by Caitlyn Dare
“What? I’m curious.” She shrugs, running her hands over my comforter. “It’s Cade freakin’ Kingsley. Most girls would kill to be in your position. I’m pretty sure Brook is trying to buy someone off right now.” Annabel shoots me a devious smirk.
“Ugh, don’t. I thought she was going to burn actual holes into the back of my head in one of my literature classes.”
“It makes you wonder though, doesn’t it? Everyone thought she and Cade were a sure thing. So why didn’t her name get called?”
Annabel wasn’t in this year’s offering. She was presented early, the summer before senior year. Her mom was sick, terminal. It was her dying wish to see her daughter at the Eligere. Since her father is good friends with Harrison Rexford, Quinctus agreed to let her enter before she turned eighteen. Of course, everyone knew she wouldn’t get chosen. It was the year Tim Davenport and Fawn Bailey’s relationship was officially confirmed, even though they had been promised to one another since they were just kids.
It will be Annabel’s choice if she enters the Eligere again in the future, but despite her intrigue about Cade and the Electi, I don’t sense she’s in any rush to present herself again. That’s why I like her. Annabel is intrigued about Quinctus and the Electi and Gravestone’s history in the same way I am—maybe a little too starry eyed where the Electi are concerned—but she isn’t brainwashed like so many of the folk in this town.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, fear trickling down my spine.
She’s right.
I haven’t stopped thinking about why my name was pulled from the calix. Someone in Quinctus wants me and Cade together…
But why?
I might be from Gravestone, but I’m not from his world. My father might work security for Phillip Cargill and the mayor’s office at the town hall, but that’s where the connection ends. We live in a modest house set on the edge of Gravestone Park. We’re more than comfortable, but we’re not rich in the same way the elite families are.
Cade could click his fingers and any number of people would come running to his aid. If I clicked my fingers there would be nothing but the sound of silence.
“Well, whatever strange magic is at work, I say enjoy it. He’s the hottest guy in Gravestone U, and you, girl, get to date him.”
“You do realize if everyone goes through with this, I’ll be doing a whole lot more than dating him?” Bile washes in my stomach.
Annabel rolls her eyes at me. “I’m not a total idiot. Of course I know. And I approve, obviously. It’s time you blew the cobwebs out of your vajayjay.”
“Never say that word again to me.”
“What? Vajayjay? Cooch, pussy, beaver, and my personal favorite… cunt.”
“Oh my God, what is wrong with you?” I balk, and she explodes with laughter.
“You should see your face. You, Mia Thompson,”—she jabs her finger at me—“are a prude.”
“I am not.” At least, I wasn’t when I was rubbing myself on Bexley at the party, begging him to fuck me. But I don’t tell Annabel that. Some things are better left unsaid.
“Well, as long as you’re not saving yourself for Cade. Because we all know he hasn’t saved himself for his prosapia.”
I wince at her words. Again, she’s right. Cade is a player. Even with Brook always waiting in the sidelines, everyone knows Cade Kingsley doesn’t do exclusive.
Will that change now?
Or will he continue to fuck other girls while he waits for our Coligo?
“God, I hate this,” I grit out, clutching the pendant in my fist. I want to tear it off, to yank the damn chain and smash it into a thousand pieces. But I don’t, because already I’m becoming docile. Everyone expects me to behave as Cade’s prosapia. Anything less will be deemed unacceptable—by Cade, the Electi, and Quinctus.
At least he can’t physically touch me until our unification ceremony. And after the huge shock of my name being pulled from the calix, none of the elders seemed in a hurry to announce the date of our Coligo. My father seems to think we’ll have at least until the full moon after next.
“I know you’re upset,” Annabel soothes, “but maybe if you give him a chance—”
I make a derisive sound in my throat. “You don’t give someone like Cade a chance, Bel. He chooses whether to let you have a chance. To walk at his side or kneel at his feet.”
