But worse than the pain is the memory of helplessness.
Being twelve and powerless.
Being fourteen and hopeless.
Being sixteen and used.
I am not that girl anymore.
I amnotthat child.
Still, my heart rate doesn’t slow. Today isn’t just about me surviving, it’s about watching the people I love step into the same fire I burned in. My brother, my lover, my friends. All of us standing under the same unforgiving gaze.
“Tinkerbell,” Roman’s voice cuts through my thoughts and I blink, looking at him.
The room has gone quiet and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Roman looks at me with a worried gaze from across the kitchen.
“You with us?” Felix asks lightly, though there is concern beneath it and I force a smile as I face my brother.
“Yeah,” I nod.
“Okay,” he nods back before looking over his shoulder and back at me. “It’s time to go.”
We drive towards my family home in near silence, the mood inside the car feels suffocating with every mile that passes. Toosoon, I see the iron gates as they loom ahead. They are still just as black and unforgiving.
Jeremy patches us through without question, his nod is stiff with understanding. The tyres crunch along the winding gravel drive and then it appears… all stone and shadow, standing proud against the green hillside like it has nothing to answer for. I have described it a thousand times in my head, but seeing it still makes something cold settle beneath my ribs.
We step out and the air feels sharper here. I notice other initiates’ cars already parked on the drive as I fist my shaking hands. No one speaks as we cross the threshold into Father’s marbled hallway, our footsteps echoing too loudly against the chequered floor. None of us linger, but then we never did anyway.
Victor met us on the way here. He wasn’t in the kitchen, but I presume he was looking after Hazel for as long as he could. We move as one, straight down the corridor toward the crypt. Felix shoots me a look as we reach the heavy, damaged doors and I nod once for him to open them. We descend the final stretch of stone steps, the air suffocating me regardless of how cold and empty it is.
The crypt opens before us. It is far larger than anyone would assume. It stretches beneath the entire mansion like a buried cathedral, as shadows pool in the corners where the light can’t reach. The stone walls swallow sound but not tension… no, that lingers. It is a breathable, malleable thing.
My breath hitches at the sight of the crucifix. At the far end, instead of one, there are three. The centre cross is the largest; it’s the one I am most familiar with. It’s dark oak, aged and covered with chains. On either side are two slightly smaller ones. They are identical in shape but lighter in colour… the wood looks newer but still marred by years of rituals. Three symbols, three offerings, three reminders.
My stomach tightens and I try to control my breathing. Roman leans in, his shoulder brushing mine. I look up at him, taking in the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his eyes. He looks like the devil himself. I can feel the rage pouring off him, but when he sees the fear on my face, that soft look he often gets when he looks at me melts through and he squeezes my hip gently before stepping away.
“I need to pretend to have no favourites.” His words from last night ping around my head. It’s weird coming in here knowing I will be promised to someone after thinking for so long I wouldn’t be, but I can’t help the doubt that creeps in. He wants me to trust him, but the only person I truly trust is Felix and that’s because I have no other choice.
Roman could be lying for all I know, buttering me up because he couldn’t bear to deal with a sad, soppy girl crying on his shoulder on his last night of freedom. But then I remember how he held me all night, how he tried to give me control this morning and looked gutted when he failed. The rage he feels for me and his overprotectiveness, even with his friends.
You can’t fake that, can you?
The rest of the cohort stand waiting, arranged in two distinct sections. The men are to the left, twenty of them in total. Felix stands tall, his jaw tight but composed. Atlas is beside him, shoulders squared and unreadable. Riggs looks uncharacteristically serious and Victor’s expression is carved from granite. Roman… Roman stands like he was built for this place. His whole body screams don’t fuck with me, with a level of control you cannot shake.
To the right of me, fifty-five women stand. I see Roman tense when he realises we will be separated, but I try to look as unbothered as he does.
Fifty-five women, including me.
The imbalance is huge. It always has been. If I had enough brain space, I would have tried to figure out why the women outnumber the men so much. It feels deliberate, like this isn’t just a human phenomenon but something darker, more sinister, more calculated. Maybe if I wasn’t trying to survive, I could have figured it out. Now, not only am I trying to survive, but I am also trying to find Robyn and take down a sex trafficking ring. Finding out why they can only birth one son is so far down my list of things to care about.
I move to the right side without hesitation. My trainers echo too loudly against the stone. The other women barely look at one another. Some bow their heads, some stare straight ahead, a few glance towards the men searching for something. Reassurance, maybe? Ownership? All I know is that a minimum of fifteen women will automatically be signed to the compound by nightfall. If Roman is to be believed, it means I have somehow been thrown a life raft.
My palms are damp. My pulse thuds heavy against my throat. I almost convince myself it is loud enough for the women beside me to hear it. The scent of candle-wax and old stone fills my lungs, but beneath it is that faint metallic tang I will never forget.
I have an advantage of sorts. I have stood here before, but it was never like this. I keep my chin high, but something inside tightens. This place doesn’t just test loyalty, it consumes it. The crucifixes loom at the far end, candlelight flickering across them so the shadows look like they’re moving.
I count to five minutes in ten-second increments, my pulse beating in time with the count. I shuffle my feet on the concrete floor, stealing glances at Roman as he stares straight ahead at me, never breaking contact.