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EVER
Chills claw at my skin, the stone wall icy against my bare back. The shackles dig into my wrists, the metallic taste of fear thick in my mouth. My breaths come out in ragged puffs, visible in the cold air of the underground room.
Witnessing the ritual with them, knowing I was watching, was horrifying. It made it more real, somehow. But now I’m waiting to see if they’ll whip me before they do other things that I can’t bear thinking about. Not now. Not yet.
We aren’t there. Yet.
I’m already bound and naked, and the fear coursing through my veins is terrifying in its simplicity.
Movement near the far right side of the chamber draws my attention away from the men in the circle around the golden compass, my insides withering as the realisation that more people are about to join us.
My eyes widen in shock as the Chancellor ofKnightsGate University, Dave Aldritch, my dad’s old friend, strides in dragging someone behind him.
My heart skips a beat. What the hell is he doing here?
Stanley, the asshole who thought he could bully me, drug me and take what wasn’t his, eyes are wide with terror, stumbles in behind the Chancellor surrounded by four other men. Stanley’s frightened gaze meets mine, and for a split second, I feel a twisted satisfaction seeing him so scared before I remember my current situation, and the fear slices through me again, as cold and steely as the knife Ben used to cut my clothes away.
The Chancellor, it’s hard to think of him as Uncle Dave right now, shoves Stanley to the ground, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. The Chancellor is one of them. One of these sect members.
The blood drains from my face as I wonder if my dad is as well.
The Four Cardinals—that’s the only way I can differentiate between all the men in this chamber—circle Stanley, like wolves closing in on prey.
I’m shivering. Every muscle in my body tense as Alistair steps forward, his presence commanding the space. The cold of the chamber seeps into my bones, but it’s nothing compared to the chill that runs down my spine when he lifts a knife that looks like it belongs in a twisted fairy tale. Its blade catches the candlelight, glinting in a way that makes my stomach clench.
My gaze latches on to his, trying to find an anchorin this twister that has whipped me up and is throwing me out of control. But there’s no warmth in those blue depths, just a dark promise.
He moves behind Stanley, who’s whimpering on the ground now, a pathetic mess of fear and tears, and drags him up by his upper arm.
“Please,” Stanley chokes out, but his plea is cut short.
It happens in one fluid motion—the blade slashes across Stanley’s throat. I gasp and stifle a retch of disgust as his blood spurts out, painting the stone floor. It’s unreal, the life leaving Stanley’s eyes so fast.
My breath sticks in my throat as my chest tightens. I want to scream, to rage, to cry, but I’m frozen. All I can do is watch as Stanley collapses, his life seeping away into the cracks of the cold floor, and with each drop of blood that falls, I know I’m sinking deeper into this nightmare.
My skin crawls as Alex, the man I thought I knew so well, steps forward with a bowl as much a part of this as the Cardinals. My stomach churns as the silver glints like a warning sign, but there’s no turning back, no escape. I struggle in the chains, in fear for my life, my virginity, my whole being.
He holds the bowl against the wounds in Stanley’s neck, the crimson liquid dripping into the container. My stomach heaves, bile rising in my throat.
“Ever, don’t look away,” Alistair’s voice cuts through my horror. Obedience isn’t a choice; it’s survival. So I watch, horrified, as Alex turns to me,the bowl in his hands an offering to some twisted god.
“Pure and untouched,” Alistair murmurs, almost reverently. The words are like ice against my fevered skin. “She will be our sanctity.”
The Cardinals close in on me, their naked chests a reminder of the welts on their backs from the lashings. Their faces are masks of solemn duty, their eyes devoid of any humanity.
I have never been more scared in my entire life.
Each takes a turn dipping fingers into the bowl, smearing Stanley’s blood across my body. It’s warm, alive, a contrast so vile against my cold, exposed skin.
“Fuck, stop,” I whisper, but they’re relentless. Blood marks my forehead, a macabre crown befitting this nightmare coronation. I’m shaking, my flesh crawling under each touch, under the weight of their gaze.
A young man, a freshman, it seems, by his baby face, is the last in the line. He dips his fingers in the bowl, and with a heated stare, he places his fingers between my breasts and slides them all the way down to the top of my pussy.
Alistair’s hands clamp down on his wrist before he can dip any lower, and I almost weep with gratitude.
I want to vomit, to scrub my skin raw until every trace of red is gone. But I can’t move, chained and painted in Stanley’s lifeblood, a canvas for their perverted ritual.
Knees buckling beneath me, I’m forced to my feetby the wrenching in my shoulders. I cry out with agonised pain and slip on the slimy, cold, blood-soaked stone under my feet. The Cardinals’ eyes burn into me, awe swirling in their depths. They kneel before me, the chill of the chamber’s air forgotten in the heat of their devoutness.