That’s what worries me the most. I’m not submissive, not in the way some girls are. He might scare me a little, but it’s not enough to make me cower… and that is a problem to someone like Cade.
I grab the nearest thing to me and launch it across the room, watching with dismay as the glass smashes into pieces and scatters across the floor.
“Better?” Annabel lifts a brow, hardly surprised by my little outburst.
My lips purse as I stare at her, my body vibrating with anger. I will be better when this nightmare is over. When Quinctus realizes they made a mistake, that I’m not the girl for Cade after all.
Because there is no other explanation.
It’s a mistake.
It has to be.
The next day is as unbearable as the last. Cade is extra clingy, holding my hand in a vise-like grip as we move around campus. The pendant sits heavy against my chest. I almost didn’t wear it, but if I want to appease him, to buy myself some time, I know I need to play ball.
“I like this.” He skims the hem of my skirt, his fingers brushing the backs of my thighs.
“I didn’t wear it for you,” I reply.
Ashton snorts, grumbling something about ‘needing to break me in.’ I cast him a dark look, but he only glares back.
I like him least out of the Electi. He’s too close to Cade, too much of a bad influence. Not to mention, he’s Brook’s older brother. I’ve heard the stories about Ashton Moore. The threesomes at parties, the fights, the girls running from his room with tears streaming down their faces and bruises on their bodies.
Ashton is dangerous, and he’s Cade’s closest friend. He’s also not officially an Electi, which affords him a certain amount of freedom where his actions are concerned.
“No?” Cade whispers against the soft skin of my neck. “Then who did you wear it for?”
My spine goes rigid, but I force myself to relax. Now is not the time to be thinking about Bexley and how his piercing blue eyes follow me around campus whenever we cross paths.
After that afternoon in my dorm room, he’s mostly kept his distance. But I feel him, watching. Waiting. He needs to stay away—for his benefit, and mine. But I can’t deny a tiny piece of me likes feeling him there, in the shadows. Like a guardian angel watching over me.
Except… something tells me he isn’t an angel at all.
A shiver zips up my spine and Cade tenses. “What is it, babe? What’s wrong?” He brushes the hair from my face and grips my chin, forcing me to look at him.
We’re sitting outside in the quad. Brandon and Sasha are arguing over something. Ashton is practically fucking a girl I don’t recognize on the bench. And Channing is busy texting someone. I don’t know where Tim is. Probably off with Fawn. I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she doesn’t seem to like Cade either.
Maybe we could be friends. Although, she seems happy with Tim, in love. Whereas I can’t ever imagine falling for a guy so conceited, arrogant, and cruel as Cade.
“Have you told her yet?” Ashton pipes up.
“Ash,” Cade warns in that low growl of his.
“Oh, shit. You didn’t? Shit’s about to get interesting.”
“Tell me what?” I glance at Ashton, narrowing my eyes, and then back at Cade.
“Nothing, babe. Just the party tonight.”
“Party? You didn’t say anything about a party.”
“It’s the new moon, Mia.” Ashton grins, but it isn’t friendly. It’s dark and full of wicked intent. “We always party on the new moon.”
“Stop being a dick, Ash,” Sasha chides. “It’ll be fun, Mia. We can hang out.”
<
br /> “It’ll be fun, Mia,” Brandon mimics, and she claps him around the ear. “Bitch, what was that for?”
“Quit being an ass.”
“I’m beginning to think they should let girls into the—” Channing presses his lips together, swallowing whatever he was about to say.
The two of them—Sasha and Channing—share a heated look, and I frown. Is something going on there? I can’t imagine Cade or Brandon would appreciate Channing macking on Sasha. She’s an heir, yes, but it’s not the same for her as it is for her male counterparts. She’ll never have a line of guys waiting to become her prosapia. Instead, she’ll be matched with someone of Phillip Cargill’s approval.
