Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

I t was not yet light outside when the knock came several weeks later. Pounding, urgent, shaking the entire front of the house with its force. Ambrose sat bolt right, the blanket falling into his lap like water.

"Who is it?" I asked, bringing the sheet to my chest. We hadn't bothered to dress, as was often our routine, after spending hours entangled so indecently with one another and I hadn't regretted it until now.

Another loud and violent knock had my heart off in a sprint, aggravated by the disorientation of waking up yet again in Ambrose's room, but even more so to an angry beating downstairs.

"I'm not sure, but it can't be good." His legs swung over the edge of the mattress and he snagged his glasses from the nightstand before tugging on a pair of rumbled trousers from yesterday he'd tossed to the floor. Trousers which hung low and unbuttoned on his hips.

I made to follow him, wrapping the sheet around myself with trembling hands, but he shook his head .

"No, darling. You're going to stay here and wait for me. The only people who would dare come pounding on my door in the middle of the night are White Dove men and I can't risk them getting their hands on you." He held a ringed finger up as a demand with one hand, and pulled a small pistol from his chest of drawers with the other.

"But—"

"No. Stay put. I mean it." He checked the magazine with a loud clack.

My blood flustered at the sight.

"What if they hurt you?" I whispered over another round of knocks, each one set my teeth smashing together in my ears. I wanted to clamp my hands over them, to hide under the covers like a child. Were they coming for me? Would someone lose their life tonight?

Would I lose mine?

We passed the end of September and much of October without incident, and with Halloween so close now…

I couldn't think it, not when I was already so disoriented.

"They wouldn't dare. Trust me, my father might be a wicked man, but I am his legacy. There is no fate worse to him than losing that." Ambrose lit a cigarette between his teeth, pulling it from his lips to kiss me—quick and stained—before he sauntered into the hall, bathed in the white light of the moon. "Lock the door behind me."

I stood in the threshold, watching as he disappeared into the foyer which was illuminated dimly from the dining room. I was absolutely not locking the door while I waited for him. What if something happened? I wasn't going to be the kind of girl to sit there while he gurgled and choked on his own blood if someone decided disobeying Dr. Wilder was worth the consequences.

His dress shirt from last night lay balled on the floor, and I snatched it, buttoning what I could as my ears strained to hear.

The door opened downstairs and Ambrose sighed noisily.

"Goddamit, Robert."

My hands wrung themselves tightly.

"They know she's here, Ambrose," a gruff, unfamiliar voice returned, booted footsteps sounded against the rug and the door snicked shut. "Your father is losing his mind with rage, it's not just Beaufort's duty to snag her anymore—he's tasked the entire flock to do so. By any means necessary."

Blood iced over, thick with slush and terror and my stomach churned. Dinner was rapidly on its way to making a reappearance.

" ‘You speak an infinite deal of nothing,' Dr. Greene." Ambrose remained calm, cool, closer to the stairs than he was before. I wasn't so sure if a fellow staff member was comforting or infinitely more terrifying.

"Don't go quoting your bullshit. Be real here for a moment. Do you know what that means? ‘Any means necessary?' Do you have any idea what hell he has set loose in your direction? Where is she?"

"Safe."

"Where?"

"Upstairs."

"God, what am I supposed to do?" The man shouted, exasperated. "Are you fucking her?"

"Does her being upstairs indicate that I'm fucking her?" I could practically hear his smirk.

"She's a student. A student , Ambrose. You're faculty!"

"I'm not sure you're in a position to lecture me about my very adult decisions."

"I promised your mother." Dr. Greene was rambling now. "I promised her I'd keep my eye on you, keep you out of trouble, and you make it so goddamn difficult. She's a student, Ambrose. She's fair game for the Rite!"

"Don't speak of my mother."

"I was there when your father murdered her, I saw the life leave her eyes. She practically begged me to take care of you, and I've done that. I've been nothing but good to you and this is how you repay me? Repay your mother?"

No air entered my lungs as I stepped lightly into the hallway, peering over the railing in attempt to catch a glimpse of one of them. My hair fell over my shoulders and I found Ambrose leaned against the banister, his back covered in black ink, a sprawling raven and blown lamp, positively rigid.

"Help me keep her safe." Ambrose's voice was icy. "I don't need you, but I would certainly appreciate your assistance." Every syllable was enunciated with precision, driving home the power he held in his hands.

And god, it was hot.

"How can you expect me to do that? Your father might not want you dead, but he won't hesitate to remove me . Tell me this, Ambrose, help me understand: how can that girl possibly be worth all of this? Hm? A fucking little rich girl, just like the rest of the cunts that walk around here like they own the goddamn?—"

There was a rustle, bringing me to the top of the stairs like a magnet.

