8. Henry

8

Henry

I stood in the Show Room, tugging at the cuff of my tailored suit. The fabric felt stiff against my skin, a mix of silk and wool in a charcoal hue. My shirt, white and crisp, peeked out just enough to contrast with the deep maroon tie knotted tightly around my neck. It was a suit designed to impress, but tonight, it felt like a costume.

My eyes kept drifting to the door. Freya's face lingered in my mind. Did I want her to show up? The question twisted in my gut. Part of me hoped she’d walk through that door and part of me feared it.

Across the room, laughter erupted from a cluster of men. Their voices carried over, crude and biting.

"Did you see the one Jacob intends to Claim? Poor girl won't know what hit her," one said, his grin wide and wolfish.

Another chimed in, "Bet she'll be begging for mercy by morning."

I clenched my fists inside my pockets, knuckles pressing hard against the seams. Their words grated on me like nails on a chalkboard.

"What about you, Alex? Got plans for your new toy?" someone else asked.

Alex laughed, a harsh sound that scraped through the room. "Oh yeah. She's gonna learn her place real quick."

The air thickened with their arrogance and entitlement. It made my stomach churn. This was supposed to be a night of tradition, but their words turned it into something vile.

I glanced back at the door again, hoping—fearing—that Freya would step through any second now.

Mr. Collins strode into the room with an air of authority that commanded immediate attention. His presence was imposing, his tailored suit sharp and immaculate, his graying hair slicked back with precision. His eyes, a steely blue, scanned the room, assessing each of us with a calculating gaze.

"Gentlemen," he began, his voice resonant and steady. "Tonight, we uphold a tradition that has been the cornerstone of our society for generations."

He paused, letting his words sink in. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, trying to shake off the unease creeping over me.

"This ceremony," Collins continued, "is not merely about selection. It is about bonding with one person, creating a partnership that reveals loyalty and leadership qualities."

The room was silent except for the faint rustle of fabric as men adjusted their ties or straightened their jackets. I caught Jensen's eye from across the room. He met my gaze with a soft smirk that set my teeth on edge.

"Through this bond," Collins went on, "we train our chosen partners to be perfect reflections of ourselves. This is where true strength lies—in unity and understanding."

I could feel the sweat beginning to bead at my temples. Collins' speech felt like a shackle tightening around my chest. I glanced at Jensen again; his smirk hadn't faltered.

Jensen volunteered to get the girls ready earlier in the evening. The thought gnawed at me now. What did he know? What had he seen?

"You seem tense," Jensen's voice broke into my thoughts as he sidled up next to me.

"Just ready for this to be over," I replied, my voice flat.

"Don't worry," he said with a chuckle. "It will be. And that's where the fun begins."

What did he mean by that? The smug look on his face made me want to punch something—or someone.

Collins finished his speech with a flourish. “Remember, tonight we honor our legacy by forging bonds that will shape our future."

Applause erupted around me, but it sounded distant, muffled by the pounding in my ears. My eyes darted once more to the door.

Jensen leaned in closer. "Relax, Henry. We're going to Bond."

His confidence grated on me like sandpaper against raw skin. Relax? Fuck him.

Mr. Collins stepped forward, his presence commanding the room. He cleared his throat, and the murmur of conversation ceased. "The rules are simple but must be followed without exception."

He paused, letting his words sink in. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears.

"The girls will be brought in one by one," Collins continued. "Each member of Ravenwood will have the opportunity to bid. The highest donation wins the Claim."

A murmur rippled through the room, excitement and anticipation thick in the air. I forced myself to take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

"Once a Claim is made," Collins said, "there will be an exchange of blood, vows recited, and a kiss. This ritual solidifies the Bond between Master and Claimed. From that moment on, she submits to her Master, who in turn offers her protection."

He looked around the room, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Mote it be," he intoned.

"Mote it be," we all echoed.

"Bring in the first girl," Collins commanded.

The door at the far end of the room opened slowly. My breath hitched as a young woman was led inside. She walked with her head held high, eyes forward, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.

The door creaked open, and my breath hitched. But it wasn’t Freya. Relief washed over me, loosening the tight coil in my chest. I could finally breathe.

The girl who stepped inside was petite, with raven-black hair cascading down her back in waves. She wore a simple white dress that hugged her slender frame, its hem brushing just above her knees. Her eyes were a startling shade of green, wide and wary, darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh lights, and she clutched a small pendant at her throat—a tiny anchor on a silver chain.