I heard my parents talking once, and apparently Sasha should get some say in who she settles down with, but women don’t exactly hold the power in Gravestone. Men do, with their old traditions and chauvinistic ways.
“Hey Cade, guys,” Brook’s voice is like a bucket of ice-cold water, and I turn to meet her smug stare.
“Brookie, sister, long time no see.” Ashton leans in to kiss her cheek. “I was beginning to think you didn’t love me anymore.”
“Oh, Ash, don’t be ridiculous. You know I love you, I just didn’t want Cade’s latest toy to feel intimidated.”
A ripple of tension goes through the air as Brook locks her narrowed gaze on me. Cade’s hand remains firmly on my hip, but he doesn’t intervene. He just sits there, waiting to see how I’ll react, no doubt.
Bastard.
“Hello, Brook,” I say, hoping she’ll disappear back into whatever hole she crawled out of.
“Mila.”
“It’s Mia.”
Someone snickers, Ashton probably. But I don’t look, because I don’t want Brook to think I’m scared of her, even if my stomach is a tight knot of nerves.
“Oops, my bad,” she shoots me a saccharine smile, “I guess that’s what happens when you’re completely and utterly average. People forget your name. They forget you.”
“Brook, play nice,” Cade drawls, pulling me back into his chest.
“Whatever.” She lets out an indignant huff. “I only came to ask if the party is still on tonight.”
“You know it is.” Cade stiffens, and I wonder what has him so on edge.
“It’s going to be one hell of a night.” Ashton whistles between his teeth. “Don’t be a stranger, Sis. We should all hang out. Show Mia a good time.”
The air crackles again, and I realize I’m the only person on the outside of whatever is going down tonight. The icy fingers of realization wrap around my throat.
“Where is this party?” I ask, schooling my expression.
“At the house, of course,” Cade says, his dark eyes fixed right on mine. “But don’t worry your pretty little head about it, babe.” He presses the end of my nose with his fingertip. “I’ll protect you.”
His words make my heart beat harder. It isn’t a promise…
It’s a threat.
But something tells me there will be no escaping the party or Cade. Because I’m one of them now.
Whether I like it or not.
9
Bexley
The second I attempt to push Uncle Marcus' front door open and find it locked for the first time since I moved here, I know something is wrong.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I'm forced to ring the vintage-looking bell hanging beside the colossal double doors. A dong echoes in the silence around me, making my heartbeat increase a few notches, and I stand there wondering if anyone is going to answer for the longest time.
The sun is quickly descending in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the imposing brick building before me. When I'm starting to think that Uncle Marcus has forgotten he even invited me here and I consider returning to my car, there's a loud bang from inside the building.
There's a second bang before the doorknob twists and the door creaks open as if it's not moved in a few years. I blink a few times when my uncle appears in the doorway. The hall is completely dark behind him, making him hard to make out in head-to-toe black.
"What the hell are you wearing?" I balk when my eyes adjust, and I realize he's standing before me in a hooded black robe.
"Come in," he says in his usual creepy, low voice.
"Oookay."
I step inside and allow him to close and lock the door behind me.
"Follow me,” he says cryptically.
Okay, I mouth behind him as I follow him through the darkness, noting that all the curtains are drawn and no lights are on. Instead, candles illuminate our journey.
"What’s going on?" I ask the second he comes to a stop in front of a door that has been locked since the first day I stepped in here.
"All will become clear."
My brow furrows as he pushes open the door and I get my first look at the room inside. It looks like an office. A fucking creepy office at that.
Like the parts of the house I've seen this evening, this room is also only lit by candles. The walls are covered in bookcases, filled floor to ceiling with old books. I slip inside and take a seat when he instructs me to do so. He lowers himself to the wingbacked chair on the other side of the mahogany desk and drops his hood.
"This is really freaking weird. You're aware of that, right?" I muse, running a shaky hand over my face.
"Bexley," he says so seriously that it wipes the smirk off my face. "There are things you don't know about who you are, about who your family are, and tonight you're going to learn the truth."
