Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

A mbrose locked up the library immediately after close, a bag tossed over his shoulder. I eyed him wearily in the dark of night as the first drops of rain had just begun to fall cold against my face.

"Did you bring an umbrella?" I tucked my coat tighter around my frame.

"I did not, but you should be used to it by now." He grinned, taking my hand in his to begin the trek to Oakwood House.

"I didn't do it by choice, you know that." I laced our fingers together, enjoying the warmth of his large hand around mine.

"I do. Positively broke my heart to see you come in every day soaked to the bone."

Rain pattered, falling flecks of gold in the lamplight, and it smelled amazing—like wet earth and Autumn. With his free hand, Ambrose placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it, filling the space with haze.

"I'm dying to know what you have up your sleeve," I admitted after a few moments of silence .

His eyes scanned the darkness around us and I wondered for a moment if he was looking for the guy in the hood. It seemed a likely enough excuse for the tension on his mouth.

"I hope you'll be most pleased. But in all honesty, I simply seek your forgiveness. The way you stormed out of the classroom killed me. I didn't relish the feeling of hurting you, or knowing I harbored something from you."

"What is it that you seek forgiveness for then? For keeping secrets or for hurting me?" My voice quieted and a knot of emotion began to build in my throat. Rarely had others hurt me and sought to reconcile. I was forced to fester in the pain and tend to my wounds on my own.

"For both. You were curious, you had every right to ask me about it all. And I was cold in return, perhaps even unjustly so. I could have handled it better than I did." Smoke encircled his head as I risked a peek in his direction.

"It did hurt how quickly you shut me out. But I think I understand why." I fidgeted with the chilled white gold ring on his pointer finger, spinning it in my agitation. "I appreciate you talking to me about this. For trying to make up for it."

We crossed into the quiet of the woods, the late evening sky much darker than it had been the night before. I could barely make out Oakwood House in the distance, or anything else for that matter. But Ambrose walked on, reminding me that he knew the grounds of Oakwood like he knew his own soul.

"I am taking such a great risk to prove that I—" he paused, clearing his throat. "I'm starved, are you?"

"I hardly ate today." I laughed.

"I figured." His eye roll was audible as we broke the throng of trees onto the grounds of Oakwood House. "I expect better. You will start to consume more than caffeine. I can't quite fathom how you retain your glorious figure with what little you eat. "

"It's not a habit I've had for very long." I smirked like a brat. "And if I keep said newly formed habit?"

"You won't. "

"Is that a threat?" Butterflies fluttered in my belly at the very idea.

Ambrose stuck the key into the lock, cutting his eyes to me in the dark. "Yes, as a matter of fact, it is."

"Well, I am a glutton for punishment."

Inside Oakwood House was gloriously warm and a light from the kitchen trickled into the rest of the rooms.

"So I've come to learn." He took my coat and kicked off his shoes to march with socked, determined feet into the kitchen. I followed suit, finding a seat at the island which was considerably cleaner than it had been the night before.

He fixed us each a glass of whiskey before he started on dinner—something with chicken, garlic, and lemon.

"My bag," he stated as he turned on the stove with a click. Olive oil splashed into the pan. "Open it. You'll find your surprise inside."

I eyed the dark leather satchel with apprehension. It was cracked, weathered, and worn. Just how long had this vessel been around, what had it seen while slung over his shoulder, what lectures had it heard time and again?

What could he possibly have gotten me that could be inside this ancient artifact of his life in academia? I wasn't used to showers of affection as much as I wasn't used to apologies and this whole thing suddenly seemed so much bigger than us sleeping together.

I took another gulp of the oak flavored alcohol, letting it burn down my throat and settle heavily in my stomach before I reached into the bag and pulled from within it a thick, crimson leather tome .

On the front cover sprawled a dove, her wings wide open in midflight.

I stopped breathing completely.

"What is this?" I asked in a hush, cracking open the book. The soft scent of parchment and age wafted forth.

"It's exactly what you think it is." Ambrose cast a gaze over his shoulder, his stubbled jaw tight.

"Why?" The first page, worn beige from time, bore a similar dove and fine, handwritten lettering.

White Dove Society, 31st Oct 1701 by Abraham Wilder.

"Abraham Wilder?"

