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“I’m sure you have all been eagerly awaiting the news, and I can confirm that tonight is one we have been looking forward to for many years.” He reaches out with stubby fingers and pinches Foxglove’s jaw. It’s supposed to look like a friendly gesture—an old friend of her father’s treating her like a member of his family—but I see the way he intends it as a threat, only to her. A reminder that she ran away from this world.
“A Pledging ceremony.” The woman’s voice is shrill and grating to my ears as she announces the words with triumph.
The girl’s eyes turn into saucers.
Now she knows the truth of it.
Murmurs and whispers rocket through the crowd. There hasn’t been a formal Pledging ceremony in Noire House for decades. It’s an archaic ritual, one born of the old ways, and is only reserved for the elite families.
I have no interest in fucking this girl surrounded by these perverted assholes looking on. But for the sake of Thorne’s plan, and the desire for vengeance sizzling in our veins…we have all agreed to play our part.
Claim her body. Claim her bloodline to the House.
Take every last piece of her power, and do so by force.
What it entails is just as twisted as these sick fucks all are. There’s nothing more to it than perpetuating the predatory intent of men. The kind who have used the excuse of rituals like this one over the centuries as a way to claim their conquests and parade their fragile masculinity in front of the Gathered.
From here, I can see the wheels spinning in Foxglove’s head. Yes, little bitch, it means the ultimate humiliation in front of the council as one by one, her body is owned for all to see. We don’t believe in things like marriage in our world, but the old ways are carved in blood and stone. A Pledging ceremony is the final piece that will sign over Foxglove Noire’s life to us in the eyes of the Anguis.
When she is spread out and fucked in public, in front of the members of the council, that cedes everything to us. It gives Thorne power over everything in Noire House. It means she is ours to do with what we like, which means if we decide to end her life, not one of them will blink an eyelid.
Judging by the way the bitch looks like she’s about to throw up, it’s safe to say she’s come to that realization all of her own accord.
Wave after wave of onlookers and finely dressed assholes surround the girl. They’re congratulating her and simpering all over her as if this ritual is something worth celebrating.
My eyes catch Ky’s for a brief moment across the other side of the room. He taps out a message on his phone, and my own vibrates inside my pocket.
Time to go.
I couldn’t fucking agree more. My skin is crawling with ants being in close proximity to this crowd.
Another buzz.
Eyes on Thorne?
Scanning the upper levels, I can’t see him. But there’s no doubt he will be watching on like a black cloud.
You collect the girl. I’ll find Thorne. Meet you at the vehicle in 5.
I nod in Ky’s direction rather than waste time replying to the message. He shakes his head with a rueful grin before bringing his phone to his ear. No doubt dialing Thorne.
While I tuck my phone back in my pocket, I look down at the spot where the girl had been just a moment ago. But she’s not there. In fact, I barely catch a glimpse of her purple hair before she disappears into the corridor at the back of the crowd.
Foxglove Noire grew up in this place and knows it like the back of her own hand. If she’s trying to make a run for it, I’ll gladly hunt the bitch down and drag her back to our compound by her hair.
The cunt thinks she can escape us?
I don’t fucking think so.
My long stride carries me down the staircase to the ground floor and in the direction of the doorway she disappeared through. There are too many goddamn people in my way, but I ease my way among them, maintaining my usual low profile.
When I slip behind the partially cracked door, the long hallway stretching ahead of me is paneled with heavy oak timber. There’s only an occasional lantern casting a dim glow; this is not an area where the assembled guests tonight are supposed to be.
I’m scanning for a glimpse of movement or light beneath any of the closed doorways as I stride down the length of ornate carpet. All it will take is for a moving shadow to hint at where she might have fled to or attempted to scurry away and hide. Although this is my act of toying with her—it isn’t really necessary, if I need to, I have more precise methods of locating her.
That’s when I hear a noise. A scuffling and a low murmur.
It comes from behind me, in the room just off to my right.
