Bronwyn blinks, mouth opening then closing. For a long moment, she just stares at me, like she’s waiting for someone to laugh or tell me to back off, but no one does. Then she scoffs, flips her hair, and turns on her heel. “Whatever. This is lame anyway.” She stalks out, heels clicking on the stone floor. One other girl hesitates, glances at the others, then follows Bronwyn out the door without a word.
The rest stay.
Slade lets out a low whistle and goes back to moving tables. Jace smirks at me, like he’s impressed. The girls who stayed dive back in with renewed energy, like they get that they’ve just been handed permission to prove they belong here for more than just the after-parties.
Damon’s lips quirk up at the corner, and I’m going to pretend it’s pride. Hunter just nods once, already rolling up his sleeves, moving to help Carson wipe down the longest table.
I exhale, steadying myself.
Tomorrow, this room will be transformed, low firelight, stone and iron, and quiet respect. Tonight, it starts with me giving orders.
And for the first time in my life, everyone listens.
19
Timothy
The call came justafter dawn.
Saint Mary’s Solarium never rang unless something had shifted, and I knew that before I ever lifted the phone. The nurse’s voice was careful, measured, the kind professionals use when they don’t want to alarm you, but don’t want to lie either.
Amber was regressing.
She’s spending most of her time alone in her room now. Curtains drawn. Meals untouched. No longer speaking to staff. No longer participating in therapy. Folding inward, retreating to some place no one else can follow.
A familiar place.
“Do I need to come?” I’d asked, dreading the answer.
“I don’t think it will matter, sir.”
It never does.
By the time evening settles over the House of Night,the weight of it still sits heavy in my chest, an old, dull ache I’ve learned not to name. I’m tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. Not physically. Soul-deep. The kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying ghosts that refuse to stay buried.
“It’s time.”
“I know.”
Graves stands in the doorway, my heavy coat in his hands. The Rite of the Shadow is one of my favorite events of the year. It’s less formal, no cloaks or robes. No bloodshed. I’d like to say I didn’t understand the dread in my gut for what should be a celebration, but that’d be a lie. Sliding the mask over my face, I cut my eyes at Graves one last time,as if the act means that if he can’t see my expression then he can’t read my mind.
“Then stop procrastinating.”
As if.
“Where is she?” I ask, striding past him and down the hall.
“She’s already over at the building, putting the final touches for tonight.”
“Do you really think she’s ready for this?”
“I think that the Baroness is full of surprises.”
Daddy?
Her voice echoes in my head. That one little word that feels like a rocket launched below the belt. Over the years, the Baronesses have called me variations of the term. I allowed it, putting myself in an authoritative role, but Arianette? The way she says it, fuck. It’s like a virus injected into my skin.
I couldn’t help but go to her under the cloak of darkness that night. Watching her… no, commanding her with Hunter set something inside of me on fire. The way he handled her. The way shetookit. Christ. I’d controlled myself behind the glass, but once I returned home, the urge to find her was overwhelming. The knowledge she was just on the other side of the building. Her soft body, her tight, warm pussy.