She walked with hesitant steps, her bare feet making no sound on the polished floor. The silence in the room grew thick as all eyes turned to her. The men shifted in their seats, anticipation buzzing like static electricity.

I could see the slight tremble in her hands as she came to a stop in the center of the room. She stood there, alone and vulnerable, under the scrutinizing gazes of Ravenwood's elite.

Collins stepped forward again, his voice smooth and authoritative. "This is Annalise," he announced. "Starting bid is ten thousand."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, wallets were drawn out, checks were written. My eyes remained fixed on Annalise's face. There was a quiet strength there, beneath the fear—a determination that flickered like a candle in the wind.

Bids began flying around the room—fifteen thousand, twenty thousand, thirty thousand. The numbers climbed higher and higher, and with each new bid, Annalise's shoulders tensed further.

The man who had made the winning bid — Jacob — stepped forward with a triumphant smile plastered on his face. He approached the girl and took her hand with an air of ownership.

Collins handed him a small ceremonial knife. With practiced ease, he made a shallow cut on his palm before doing the same to hers. They pressed their hands together as blood mingled between them.

"Do you vow to serve your Master?" Collins asked her.

"I do," she replied softly.

"And do you vow to protect your partner?" he asked the man.

"I do."

They recited their vows before sealing it with a kiss—a chaste brush of lips that felt more like a transaction than an expression of affection.

"Let this Bond be honored," Collins said solemnly. "Mote it be."

"Mote it be," we all repeated once more.

As they stepped aside to make way for the next girl, I couldn't help but glance back at that door again—hoping and dreading what might come next.

Girl after girl paraded in front of us, each one more nervous than the last. The tension in the room grew with each new arrival, but none of them were Freya. I felt my stomach twist with every disappointed glance at the door. Where was she?

Unless she decided to listen for once and not show up.

Jensen leaned against a column, arms crossed, watching the proceedings with an air of detachment. He hadn’t claimed anyone yet, but neither had I. His eyes flicked to me occasionally, that infuriating smirk still tugging at his lips.

When Collins announced the next name, my heart skipped a beat.

"Rebecca."

She stepped into the room with an air of defiance. Her honey-brown hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her blue eyes blazed with determination. She wore a dark green dress that hugged her curves and ended just above her knees, making her look like a goddess stepping down from her pedestal. Rebecca always knew how to command attention.

She locked eyes with me, and for a moment, the room seemed to fade away. Her gaze bore into me, willing me to make a move.

"Starting bid is ten thousand," Collins announced.

I felt my pulse quicken as I considered my options. Rebecca was right there, willing and ready. If I claimed her now, it would be over. I wouldn’t have to wait for Freya any longer.

But what if Freya did show up? What if I missed my chance because I chose the safer option? The thought gnawed at me like a persistent itch I couldn’t scratch.

"Fifteen thousand," someone called out.

Rebecca’s eyes didn’t waver. She looked at me as if daring me to act. My mind raced. Could I risk it? Could I really let this opportunity slip through my fingers?

"Twenty thousand," another voice joined in.

Rebecca's gaze grew more intense, practically pleading now. But deep down, I knew what I had to do.

I clenched my fists inside my pockets and took a deep breath.

No.

I decided to take my chances. My gut told me that waiting was the right choice, no matter how uncertain it felt. Rebecca deserved someone who would claim her wholeheartedly, without hesitation or second thoughts.

"Thirty thousand," came another bid from across the room.

Rebecca’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly as she realized I wasn’t going to step forward.

What did she expect after what she did?

Collins continued with the ritual as another man stepped forward to claim Rebecca. My heart hammered in my chest as I cast one last glance at the door, hoping—praying—that Freya would walk through it before it was too late.

The door creaked open, and there she was—Freya. Her presence hit me like a freight train. She wore a deep blue dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, the fabric shimmering under the lights. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, framing a face that could stop time. Her eyes, usually so warm, now held a fire that burned through the room.

She stepped forward with an air of defiance, chin up and shoulders squared. She wasn’t just walking into this room; she was making a statement. The tension in my body ratcheted up several notches. Every fiber of my being screamed at me to do whatever it took to get her.

Collins' voice broke through my reverie. "Freya," he announced with a sly grin. "Henry's fiancée, if my information is accurate." He glanced at me. "I didn't realize you'd want to bid on something you already own."