Dr. Greene's words didn't hurt me, not in the way they might usually have. He wanted Ambrose safe and he knew the outcome would not be good for any of us if Ambrose didn't relent. He told the truth, I was no different than the other rich girls, I knew that. I respected the man's care, if nothing else.

Ambrose, however, had the gun to Dr. Greene's forehead, his legs wide and hand steady as cigarette smoke curled in the air around them.

"Shut the fuck up. "

Dr. Greene's eyes lifted to me, wide and glazed, and his thick brown lips parted in a gape.

"Vivian is worth so much more than any of this bullshit and I will kill every one of those motherfuckers before I ever see her on the dais."

"I'm sorry," Dr. Greene murmured, not breaking eye contact, almost as if he meant to apologize for what I'd overheard. "Truly, I am only looking out for you."

"What are you looking at," Ambrose growled, tossing a look over his shoulder and catching my attention. "Goddammit, Vivian." He spun, taking the stairs in twos until his chest was level with my own. " Go , now."

"No, I want to hear what he has to say," I argued with squared shoulders. "Please."

"You're naked," he bit out, loud enough for only me. "And I don't trust that he won't try to take you only to save my ass."

"I'm wearing a shirt," I protested, crossing my arms tight over my chest. " Your shirt."

Ambrose rolled his eyes to the ceiling and banged the butt of the gun against his forehead. "Vivian?—"

"Maybe he can help." I brushed by him, joining the professor in the foyer where I extended my hand. "Dr. Greene, my name is Vivian Blackfield."

He took it, watching Ambrose with a weary look as he gave me a gentle shake with chilled fingers. "I know who you are, girl."

"Be respectful," Ambrose grumbled, pressing his hand into the small of my back which he used to guide us into the living room. "Sit."

I tucked myself into the corner of his couch without a fight and soaked in the space I hadn't often had a chance to observe over the last month. We usually spent our evenings in the kitchen or the bedroom .

Dr. Greene sat in the camel back couch opposite me as Ambrose stalked to the kitchen with bunched shoulders.

"Don't even think of touching her while I set the coffee to brew," he called.

Dr. Greene shook his head, muttering under his breath as his eyes rolled in prayer. His dark hair was peppered with white, and the lines of his face were sunken, deep with age.

I chewed on the inside of my lip, all too aware of the fact that I was alone with another White Dove member. One who even Ambrose didn't trust. I could very well have been damning myself with the notion, but I cleared my throat, willing to give Dr. Greene, a well-respected member of the university, the benefit of the doubt.

"I don't want to be sacrificed," I asserted after a moment. His black eyes came to me in an instant, hard and full of things I knew I couldn't imagine.

"No one does, I would think. At least, not anyone in their right mind." His hand scrubbed his jaw, which was dabbled in stubble. The skin beneath his eyes was a deeper umber than the rest of his face—etched with exhausted rings. I could only imagine the stressful place he found himself in.

"Why did you do it?" I probed, trying to understand how someone not born into the society could do something so wrong, so immoral, all for wealth and power. Was it even worth it?

"I didn't have a choice."

"I take it many of you don't."

"Your damn right they don't. Some of them are unknowingly born into it. I came from Dartmouth in the late nineties, hadn't the slightest inkling what was lurking in the belly of this beast when I took the job." He leaned back, arms wide on the back of the couch as he spoke with regret, his clothes—I assumed the ones he had taught in earlier today—were wrinkled to hell. "I befriended the president, as one does, you know, politicking and all that. Loved him, loved his wife, their son. Stand up faculty, stand up university. It was great. And then, right before the turn of the millennia, Ambrose—sorry his father, Ambrose—approached me with this fanatical idea of a society of powerful men. Men who had everything they could ever dream of…"

"White Dove," I finished for him, my skin cascading in goosebumps.

Dr. Greene gave a curt nod. "White Dove. I didn't know what it entailed, hell, I only wanted good money. Don't we all? And I stood in the fucking Chamber and took my first oath like an idiot, gawking at them when they told me I had to take a dove. I couldn't get out, Vivian. No one can. Not when they've been in the Chamber, not when they know the society exists. You are bound, bound in a way that makes any alternative impossible."

Ambrose came from the kitchen with three mugs spitting steam, his hips moved with such masculine prowess I was nothing but a simpering fool, undressing him in my mind and rolling my lip.

How could he possibly want me? This incredible man, over a decade my senior, with a knowledge of literature I'd die for.

