Page 43 of The Devil's Spawn

He might as well have poured ice water over my head. I withdrew from the circle of his arms, and only then did I notice how the guests had mostly disappeared. Hired help in crisp black and white uniforms began clearing tables.

Wordlessly, Gage ushered me from the ballroom. We headed toward a grand staircase with ornately carved wooden banisters, but instead of climbing to the second or even third floor of the estate, he steered me to the left of the stairs where we disappeared through an archway.

“Where are we going?”

Instead of answering, he laced our fingers together and escorted me halfway down a long corridor before opening another door and urging me into what appeared to be the library, going by the floor-to-ceiling shelves housing books. Some of them were old and worn, possibly antiques. The room offered privacy in a claustrophobic nature, as not a single window allowed a beam of light from the moon or a ray of warmth from the sun during the day.

Even though he’d removed his mask, I recognized Mr. Davenport instantly. He sat in a chair in front of the fireplace, his lean body nestled in dark brown leather. “It’s an honor to have the two of you join us tonight,” he said, his smile reaching his eyes.

I turned to Gage for instruction because I was way out of my element here. I didn’t know what to expect or what was expected of me.

“My wife is in the dark about all of this, so please forgive her lack of protocol. She’ll know better after tonight.”

Our host narrowed his thick brows. “Do you need a few minutes to discuss it with her before we get to the nondisclosure?”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. This is a lesson of trust for her.”

“I see,” the other man said, nodding. “Please, make yourself comfortable, Channing.” He gestured to another chair to the right of him. A crystal decanter sat on a table alongside two tumblers.

Gage led me to where the other man sat and pointed at the floor in front of the table. “You may kneel here.”

“Yes, Master.” Regardless of our audience, the title slipped off my lips, as natural as breathing, and I sank to my knees, arranging my dress over a plush Persian rug as I did so.

Gage poured two fingers then settled into the high back armchair.

Mr. Davenport laid a document and pen down on the table. “It’s standard, but feel free to read through it.”

Burning with curiosity, I watched Gage go over the paper, certain his astute gaze left not a single word unread. With no hesitation, he signed his name at the bottom before passing the pen to me.

“You need to sign as well. It’s just a standard nondisclosure agreement. You’re not allowed to speak to anyone about what goes on during these sessions.”

Sessions…as in plural. I tried not to gulp as I pushed upward, standing on my knees so I could reach the paper.

“Welcome to our circle,” Mr. Davenport said. “I must admit to being pleasantly surprised you finally took me up on my invitation,” he told Gage.

My husband merely shrugged. “I guess I was waiting for Kayla.” He leaned forward and brushed his fingers under my chin. “And she wasn’t quite ready until now.”

The other man rose. “Wonderful. You’ll find a robe for your slave at the top of the stairs. We require that new slaves disrobe in front of everyone their first time in the circle.”

I felt my jaw slacken, but I didn’t dare look at Gage. If I did, I might beg for him to take me home.

“If that’s all then,” Mr. Davenport stated rather than asked, “we’ll see you down there in a few minutes.” He gathered the document and crossed to the wall of shelves before pulling out a book. Much to my astonishment, two bookcases wheeled outward and to the sides, revealing a secret staircase.

“Is this some sort of secret society?” I asked after those stairs seemed to swallow our host.

“In a way, yes.” Gage stood and held out a palm, assisting me to my feet. “Let’s get this dress off.”

I shrank back, fists crossing over my breasts. “I want to go home.”

Gage frowned. “Now is not the time for you to rebel, baby. I’ve waited years for this. You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to take into the circle.”

“Why me?” It was a stupid question, and a desperate one I’d thrown out to stall him.

“Address me properly.”

“I’m sorry, Master.” Sorry wasn’t even close—my mind spun in all directions, trying to latch on to something that made sense. How had we gone from Master and slave in the privacy of our home to this?

“When spoken to by the men in the circle, you’ll address them asSir, myself excluded. I’m your Master, and you’ll address me as such.” He straightened his spine, rising high over my quivering form. I stood on my feet in front of him, but my will was but a tiny ball of nothing, cowering on the floor.

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