deep and ruthless, no mercy, no pretending like her pussy wasn’t made for me. I spilled inside her, readying her for the final phase of the rites.
She’s not the only one cleansed by the ceremony. I look over at Hunter and ask, “How are you doing?”
He thinks on it for a minute, eyes cast to the ceiling. “Honestly, better than I expected.”
“Right?” I say with a dark laugh. “These fucking Royals and their rituals. Maybe they really do know what they’re doing.”
In the adjoining bathroom, the shower shuts off with a metallic scream.
While Hunter leans against the dresser, arms folded, I’m busy. Focused. I feel him watching me unroll the black leather kit on the low table beside the bed. Everything is exactly where it should be: steel bowl of isopropyl, cobalt gloves, the sealed 14-gauge needle, the receiving tube still cold from the autoclave, the curved silver hoop I chose months ago because it warms fast against living skin. Iodine, gauze, a tube of lidocaine I probably won’t use, and the small steel tray waiting for waste.
Hunter raises a brow. “What are you doing?”
“Preparing my kit.” I line the forceps up exactly parallel to the needle. “You said you wanted to watch next time.”
He exhales through his nose, half laugh, half something hungrier, and nods once.
She belongs to all of us tonight, the ritual proved that. But tomorrow, the day after, and every day that follows, she needs to feel the difference between being shared and being owned.
This mark is mine alone to give.
The bathroom door opens and steam rolls out behind her.
She steps into the amber light, clutching the thin black robe at her throat, hair dripping dark ropes down her spine. Her gaze snaps to the kit, and recognition flares–those pretty nipples still wear the silver bars I put through them the night we met.
Ares lifts his head.
“Platz,” Hunter says, soft and absolute.
The dog drops his muzzle, but never blinks.
“Come here,” I direct, aware that Hunter has positioned himself between the girl and the door. She pads forward on bare feet until she stands between the bed and me, robe stopping mid-thigh. One tug and it will pool on the floor.
“On the bed. Back. Knees up and open.” I pat the mattress twice.
Her breath catches, but she climbs up and settles against the pillow. The robe parts, revealing her body.
I snap on the gloves and kneel between her thighs.
Hunter moves to the head of the bed, arms loose at his sides now, pupils dilated.
“Cold,” I warn her, and swipe iodine in gentle circles over the small hood of flesh guarding her clit. She flinches and the scent rises between us. I blow across the wet skin and watch gooseflesh chase my breath.
My thumb settles just above, gentle pressure lifting the hood, and there it is, exactly the way I remember it from the first night we spread her open on the altar.
Perfect.
Not too small, not tucked away like some shy little secret, but proud and swollen already, the hood loose enough to pinch a full centimeter of soft tissue, the clit itself thick and flushed beneath it, begging for steel. The way it pushes forward when she’s aching makes a perfect shelf, exactly what the needle loves.
I trace the ridge with one gloved finger.
“The first time I saw your pussy, I knew how good you would take this,” I murmur, voice rough. “Look at you, Doll Baby. All that pretty, greedy flesh swelling up for me right now. This little hood was made to hold my ring. The second you stand up tomorrow, that metal’s going to sit right against your clit with every step, every breath, every time you try to clench your thighs together because you’re thinking about us.”
Her hips jerk, a helpless roll.
