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My mind feels like it’s been wrapped in gauze, thoughts stumbling over each other in a sluggish dance where clarity is scarce but making its appearance known. I push myself up, using the edge of the bed for support. The room tilts a little, but I steady myself with a deep breath. It’s getting easier to think now, to focus.
“Two drinks,” I mutter, pressing a hand to my forehead. “Just two, that’s all.” It doesn’t add up, the fogginess, the lost hours. I’ve always had a good head on my shoulders when it comes to booze. Could someone have spiked it? The idea sends tentacles of fear creeping over my skin. Who would do that? Why?
I sit heavily again, fists pressed against my temples, willing myself to remember. Pieces of the night flit through my memory—laughter, chatter, Alex, talking to Jade, but nothing concrete, nothing I can grab onto. A wave of frustration washes over me. I hate not knowing, hate the vulnerability of it all.
“Never again.” I utter the words millions of people across the globe have muttered over the centuries when they wake with the hangover from hell. “Never, ever again.”
But right now, I need to focus on getting through tonight and getting back to normal. Whatever ‘normal’ means in this weird game of privilege and secrets that royals of KnightsGate Academy seemingly love to play.
The longer I’m in this house, the more I’m startingto feel that I’m missing something, a part of the joke where the punchline makes sense.
Then that tiny paranoid piece of my mind rears up, jeering that I’m the butt of this joke, and I crawl back under the covers, pulling them over my head.
Eyes closed, I let out a slow breath, trying to steady the swirl of thoughts in my head. Damien’s face floats behind my lids. Those light grey eyes that seem to see right through the bullshit. Genuine? Maybe. But everything in this house has two faces, maybe more. It’s like a fucking Scooby-Doo mansion. Eyes everywhere, watching, waiting.
I want to forget the fire that chewed up my weekend, the taste of vodka sharp on my tongue, and the black holes in my memory.
Sleep—that’s what I need.
Tomorrow is another day, another battle. I just hope I end up on the winning side of the next one because right now, I feel like I’m failing, being crushed and beaten.
With a final deep breath, I let go, surrendering to the exhaustion that tugs at my bones, dragging me down into a restless slumber where the only certainty is the rise and fall of my own breath.
19
CHARLES
The sect room waits, a chamber of whispered conspiracies and unbreakable bonds. Alistair moves through the dark, lighting black candles, their pale glow cutting through the gloom, casting long shadows that dance across the walls like spectres of doubt.
This place is as ancient as the secrets it keeps, tucked away beneath the manicured lawns of KnightsGate University and the townhouse above, its corridors meander for miles under the city, ensuring complete secrecy as we come and go.
With one hand on the hem of my white tee, I pull it off and toss it carelessly to the floor. It’s an act, all of this, like we’re on stage and the world’s our audience. Only, there’s no applause down here, just the silent understanding of the ritual to come.
Muscles tense, I’m ready for what comes next. It’s fucked up how much I look forward to this, how much I need it.
Picking up my cat o’ nine tails whip, I move into the compass position between Alistair and Ben. I am East. I am air, new beginnings, new growth.
Kneeling, I close my eyes as Alistair begins roll call. It’s ritual, it’s protocol, it’s comforting.
The first whip cracks against my skin, the sting sharp and immediate. Heat blooms on my back, and I suppress a groan of longing as my cock goes stiff. It’s a relief, this pain, something tangible to hold onto, and it arouses me far past any other experience.
“East?”
“Present.”
The lash comes quickly, another hit that forces the breath from my lungs. It’s a rhythm we all fall into—the sound of leather on flesh, the quiet huffs of exertion.
With each strike, lightning runs through me, electric and raw. My body responds with adrenaline and something darker, something primal. This makes me feel alive, focused, as if every part of me is on fire.
Ten.
It’s done. My breathing’s heavy, my back tight with pain, but there’s a clarity in my mind that’s addictive. I’ve never felt more present than right here, right now, with the echo of the ritual ringing in my ears.
“Rise.” Alistair’s voice is solid, grounding.
“True North is under this roof now. That changes everything.”
He stands still, hands behind his back like he’s about to address Parliament rather than us lot. “Shecan’t be left alone. Not for a second. Not again. We watch but not crowd. We fucked up badly here, and each of us will administer a further twenty lashes as punishment for our lack of care to her.” His gaze pierces each of ours, lingering just long enough to drive the point home before he starts pacing.
