Page 51 of The Devil's Wrath

My breath caught in my throat at her question, and I stared down at her, my heart pounding against my ribs. Her eyes searched mine, vulnerable yet hopeful, seeking the answer she desperately needed to hear.

“I’ve always been yours, Wren. From the moment I first saw you, I knew there would never be anyone else for me.”

Her eyes widened at my confession, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of vulnerability in their depths that she hid from everyone. But then she blinked, and it was gone, replaced by the playful fierceness that made my blood sing.

“Then prove it,” she whispered. “Show me that you’re mine, body and soul. Make me believe it.”

“I’ll do more than that. I’ll make you feel it in every inch of your body until there’s no doubt left in your mind or in your heart.”

A slow, languid smile curved her mouth, and she reached up to caress my face with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “Well, now that that’s settled . . . I’m yours, Theo. I won’t forget again.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

I laughed at her teasing. I loved it. It was one of the things that had drawn me to her. Her ability to make me laugh.

Slowly, as the haze of lust dissipated, the reality of where we were sank in. The damp earth beneath us, the chill night air on our heated skin, the distant thump of music from the frat party.

She shivered beneath me, and I remembered she was completely naked while I still had most of my clothes on. Reluctantly, I pulled out of her warm depths and we stood. I quickly shed my jacket and wrapped it around her trembling form. She clutched it tightly, her eyes downcast.

“Hey,” I tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet my gaze. Tears glistened on her lashes. “What’s wrong, little bird?”

She shook her head, a few teardrops spilling over. “I’m sorry,” she whispered brokenly. “I just wanted you to notice me, to want me as much as I want you.”

My heart clenched at the vulnerability in her voice. I pulled her into my arms, hugging her tightly against my chest. I sighed into her hair. “If you only knew how much I crave you all the damn time. It’s taking every ounce of restraint not to lock you away and keep you all to myself.”

She pulled back to search my face. “Then why didn’t you choose me for the Hunt?”

I tensed at her question. How could I explain the primal, all-consuming need to possess her, to mark her as mine and mine alone? That the thought of Archer, Kai, or any other man laying a finger on her—even if purely out of obligation and duty to The Brotherhood—made me see red. What words could explain my own selfish desire to keep her separate from that dark part of my life?

“It’s not that I didn’t want you there,” I began, my voice rough with emotion. “God, you have no idea how much I wanted to chase you through those woods, to hunt you down and claim you in front of everyone.”

Her breath hitched, and her pupils dilated at my heated words. I had to temporarily close my eyes to regain control before continuing.

“But The Devil’s Hunt . . . it’s a tradition that has been passed down through all the members of The Brotherhood for a long time, and it comes with certain expectations . . . certain obligations.”

“What does that mean?”

“Each of us chooses girls to participate, and it’s survival of the fittest.” I treaded carefully.

Could I trust her to understand that most girls didn’t survive? That the most primal instincts took over, and we watched as our chosen girls murdered each other for the chance at winning the respective apple of their masked devil? That if we decided that our chosen was fit enough to become our queen, she would be fucked by the sons of The Brotherhood’s patriarchs while said patriarchs watched like creeps in some dark, cold mausoleum? If we didn’t adhere to the Ceremonies’ rules, they would take her from me and use her for their own sadistic pleasure until she was nothing but a shell, and maybe, if she were lucky, they would slit her throat and throw her into a grave deep in the forests on the land they owned. Another forgotten girl in a nameless grave, a victim to the twisted traditions of our fathers and their fathers before them.

I gripped her shoulders, my eyes boring into hers intently. “I couldn’t risk choosing you for the Hunt. Not because I don’t want you—fuck, I want you with every fiber of my being. But the Hunt . . . it’s brutal. Primal. Most girls don’t make it out alive.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “What? What do you mean they don’t make it out alive?”

I exhaled harshly. “The Hunt strips away all pretense of civilization. Out there in the woods, it’s kill or be killed. The Brotherhood watches. Archer, Kai, and me, we watch as our chosen girls fight each other, driven mad by fear and the promise of being the prize of their masked devil.”

She paled, realization dawning. “And the losers? What happens to them?”

“They die. There can only be one survivor for each devil.”

Her hand flew to her mouth, horror filling her eyes. “Oh my god.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, shame and self-loathing churning in my gut. I knew how it sounded, how evil and twisted the whole barbaric ritual was. But she had to understand.

“It’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve never had a choice.” I started to defend myself. I didn’t want to lose her when I had just gotten her. “This is the way it’s always been done. To refuse . . . would be seen as a weakness. Disloyalty. I’d be risking not just my own life, but yours too.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Mine? What do you mean?”

I swallowed hard. “If I had chosen you for the Hunt and you survived, you would have been expected to participate in the Ceremony because I would choose you to be my queen. It’s a sick rite of passage where you’d be . . . shared . . . among the sons of The Brotherhood’s leaders.”

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