"Henry doesn't own me," Freya snapped back, her voice like a whip crack.

Collins chuckled, clearly amused. "She has a mouth on her," he said, his tone dripping with condescension. "Extra training will certainly be required." He paused for effect, letting the anticipation build before delivering his final blow. "Starting bid—twenty thousand."

The room buzzed with murmurs of surprise and curiosity. No one had ever commanded such a high starting bid before. Collins was doing this on purpose, trying to squeeze every penny out of the society by leveraging Freya's defiance, knowing she was already mine.

My teeth clenched so hard I thought they might crack. The injustice of it all made my blood boil. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room shifting towards me, waiting to see what I would do.

"Twenty thousand," Jensen said immediately.

Fucking hell.

"Twenty-five thousand," I declared without hesitation, my voice steady and resolute.

Freya’s eyes met mine, and for a split second, something passed between us—a mix of hope and defiance that made my heart race even faster.

"Thirty thousand," Jensen called out from across the room.

I barely heard them; my focus was solely on Freya.

"Forty thousand," I countered immediately.

The stakes were high, but losing her wasn’t an option. I'd do whatever it took to claim her tonight—no matter the cost.

Collins raised an eyebrow but said nothing more as the bidding continued to escalate around us.

“One hundred thousand,” I declared, my voice slicing through the murmurs like a knife.

The room fell silent, the air thick with shock. Faces turned towards me, eyes wide and jaws slack.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Jensen spat, his eyes narrowing. “Just to get a taste of your own pussy?”

“And to keep you from it,” I growled back, meeting his gaze head-on. The tension between us crackled like static electricity.

Mr. Collins cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. “One hundred thousand dollars is the highest anyone has ever bid,” he announced, a note of admiration in his voice. “Henry, to you. The spoils. Come. Let’s conduct the ritual.”

I moved to stand in front of Freya, my heart pounding in my chest. She looked up at me, defiance still flickering in her eyes despite the situation.

Mr. Collins took a clean blade and reached for Freya's hand. “What the—” she began, her voice laced with confusion and fear.

“Don’t,” I interrupted, my tone firm. I took the blade from Collins’ hand before he could proceed. “I’ll do it.”

Freya’s eyes flashed with anger and something else—betrayal, maybe? I locked eyes with her, my grip tightening around the blade.

“I warned you,” I said, my voice low and intense. “Now, give me your hand.”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching mine for any sign of weakness or hesitation. Then, reluctantly, she placed her hand in mine. Her skin was cool and soft against my palm, a stark contrast to the tension that buzzed between us.

As I positioned the blade over her palm, I realized just how much bigger my hand was than hers. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut—an overwhelming surge of protective instincts flooded through me.

I made a shallow cut across her palm, watching as her blood welled up and began to trickle down her fingers. She winced but didn’t pull away. Then I did the same thing to my own palm.

Our blood mingled as we pressed our hands together—a tangible symbol of the bond we were about to forge.

"Do you vow to serve your Master?" Collins asked her.

Freya looked like she wanted to argue, her eyes narrowing and her lips pressing into a thin line. I shot her a glare, hoping she'd understand the gravity of the situation.

"I do," she replied tightly, the words coming out like they were dragged from her throat.

"And do you vow to protect your partner?" Collins asked, turning to me.

"I do."

"Now, for the kiss." Collins stepped back, giving us space.

I leaned down, my breath hitching as I closed the distance between us. This was our first kiss, and it felt monumental. I was hungry for her, desperate to claim what was mine. My lips crashed onto hers with a fervor that surprised even me. The taste of her, sweet and defiant, ignited something primal inside me. My fingers tightened around her hand, feeling the slick warmth of our mingled blood between our palms.

Freya's lips parted slightly in surprise, and I took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Anger simmered beneath my hunger—anger that she hadn't been mine first, that I'd had to fight for this moment. The kiss was a battle of wills, a struggle for dominance that neither of us wanted to lose.

I pulled away reluctantly, my breath ragged and my heart pounding in my chest. Freya's eyes were wide with a mix of emotions—confusion, anger, maybe even a hint of fear. But there was also something else there, something that mirrored the hunger I felt.

"Let this Bond be honored," Collins said solemnly, breaking the charged silence that had enveloped us. "Mote it be."

"Mote it be," we all repeated once more.

It was official; Freya belonged to me now.