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Violet opened her mouth to protest, but he was already out of the door. Carefully, she followed him.
The building was innocuous. It reminded her of the many town halls she’d seen or a court of law, high-end office, or hotel. They stepped out of its big, ornate doors into the chilly morning air, and everything around her looked sonormal. A few cars were parked, the building across the road proclaimed itself to be a library, and a pickup truck rumbled down the street.
The man opened the back door of a black sedan and stepped back.
“In you go,” he prompted.
Violet took one long look around and, just for one breath, weighed her options. She slid down into the car. The man sat down beside her, then they were driving.
“Here,” he said suddenly, making her jump. “Brush your hair.”
She eyed the brush in his hands warily.
“I’m good.”
This seemed to make him sad, but he nodded his resignation, and the brush disappeared back into his pocket.
Violet was about to ask him again what the hell was going on, when they pulled up to the curb. The sight of Jason outside the door made her blood run cold. What he’d said in the woods was impossible to forget, and it had preyed on her mind in the hours since. He was the last person she wanted to see. She tried to take heart in the fact that when his eyes landed on her, his expression said the feeling was mutual, but it was cold comfort.
“Just be polite,” the man beside her said in a rush. “Don’t cause any trouble, okay? You’re pretty and maybe, maybe…” He offered her another stiff smile, opened the door, and got out of the car. Jason was leaning in.
“Go to hell,” Violet hissed at him when he tried to grab her arm.
His fist caught her hair instead, and she had no choice but to slide over and get out of the car. She grabbed hold of the roots under his hand, trying to keep him from pulling while she staggered then found her feet.
When she looked up, shock shot through her.
What looked like a fifty or maybe a hundred people waited, all arranged in polite lines around the edge of a cobbled square. All of them watched her being dragged forward, and none of them said a thing. Violet searched their faces, looking for any compassion, any recognition that what was happening to her was wrong, and she found none.
Her heart sank.
Jason hustled her forward, and she dug in her heels, resisted as much as she could without having her hair ripped from her scalp, shivering in the gray morning light.
“Violet Page,” an older man, gray at the temples and dressed all in black, said from the center of the square.
She wondered for a long moment if she were dreaming. They reached him, then Jason shoved her hard in the middle of the back, and she fell on her hands and knees at his feet. Pain roared through her, the skin of her knees split on the rough cobblestones, hands aching and screaming at the impact, as her still-bruised ribs protested yet another jolt. A murmur rippled through the crowd.
“Brought to Forest Bluff by Jason Wilkens, sixty-fourth outsider to join the community. At the conclusion of this ceremony, she will become property of Jason, until such a time as he can successfully mate, claim her, and bestow upon her the gift.”
“Wait,” she said, but he didn’t stop.
“Jason, will you be responsible for this human in her time of transition? Will you shelter and clothe her, protect and teach her, and initiate her into our way of life? Will you shape and claim her, and make her your mate in all senses?”
“What the fuck are you talking—” Violet yelled, but Jason cut her off.
“No.”
The reaction to the word was palpable. The priest, or leader, or whatever the hell he was, seemed as shocked as the crowd.
“She’s crazy,” Jason declared, hands up and face a gray mask. “I didn’t realize it until we were in the woods, and she attacked me. She’s dangerous. I would never have brought her back here if I’d have known.”
Agitated chatter rose in the crowd. Violet struggled once again to her feet.
“You’re a psychopath,” she spat at Jason over the noise. “My dad’s the fucking mayor, and this place is going to be crawling with cops within the hour. Get me out of here, and I’ll ask him to go easy on you.”
“Enough,” the person officiating the gathering said. A man stepped up beside him holding a bow and arrow, and Violet’s blood went cold.
“As of now, this outsider is unclaimed,” the officiant continued. “Does anyone desire to step forward?”
