Page 5 of Bishop

A low murmur ripples through the room at the mention of the city, a mix of curiosity and wariness. I can feel their eyes boring into me, dissecting me piece by piece. But I’ve been in enough hostile territories to know how to hold my ground.

“Make yourself at home,” my guide grunts.

“Cozy,” I mutter. I toss my duffel onto the nearest bunk, packed with just a few sets of clothes. We weren’t allowed to bring guns on the boat, otherwise I’d definitely be packing. No…I’m running on blind hope and intuition alone. It’d better be enough.

“Tomorrow night, you’ll need to be ready,” he informs me and the other initiates, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed. His eyes narrow slightly, probing. “The May Queen demands an offering from all of us–self-sacrifice to join the community.”

“What kind of sacrifice?” I ask, keeping my voice even.

The corner of his mouth twitches, just a bit. “We gather, we offer our loyalty, we share ambrosia.”

“Sounds…intimate.” I’ve heard the rumors, how these rituals go down. The stuff he calls ambrosia…I know better.

It’s eros, plain and simple.

Concentrated from whatever they started with—all natural.

“All Initiates must go to the ceremony to join the community,” he says. “We’ll see the results of your performance in a few weeks.”

“Sounds more like a performance review than ritual,” someone says. “Like…is it a test? Will we pass?”

He chuckles; I don’t like this. I don’t like that he clearly knows something we don’t.

“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow night.” With that cryptic note, he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a clang that echoes through the empty space.

I sit on the edge of the bunk, hands clasped, mind racing. Tomorrow night, under the guise of worship, could be my chance to search for Aisling, to see if she’s still here, alive. Or my chance to get caught in whatever twisted web Terra Vitae weaves. Either way, I can’t back out now.

“Whatever it takes,” I whisper into the silence. For Aisling, I’ll face the May Queen and her ambrosia—and survive.

Chapter two

Luka

The door swings open, and the scent of incense hits me like a wave. It’s musky, earthy, fills the air with a promise of something ancient—a ritual, a rite of passage.

It’s about time I got some new ink.

This is what they want us doing on day one: getting a brand, just like any other gang or pack. In Pacific City, our ink tells the world who we are, and I guess that’s just as true for Terra Vitae as it is for the Angels or the Eclipse.

I step inside the tattoo shop, a place that feels more like someone’s lived-in home than a business. There are no designs on the wall because this ain’t a normal studio; here, they tattoo one thing only.

The tree of life.

I’m ushered over to a bench where an artist sits, tattoo iron in hand. He glances up at me as I take a seat in front of him, my back to him.

“Pick your poison,” the artist says. “Where do you want it?”

“I was thinking my back,” I say. “Pretty empty canvas.”

I peel off my shirt as the guy gets his materials ready, the buzz of other tools whirring to life somewhere else in the studio. The guy I met yesterday—Isaiah—is sitting across from me, pulling his sleeve up to get his tattoo on his arm. He catches my eye, gives a slight nod. We’re in this together but not really; it’s every alpha for himself in this game.

And I don’t trust anyone.

“Hey…are those wings I see?” Isaiah frowns.

I nod. “Angels burned me. Ready to get it covered up and start fresh.”

A lie, but I handle it with ease; I pride myself on being hard to read when it’s so easy for me to read others.

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