"My ancestor, yes." Ambrose leaned onto the counter, chicken sizzling behind him—citrus and mouthwatering. "He was the founder of the society and the cofounding president of the university. Both of his positions have been passed down for generations. A curse and a blessing, really."

"This is insane." I began to flip through the pages, unable to read any of the passages scrawled there. "It's all in Latin…what does it say?"

"The Latin was a deliberate choice, a sort of code we are all forced to learn. We didn't start having meetings in English until recently, and trust me that was a relief," he explained. "This page tells how it was founded. Abraham had a dream—he was shown a group of powerful men, men who owned more than their fair share. Men who could change the course of a country with a single tilt of their heads."

I watched him attentively as he roamed the page, distant and hollow.

"He became obsessed with the source of this power, with the wealth he saw them exude. So he prayed and prayed until one day, someone finally answered. Supposedly—" Ambrose's finger came to a page with a splatter of something brown and thick, "it wasn't God who came to my ancestor. It was Satan. And He promised to reward any who gathered and yielded themselves to Him with all the power a mortal man could wish, so long as they paid a price."

"You're kidding," I accused, unable to fight my smile. It was ridiculous, a scary story told to children who were greedy and yet so horribly cliché I couldn't bear to take it seriously.

"I wish I was." Something sorrowful in his features told me that he meant that. He flipped the pages once more. "Abraham asked Satan what price he was to pay and it was a life. A life for every member who joined. A life carefully sought out and sacrificed on His night. But the first price had to be weighty, you see. The Dark Lord needed a serious commitment—and so it was decided that the first dove would be Abraham's wife."

"The first dove? Ambrose, this can't be real." The whiskey churned in my gut and a cold sweat started to break over my skin. He was grave, sincere, and his jaw worked while he regarded me.

"It is real. Although the bit about the devil is not, this—" his finger came hard down onto the worn pages "— this is real. Powerful, cruel men are real. They kill an innocent each and every year. Your own father did it. Your brother?—"

"No, not Walt. Walt could never." I came to my feet, fighting to bring my eyes back to the book. "Walt could never do something like this."

"Why do you think he's so distraught and avoiding you? Because he c an't refuse. None of us could. He's battling every demon in his mind and heart while White Dove breathes down his neck. If he doesn't find a dove, an innocent woman to sacrifice, then he will lose his own life." He turned back to the chicken, flipping it in the pan as if he hadn't just dumped the most incomprehensible bit of information onto me.

I was breathing too fast, barely able to put the pieces together in my mind. I'd been right. Sam had been right. It was one thing to speculate, to consider the possibility of some sinister society lurking beneath the halls of the university, but to know it for certain? To feel the weight of evidence in my hands was too much.

I was going to pass out.

My chest tightened, rising too fast, too much and my vision blurred, spinning as a result. It had seemed almost a joke before, but my father? Walt? I really was out of my league.

"This can't be real." I said again, it was the only thing I could think to say. The only thing that lingered in my mind. This can't be real. This doesn't happen in real life.

And it hit me.

What he said.

None of us could.

"You. You killed someone for this." It was barely over a whisper.

The knowledge that he had sacrificed an innocent life out of necessity perhaps didn't disturb me as much as it should. Maybe it was because I knew how he hated his father to the bone, heard with my own ears that he didn't want anything to do with White Dove. But I felt nothing but pity for him, not repulsion as I did with the others, but pity.

Heartache. Sadness.

"I did," Ambrose's shoulders bunched as he watched over dinner on the stove. "I did and I carry the mark with me every day." He held up his hand with the ruby pinky ring, bloodred stone glinting in the light.

"What do you mean?" My brows stitched.

"This stone isn't a precious gem, Vivian. It's the blood of my dove. My sacrifice."

Bile crawled up the back of my throat, burning and acidic. "No, it's not."

"It is. Every leader of White Dove must have the blood of their dove cast into a gem to wear. A symbol to others in the society, a sign of our status," he drawled. "And you don't even know what's worse than all of this."

"How can it get worse?" I gripped the counter for support. Ambrose came back to the island, flipping a few more pages until he found the one he was looking for.

"Every one hundred years, the ultimate price must be paid by the highest man. Every one hundred years, whether he's already made his sacrifice or not, he must take a second dove."

I swallowed thickly as Ambrose faced me, his expression full of hatred.

"His wife."

"Your mother."