"Uh… okay."
"Bexley, your surname is not Danforth. And I am not your uncle." My head spins with his words, making me wish I’d had a drink before I came here.
"What are you talk—"
"I'm your grandfather, Bexley, and your family name is Easton."
"Riiight. And this is meant to mean something to me?"
"How much do you know about the founding families of Gravestone, Son?"
"Um… not a lot. But their heirs are a bunch of douchebags, if you ask me."
"There are five founding families in Gravestone," he continues, ignoring my comments about Cade and his crew. "Kingsley, Davenport, Cargill, Rexford, and Easton."
“Easton?” I balk. “So, you’re telling me your family is one of the founding families?”
“Our family, Bexley,” he counters.
My lips part to question him, but no words leave my mouth as realization begins to dawn on me. I vaguely remember Alex trying to feed me all this bullshit back in high school. Stories of the town’s founding families and their shady operations. But I didn’t care then, and I still don’t. It’s just rumor and urban legend.
Isn’t it?
"Tonight, you begin the journey to take your rightful place in Gravestone, Son."
My head spins, his words blurring into just noise. Blood rushes past my ears with a whoosh, the racing of my heart making my chest heave.
I have no idea how much time passes, but I don't come back to myself until Marcus pushes an ornately carved box toward me. There's a crest in the top, one that looks vaguely familiar, but I have no idea where I might have seen it before.
"This is for you."
Hesitantly, I reach out, running my fingertip over the smooth wood.
"Open it," he demands, and I flip the brass catch and lift the lid.
"What the—" I stare down at the contents, my brows pinching in confusion.
"They're part of your initiation—or Initium, as we call it."
"I-initiation?” My voice cracks.
What the actual fuck?
I look at him and then back to the contents: a gold ring with that same crest stamped in it, and a glass vial.
"W-what's this for?" I ask pointing to the little bottle with a gold lid.
"Your blood."
"I-I'm s-sorry, what?" I splutter.
"Your blood," he repeats, like it's the most obvious thing in the fucking world.
"This is a joke, right?” Sweat beads down my bac
k. “This has to be a fucking joke."
"No, Bexley. This is your reality. You are one of the five Electi."
I slump back in the chair as I think about that word, about the guys I know who hold that title.
Fucking hell.
I scrub my hand down my face, praying that I'm fucking dreaming, that I'm going to wake up any moment and realize that none of this is real.
"I need you to strip down and put that on." He lifts his chin to a coat stand in the corner of the room behind me, where a black cape that resembles his is hanging up.
"Strip off?"
"Yes. Then we need to leave.”
I look between Marcus, the box, and the cape. My lips part to question all of this, but no sooner has my mouth opened then it closes again.
I'm speechless.
Utterly fucking speechless.
Ten minutes later, I'm sitting beside Marcus in the back of a black SUV complete with blacked-out windows and driver, head-to-toe in black.
I glance over at him, my fists clenched so tightly on my lap I wouldn't be surprised to find my nails have pierced the skin of my palms when I finally uncurl them. I have no idea where we're going, and Marcus doesn't seem to want to give up the information, either.
"You need to put this on," he says after what feels like the longest silence in history.
I look at his hand to find a black blindfold between his fingers.
Why am I not fucking surprised.
Despite the fact that I want to argue, I already know it won't get me anywhere, so instead I take the fabric from him and slip it over my eyes.
With my vision gone, the rest of my senses come to life. The second the car comes to a stop and I'm encouraged to step out, I focus on the scent of pine that fills the air and the fact that it's deadly silent aside from our feet on the gravel beneath us.
Marcus—well, I assume it's Marcus—leads me forward with his hand on my shoulder until I hear a sound not unlike when he opened his front door earlier and this whole fucking nightmare began.
"Step," he whispers, stopping me from falling on my face a second before my toes connect with the concrete.
