Page 76 of The Knucklebone Brothers

"The blood remembers. The Holler keeps. And what is bound here is never broken."

The words hung in the air, a heavy, sacred promise, a declaration that was both beautiful and terrifying, a vow that would echo through these mountains for generations to come. This was the beginning. And the end. And everythin' in between.

I watched her face as we spoke, as Maverick's fire and my earth bound her to us, to this place. And I saw it. A change. Her eyes, which had been wide with a mixture of fear and defiance, began to soften. It was like she was feelin' the words, not just hearin' 'em. The anger and the fear, the things that had kept her sharp and fightin' since she got here, they just... faded away. In their place was somethin' else, somethin' I didn't understand, a look that was both vulnerable and strong.

She was beautiful. Not in a way that was soft or easy, but in a way that was wild and untamed, like the holler itself. And her eyes... they were a blue-green, like the deep pools that hid in the shadows of the mountains, but they seemed to almost change colors as she stood there, like those old mood rings they used to sell at the five-and-dime. One moment, they were the color of a stormy sea, full of a dark, turbulent light. The next, they were the color of the moss that grew on the north side of the trees, a deep, ancient green. It was like her eyes were a reflection of the holler itself, a reflection of the wild, untamed beauty of this place.

I felt it too. A pull. A feelin' I couldn't name. It wasn't love, not the kind they sing about. It was somethin' more ancient, more primal. A need to protect, to possess, to claim. I felt it for her, and I knew Maverick felt it too. It was a fire in his blood, a fire in mine, a fire that had been waitin' for a long, long time. We didn't "love one another," not in the way the world understands it. But we would. And as I looked at her, at the way her eyes softened as the weight of our words settled over her, I knew that she would too.

Then Maverick slid the ring on her finger. Just then, I heard a chair scrape violently across the floor. It was Momma. She looked upset, her face a mask of fury, and I imagined it was the ring. It was her momma's, and her momma's before that, and now Rory, someone she didn't approve of, had it. While I held her hand up for it, a symbol of the legacy she was now a part of, Momma's face tightened with disgust so deep.

We let go of her, and she held her hand up, lookin' at the ring, frozen, as if the weight of it, the weight and spirits of all the Knucklebone women who had worn it before her, had just settled in.

Then Gash rang a bell, the sound a sharp, clear note that cut through the silence. I stepped off to the side, and Maverick grabbed Rory, pullin' her in softly, which was new for him. He grabbed her at the top of her corset, his fingers a gentle, but firm, pressure against her breasts, and pulled her in. He lifted her chin, his eyes dartin' between hers, and kissed her, a slow, possessive claim. Then he moved off to the side, his job done, and I stepped in front of her.

I stared at her for a moment, just lookin' at her, at the way the lantern light caught the blue-green of her eyes, at the way her hair fell across her forehead. Then I leaned down, grabbin' her face with both hands, my thumbs brushin' against the soft skin of her cheeks. I kissed her, and I swear I was about weak at the knees. Her lips felt like they were meant for mine, to own and to ruin all at the same time, a sweet, perfect poison. Then I pulled away, my breath catchin' in my throat.

I walked over to a table we had set up with a few props and tools, and grabbed my knife. I walked up to Rory. "Now it's your turn," I said, my voice a low, steady rumble.

She looked confused, her eyes dartin' between the knife and my face. "My turn for exactly what?"

Maverick smirked, a wicked, knowin' look on his face. "To acknowledge your claim over us."

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Momma leave. I didn't expect her to leave now, but I'm not surprised. She stormed out, her back a rigid line of disapproval. Maverick and I exchanged a glance of annoyance, but we continued. I pulled my suspenders down, the fabric snapping, and took my shirt off. I brushed my hair back with my hand, the strands fallin' forward, and then I flipped the knife around, givin' Rory the handle.

She looked surprised, her eyes wide. "What the hell am I supposed to do with that thing?"

I looked at her, my expression a mix of challenge and a dark amusement. "Carve your initials into my chest."

Rory looked surprised, her mouth fallin' open. "Now why on earth would I do something like that?"

I leaned in, my voice a low, intimate whisper. "Because every Knucklebone man bears the mark of his woman. It says that I am yours, body and soul. That my heart beats for you, and you alone. It says that if I ever break that vow, if I ever betray that claim, you have the right to take it back. To take my heart. Literally."

Rory took the knife from my hand, her fingers brushin' against mine, a small, electric shock that sent a jolt straight through me. She looked at me again, her eyes searchin', maybe to see if I was serious. I'm serious as hell. I just give her a small nod.

She began to carve her initials, the blade a cold, sharp kiss against my skin. I had to remind her. "Remember," I said, my voice low. "A.K. for Aurora Knucklebone."

She froze, the knife against my chest, her eyes dartin' up to meet mine. The name, the name that would bind her to us, to this place, forever. It was a lot. But she didn't back down. She just took a deep breath, her eyes hardenin' with a new, fierce resolve, and she continued.

The first cut was the 'A'. It was a sharp, sudden pain, a hot, white flash. But I didn't flinch. I didn't move. I just stood there. I watched her face as she worked, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips set in a determined line. And I saw it. A flicker of somethin' in her eyes, a dark, dangerous light. She was enjoyin' this. The power, the control, the feel of the blade in her hand, the way my body tensed under her touch. It was a thrill, a dark, intoxicating rush, and she was savorin' every second of it.

The 'K' was next, a series of sharp, precise cuts that seemed to go deeper than the first. I could feel the blade scrapin' against my ribs. But I didn't care. I just stood there, my eyes locked on hers.

When she was done, she stepped back, her chest heavin', her eyes shinin' with a fierce, possessive light. I looked down at my chest, at the bloody, raw letters that now adorned it. A.K. Aurora Knucklebone.

Chapter 30

They just claimed me as their bride. It was a weird ass wedding, one that made no goddamn sense, no preacher, no vows 'fore God, just two men makin' ancient, terrifying declarations in front of a tent full of dead folks. But it felt binding all the same. More binding than any church ceremony ever could. It was like the holler itself, the mountains, the very air, had all leaned in and whispered their amen.

The boys disappeared, meltin' back into the shadows of the stage like they were never there. I stood there for a moment, my body still hummin' from the intensity of it all, from the feel of the blade in my hand, from the weight of the ring on my finger. I gently caressed my lips, still tingling from the claim they made on me, a possessive kiss from each of them. I was a Knucklebone now. The thought settled in my bones, a heavy, undeniable truth.

Then they came back. Maverick and Blythe, their movements slow and deliberate. They were carryin' thick, heavy old chains, the metal clinkin' and groanin' with every step, a sound that was both menacing and strangely familiar. In their other hands, they carried a chair, the wood dark and heavy, the kind of furniture that had been in this family for generations. They walked away from me, towards the center of the stage, their backs a solid, unyielding wall of muscle and intent.

The boys dropped the chains and chairs with a heavy, metallic thud that echoed through the tent. They moved with a shared, silent purpose, setting up the two chairs facin' each other, like they were gettin' ready for a different kind of show. Then Maverick walked over to an old record player tucked in the corner, a big, bulky thing with a horn like a giant, metal flower. He fumbled with a record for a second, then the needle dropped.

Static crackled through the old speaker before the first notes filled the room, a rhythm that was both upbeat and sexy. A man's voice, smooth and a little sleazy, crooned out the words.

She's my witch...