I inhale sharply, but I don’t protest as he slices his palm, and then does the same to me. I try not to wince as the blood drips out of the shallow would. Gripping his bloodied hand to mine, he drops the knife, and it clatters to the ground.
“First things first,” he mumbles, reaching into his pocket and placing a black, metal ring on one of my fingers. “Members get their ring when they participate in their first ceremonies.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Gee, thanks. But I didn’t really participate, did I?” I add, my voice low and husky.
His eyes twinkle as his grips my hand harder. “Second, The Director never takes a blood oath with anyone.”
I stare at our joined hands. “Then why—”
“Unless he appoints a co-Director.” My vision tilts a little bit, and my knees go wobbly. I nearly drop my hand from his, but he steadies me, pulling me in closer. “And you’re right. You didn’t participate in the ceremonies, but it’s only because I want you all to myself. I’ve waited four years, Evelyn Snow. The first time I fuck you will not be in a room full of other people.” My chest rises and falls rapidly, my eyes going wide as he takes my hand—the one he just cut—andlicksit. “I want to savor every single fucking thing about you.”
My core tightens, and my clit flutters as I watch his tongue devour my hand and circle his lips, getting every last drop. For a second, I see a flash of it—the monster in his veins. Sure, he may be nothing like his father in the ways that mattered. He wasn’t about to run a massive human trafficking ring tomorrow. But as his eyes light up, his lips blood red, his teeth stained… I realize that maybe we should stop trying to fight it. We both have parts of Auguste embedded in our souls, for better or for worse. There’s no point in denying it. There’s no turning back from it.
We can decide what kind of monsters we’ll become.
And If I knew Benedict at all, the monster he had chosen to become would make Auguste quake in his boots.
Benedict takes a step back, grabbing our jackets.
“We leave for Edinburgh on Friday.”
I shrug mine on, a small pang of disappointment watering down the fiery heat that had begun to build between my legs.
“What’s in Edinburgh?” I ask, my voice clear and resolute. I am still shaky from the blood oath, and yet, I am also valiant. Proud. Confident.
Benedict watches me as he pulls his long coat on, and I can see the internal struggle pass over his face.
So let me meet you on the battlefield.
Let me prove my dedication to you.
“The Offering,” Benedict murmurs, his voice low.
“Do I even want to know?” I laugh, but he remains serious. “I guess I can read about it in the book,” I add, grateful that I have something to study.
Co-Director.
“The Offering isn’t in the book, Evelyn.”
“How do you know?” I tease, throwing my hat on.
He smirks. “Because I wrote it.”
I’m too stunned to say anything as he takes my hand and pulls me out of the room.
We stride across the theater—which is empty—and Benedict pushes the exit door open, the cold, night air hitting my face.
“Did they all leave the ceremony?” I ask, putting my free hand in my coat pocket. Benedict pockets my other hand in his coat, our hands joined, and I can’t help but smile.
“Hayes sent them home,” he says brusquely, looking both ways before pulling me across the small, cobblestoned street. “Or invited them all to his place for a massive orgy.”
I shake my head, attempting to get that visual out of my head.
“Are we going to ignore the fact that you’re B. Natalie?”
He chuckles, the sound rough and gritty. “I’m surprised it took you this long to figure it out. B… Benedict. And Natalie was my mother’s name.”
I glance at him as we walk quickly away. Dammit. I knew that—I remembered seeing a tattoo on his chest. It was the only tattoo he had, and I’d seen it years ago, at the Tempest house. He’d taken his sweater off, but his shirt had gotten caught. I’d glimpsed the two small rows of waves right above his left ribcage. When Lily had asked, he said it was for his mother—Natalie—and the beach town in Normandy where she grew up.