"Are we lamenting?" Ambrose asked, taking his seat beside me before he offered Dr. Greene and I one of the mugs. I took mine, letting the warmth leach into my fingers and soul, willing it to set me at ease.

"Indeed." Dr. Greene gulped the coffee and gave a shuddering grimace. "God, why do you make it so fucking sweet? It's like a dessert."

Ambrose shrugged. "You're only here because Vivian believes, albeit naively, you'll change your mind and help. Stop bitching and show some gratitude." His arm came over my shoulders as he settled into the couch with legs wide.

Feline. A hunter with all the control.

Watching, waiting .

It starved me for him which was mildly irritating, given the circumstances. I huffed, pursing my lips which only brought his iron eyes to me in curiosity.

"I can't help you," Dr. Greene said, softer than before. "I'm sorry."

Ambrose slammed his cup on the table, coffee sloshed over the rim and onto the wood with the force. "Not good enough."

"Ambrose, you know that I?—"

"Not. Good enough."

I sipped my own coffee, rich with salted caramel flavors, observing them.

"What do you want me to do? I can't stop the hunt for the doves, I can't stop the Rite."

"You don't want to do this anymore. You don't want to watch innocent women slaughtered on the dais under the pretense of brotherhood and power every fucking year. And neither do I." Ambrose's voice was severe, low and threatening. "Neither do many, many others in the Chamber. Her brother included."

"What are you saying?"

"We get rid of those who do. We end it Halloween night, show them that White Dove is nothing but a farce, a sick farce that serves no one." Ambrose leaned back once more, bringing his mug to his lips.

"Your own father? You'd kill your own father?" Greene's brows dipped and I took another gulp, heart pounding wildly in my chest. It would surely cease to beat at any minute. "Because you realize that's what it would take, right? Killing your father, putting yourself at the head of the society."

"The day he took my mother was the day my father died." Ambrose was cold as ice, rigid beside me. I brought my hand to his thigh, offering him the barest of reassurances, for I knew there was nothing I could really do to bring him comfort.

"End death with more death…" Dr. Greene mused .

"Sacrifice the few to save the many," Ambrose retorted.

"And if you fail? We will all die if you fail."

"If we fail, you mean." Ambrose quirked a brow. "You promised my mother after all, Robert, you said yourself."

Dr. Greene cursed, throwing his hands in the air. "I hate you."

"Oh, I'm certain that you do." Ambrose chuckled. "Be my ally. Help me remove the rot. We deserve to live in peace, Oakwood deserves peace. It's three centuries overdue, don't you think?"

"And what of the other members? Her father is one, her brother is due to give. They'll be wanting to know why, what happened. Especially with the sudden cease in gatherings." Dr. Greene made a valid point, what of those men? The Alumni, young and old, who called themselves White Doves with pride, had even made a lifestyle out of it.

"Secret societies are absolved all the time. We tell them at the next meeting that I'm disbanding it." I became aware of Ambrose's gaze prickling over my skin. "It has been my plan since my father said I was to inherit it; he's handing the society over it is own demise. It only pleases me to have it happen so soon." His words turned mocking.

"You think they'll let you," I asked. "Those who are loyal to the order, to your father. Do you think they'll let you walk away and not retaliate, or make another chapter behind your back?"

"She's right. You know as much as I do how some of them cling to it."

Ambrose slid the gun across the table. "They won't refuse."

Silence fell.

Silence so deafening I cleared my throat to ease the weight of it, fidgeted in my seat to release the tension of it.

It was clear what Ambrose was insinuating. And it pained me, and Dr. Greene from the look of his stark expression, to have more death. But these men, those who clung to White Dove for the presumed power it leant them, they were evil. Murderers, and god knew what else. And if that included my father…

Well, I already knew the kind of man my father could be.

"Alright. I will help you. I owe Serena that much," Dr. Greene resigned, coming to his feet.

Ambrose stood with him. "And if they get their hands on Vivian, you will help me to release her before anyone can harm her?"

"Yes, of course." Dr. Greene turned his attention to me. "You are lucky. Doves have never before found their freedom. Not in over three hundred years."

My muscles locked under his words and guilt had my nails tinging on the coffee mug. All those women over the last three centuries who had been in my shoes and never had an Ambrose to free them sat lofty on my shoulders. I hoped, in some strange way, that they would help us ensure that no woman had to be sacrificed again, especially as Ambrose—tall and panther-life—stood so adamantly that White Dove be disbanded and cease its rites.

My gaze fell over the firm glower of Ambrose's stare and the straight line of his nose, down to his strong chin and the ink swirling in his skin.

In my bones I knew that if anyone could perform such a feat, it was this Ambrose Wilder.