"My mother. I was eleven, Vivian. Eleven years old and had to watch my father drag her out of that very door on Halloween after she took me trick-or-treating." His finger jabbed toward the front door. "I watched as the others in their hoods knocked her out, threw her in the car and took her to the Chamber. I didn't realize until I was in undergrad, until Father introduced me to White Dove, what happened to my mother. What her fate had been."

He came around the counter, his frame towering over mine and his voice deadly. "And you know what my father said to me when I confronted him?"

I shook my head, mouth agape.

"He said he knew. When he fell in love with her, when she bore me, he knew what would happen. He was proud , he said, for her to be his second dove. Proud , Vivian, to tear her away from her family. To slit her throat and smear her blood all over him. His wife! That is whose essence resides in my father's ring. My mother ."

"I…I don't know what to say. Ambrose." I made for him, gripping his forearms as he trembled beneath my touch, the years' lo ng hurt etched so painfully into his features. To do that to a child, to expect him to sit by as if nothing happened when he saw his mother dragged from their own home, to know his father had been the one to murder his mother, that her body had been defiled to create the jewelry his father wore daily, and he was to inherit the hideous society which had led to her demise…was supposed to be eager to inherit it…it was nauseating.

So I pulled him into an embrace, held him close to me as his shoulders rocked with silent cries. "I'm so sorry."

" I'm sorry," he croaked into the crook of my neck after a moment's silence. "Because now they have targeted you, Vivian. You are a dove."

I had figured, in the back of my mind.

I knew.

I knew the second night I saw the cloaked figure, when Ambrose had kissed me, that something was amiss.

A sigh escaped. I was resigned, ever the more lost for words. For what could I say? It didn't change anything. Nothing I said could possibly change this haunting and skulking truth.

But I did quake, damn near convulsing from the fear of it. That a man of great wealth and power had targeted me for murder. Was I even attached to my body at this point? Or was I watching the scene play out from somewhere else in the room, outside of it all?

"I won't let them get you." Ambrose pulled back as if he'd read my mind, his palms on either side of my face. Deep in those swirling gray orbs was a determination I'd scarcely seen before. "I will never let them get you, do you hear me? They took my mother but they will not take you."

"Of course, I trust you." My voice was empty, echoing in my ears as my own hands encircled his wrists. And though I did trust him, it seemed…a distant sort of possibility that he could prevent what White Dove planned .

Maybe I was numb to it, maybe I hadn't processed it all yet, but I was hollow…wondering when the panic would really kick in.

"You don't think I will." His perfect white teeth peeked from between his curved lips and he searched my face in frantic swipes.

"It's…a lot to take in."

"It is, and I loathe to think that you, of all people, are in this position. They've already started securing the doves for Halloween, that's why someone came to your dorm last night. He was going to take you. And Brian?—"

"He asked me to the Gala because he's the initiate, isn't he?" I sagged with the knowledge of how close I'd come to my damnation.

"Yes. He's the one you've been seeing, the one who wishes to sacrifice you," Ambrose continued. "That's why he wants to take you, to make it easy."

"Did you know he picked me? That he was going to come get me? Is that why you took me home last night? And tonight?"

Ambrose laughed, a vacant sound that stopped my heart. "No, I didn't. But I'm glad you were here with me. And if I have anything to say about it, you'll stay with me until after the initiation."

"Does my father know that I've been chosen?" I couldn't meet his stare as the words fell from my lips. Instead, I fixed on the chicken cooking in the pan. Bubbling, browning, searing splashes of sustenance I didn't have an appetite for anymore.

"I'm not sure, but all of us know that there is a possibility our daughters could be chosen, which is why many society members don't typically choose to send theirs here. Only the heirs come."

Pieces fell into place, why Dad was so adamant that I stay at NYU until Walt finally talked him into my enrolling under his nose, rather than Mother's. And perhaps his hefty donation wasn't only for my admission, but for my safety.

Something that the elder Dr. Wilder didn't seem to care much about. He struck me as the sort of person to follow tradition no matter what. Especially if he killed his own wife for the sake of the society.

The mother of his son.

"I can't believe they get away with this." My heart caved in on itself. Sorrow was heavy, for Ambrose, for me.

For Walt.

Sorrow tinged with the awful bitterness of hatred for my father and Ambrose's.

