Page 20 of Vow to Claim You

She walks like she owns the room. Chin high. Shoulders squared. Spine straight. Every inch the princess she was raised to be—born to rule kingdoms, not stand before criminals who fancy themselves gods.

Nikos Romano, the society’s leader, stands at the head of the long obsidian table, hands clasped behind his back. “Princess Ayanna.” His voice echoes through the hall. “Welcome to Asgard.”

She inclines her chin just a fraction, showing respect without submission.

“Before we begin, the oath must be taken.”

Ayanna tenses at the word oath, but her expression never falters. She’s close enough that her breath ghosts over my arm, her scent—vanilla, coffee, licorice… jasmine?—curling around me with every inhale. Whatever she’s feeling, she refuses to let anyone see it.

A circle forms around Ayanna and Nikos. I take my place within it. Servants carry in a glass vessel and set it upon the round table at the center, then bring silver trays bearing skull masks—each member must wear one during the initiation ritual. Nikos’s addition. He’s known as the God of the Dead in Italy. Hence the skulls.

As society leader, Nikos performs the ritual alongside two high-ranking members. Normally, I’d be one of them. But since Ayanna is my wife, the next-ranking member takes my place instead.

Only a few months ago, we stood here for Serena’s initiation—Romano’s wife. Because the initiate and the conductor can’t belong to the same family, Barry Thorne conducted the rite alongside Jamal Hariri and me. Since then, Barry passed away. His death was unexpected for us. One day he was presiding over a Council meeting, and the next, he was dead. Heart attack. His son, Bobby, inherited the Thorne seat after completing his own rites, but rank isn’t inherited. That has to be earned or granted.

My situation was different. With my father’s health failing—one foot in the grave, as he’d put it himself—I was accepted ahead of time. If a seated member is in decline and unable to travel or execute duties, provisions exist. The heir may be formally implemented before succession. Trialed, initiated, and approved. All while the original member still holds their seat. Now I act on my father’s behalf in most matters, though technically, the seat remains his until he dies.

So today, due to my relation to Ayanna, the places beside Nikos are filled by Alexei Morozov and Jamal Hariri.

Romano turns to Hariri, who hands him the ceremonial knife. Then Nikos addresses Ayanna.

“You will make a blood oath marking you as one of us. Not a fully initiated member with full rights, but a wife to a God, permitted to attend meetings at your husband’s side. You will not sit in business Councils. You will not vote. You will not influence decisions. Those privileges belong to fully initiated Gods alone.” The room falls utterly silent. “But we consider marriages sacred. Spouses should not have to lie to each other, so the society is revealed to you. But you must take the oath and keep it a secret. If you break any part of the code, the punishment is death.” His attention remains fixed on her. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” A small swallow shifts her throat. “I do.”

Jamal takes her hand and extends it over the glass vessel. He makes a small incision on her palm. The princess inhales sharply as blood slips into the vodka. The clear liquid slowly turns the color of faded roses.

For a second, I feel something inside me pull. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be standing in front of Gods and monsters, offering her blood to men who would slit her throat if I weren’t beside her. She should be in a ballroom in Monsera, wearing a tiara, dancing with diplomats. Not draped in velvet in a room full of the world’s most lethal criminals.

“You will now recite the oath,” Romano says. “Repeat after me.”

She does. Word for word. Voice steady.

“I vow upon the blood that runs through my veins to keep the code of silence with absolute loyalty until death. I will never speak of what I hear within these walls, and I will never reveal the secrets of the society. Any betrayal shall be the end of me.”

Her voice doesn’t shake—royalty, even here.

Nikos slices his own hand, letting his blood mix with hers and the alcohol before lifting the vessel to her. “Drink.”

She glances at me before bringing the cup to her lips. Not for permission or reassurance. Just to show me she’s not afraid. That she’s above this. But I know the metallic taste of blood will haunt her. It always does.

“Our strength is your strength. Your enemies are our enemies,” Romano declares.

We all repeat the words. The same ones I once spoke over a similar cup. Except my initiation wasn’t a single cut and a sip of vodka. Mine was months of trials. Tasks that broke bones and tested loyalties. Pain. Death. Blood that wasn’t just my own.

“We are bound together by blood. From now on, you are one of us, Ayanna Vold.”

Nikos nods and retreats. Alexei and Jamal follow. The servants collect the masks, and I take a towel from one of them before approaching Ayanna. I lean down slightly. “I’m here.”

She flicks her gaze up at me, her signature sassiness simmering under those dark lashes. “I wasn’t planning on fainting dramatically in your arms, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

A corner of my mouth lifts as I put the towel to her bleeding palm. “Good. Because I wouldn’t catch you.”

Once again, that’s a lie I keep telling her. Telling myself.

Because as much as I resent her name on my lips, as much as I hate that I was forced to marry her—and that she was forced to marry me—I can’t deny what’s already taken root.

Mine.