"It has been this way for hundreds of years, before this country even came to be. Just trust that I will keep you safe."

"How?"

He stepped away, but not before placing a soft kiss on my lips. And as he spoke, he plated our dinner—chicken, broccoli, slices of sourdough with butter. I poured yet more whiskey, taking a shot before I filled the glass again.

He seemed to be considering his words carefully. "If they cannot take you by Halloween, then they cannot use you. Brian will have to find someone else, or take to the altar himself. So, the way I see it, if you stay with me at all times, you will be safe. They wouldn't dare touch you in my presence."

"But I have classes?—"

"Come, let us sit in the dining room." His footfalls bounced softly against the wood floor, he had both plates in hand and I followed with our drinks. Ambrose flicked on the light, bathing the dining room in a soft, incandescent glow which glared off the table. We took our seats, barely touching dinner.

"Yes, you have classes. And we have a few weeks until Halloween so we will have to be crafty. If you are not with me, you are to stay in a crowd. They will not take you until you are alone or easily pulled from the group. It is of the utmost importance that they remain unseen, a cardinal rule of a secret society, wouldn't you agree?"

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," I quavered, rolling a broccoli floret around my plate.

"Nor can I." He was making better headway than I, nibbling on his vegetable. That damn ruby ring caught the light, tossing any attempts at consumption out the window.

Blood, I reminded myself. It wasn't a ruby, it was blood from a woman who had a life, a family mourning her. How long had she been gone? What had she been like?

"I don't know if I can let another woman go in my place." I continued to stare down his ring.

"It's unthinkable, isn't it? My goal is to dismantle the society when I finally take seat. Until then, we must do what we can to keep ourselves safe."

Silence fell, loaded and stifling.

"I know you said otherwise but I can't help but think you singled me out because you knew," I finally admitted to him and myself. "Why did you kiss me, Ambrose? Why did you pursue me? I'm your student. I'm not some seasoned woman, I'm not even remotely within the realm of your league." I set down my silverware, opting for alcohol instead and watching a flicker of hurt over his face.

"I kissed you because I wanted to. Please believe me when I say the only reason I began to pursue you is because I am inexplicably attracted to you, Vivian. You who are vivacious and curious, you who sees literature in the way I do. You who are rebellious, who cares not about the society you were born into, but the richness of life." He paused. "I did not know you had been chosen until the night we walked to Roosevelt House together. I had my worries, of course, I worry about every student I come across at the beginning of the year. But you…you ar e different. From the moment we bumped into one another I found myself hopelessly lost in you."

"You knew he was there when you kissed me?" I pressed.

"I wanted to kiss you from the start. When your mouth gaped open in that seductive way after I spilled coffee all over you, I wanted to taste you. Did I take the opportunity to mark you as my own while Brian watched and I gave in to my most heinous desire as your instructor? Yes." Ambrose chuckled, peering at me from over his glasses. "The only regret I have is that I did not kiss you sooner."

I relaxed only slightly, pleased to know that he had wanted me , not as some attempt to save me from his father's society. It soothed the hurt, bathing it in a sort of salve.

"You can kiss me now," I murmured, my pinky brushing the back of his hand.

"I can." He rose from his seat, bending at the waist so he was close as he brushed my hair over my shoulder and ran the pad of his thumb across my lip. "I can kiss you whenever I like, can't I?"

"Yes, you can."

Ambrose captured my mouth with such fervor I was temporarily struck, my heart kicked into high gear and molten desire rushed to my core. His tongue teased my own and his fingers wrapped around my neck in a glorious and dizzying way, sending a moan from my mouth to his.

As he nipped my lower lip, I came to my own feet, wrapping my arms around him and pressing my hips into his.

"God, Vivian, I love the way you feel," he said, a large hand taking the flesh of my ass with a squeeze.

I loved the way he felt, the way he tasted, the way he smelled. I loved the passion he had for his subject, the eccentric way he worked and spoke…his fervent protectiveness.

I loved him.

Ambrose .

Everything he was and did and god, as the thought came flooding into my mind and on the tip of my tongue, I froze.

"What's wrong," he asked, pulling away so his thick erection brushed my hip.

"Nothing." My hands came to his cheeks. "I just…want you. Now, please."

"My darling." He smiled softly, fingertips curling under the hem of my skirt. "I may indeed make you beg tonight."