2. Chapter One

Chapter One

Asher

W ithout a word I pull out of Skyla, standing to my feet before grabbing my white robe. I pull it on over my shoulders and tie the sash as I look down to see those watery emerald green eyes staring up at me. I raise an unimpressed eyebrow to her theatrics as I take the white nightgown that's been ripped beneath her, balling up a chunk of the material and forcefully wiping between her legs. Her body bucks at the intrusion but my left hand forces her thigh apart. I continue wiping, smearing her blood and my cum onto the white material, before I yank it out from under her.

She almost falls from the slab at the sudden move, but I maintain my stoic gaze. Once I have the entire thing in my arms, I give her one more cold glance. Her eyes are begging me, pleading with me. For what, though? What does she expect? Doesn't she see this is all we will ever be? All we could ever afford to be? Just because she convinced herself I was capable of being someone else doesn't mean shit. Fuck, for a second there, she had me convinced too.

As I move through the room, I meet Liam's eyes. I've never seen so much hate in my best friend's eyes, and to be honest, it turns my stomach. Of course, I don't let it show as I continue moving through the sacred room. The next set of eyes I land on is Ronan's, who is currently not so subtly holding back a crazed-looking Griggs. Yeah, I'll definitely be sleeping with my door barricaded tonight. Crazy motherfucker looks ready to bathe in my blood.

My father nods to me in approval, casting a disapproving gaze to Skyla before murmuring to me.

"Head to the cemetery. We will follow shortly."

I nod, making my way out of the room, I go through the holding room, where I slip on my shoes before heading down the tunnel. When I get to the church, I realize I'm not alone. A member of the Brethren is there nodding his head in respect as I pass him by.

When I turn right and head deeper into the cemetery, I notice a soft orange glow in the distance. I push deeper into the night, stepping over the occasional tree root or dilapidated headstone.

Finally, I make it to the large bonfire, and I see several members of the Brethren gathered around it, tending to the fire. There are probably only five men here, but it's five more than I expected. I thought these traditions were meant to be kept secret, even from other members. Maybe I'm wrong, though.

We only wait a few minutes before the Elders arrive. Led by my father, they all take their places to form a circle around the fire. My father is beside me, with Henry on the other, before my father steps forward arms raised to the sky as his voice bellows out.

"Christ, we come before you on this night of evil with good. A union holier than thou can imagine has been commemorated. We give you this sacrifice of virgin blood in thanks for the protection you grant us against evil."

"Maleficis esse mori," everyone chants.

Death to witches.

My father continues, begging God to continue protecting us from their evil. That he strikes them down and slits their throats. Of course, I'm not dumb enough to bring up the fact that I'm not sure that's how God works.

I've always known that the Brethren has been a little out there, and by a little, I mean a lot. Tonight, has really opened my eyes, though. The number of steps that was explained to me and told had to be executed to perfection was insane. The ritual, the crazed religious tie to it all. Maybe Skyla is right; this is seeming more like a cult with each passing day.

Skyla. My wife.

For all intents and purposes, in the Brethren's eyes we are married now. More married than a piece of paper in a courthouse could ever deem us. We are tied to each other for all eternity, or at least for the rest of her life. In case it wasn't obvious, women don't typically last long in the Brethren, especially with an Elder.

Do I feel that I took it a little far in there? Yeah, of course. I had no choice, though. She spoke during the ceremony. She said it was okay, outing that I was remorseful, something that I will not escape unscathed. My father looked ready to blow both of our brains to pieces.

So, I had to sell it. Had to make her and everyone else in that room think that I've been playing her. There is nothing my father hates more than a strong woman, something he knows Skyla to be. That's dangerous enough. If he thought for a second that she had a hold on me, that this love she supposedly has for me would affect my judgment or decision making …suffice it to say, it would be a bloody end for us both.

The slap to her face hurt something inside me no matter how numb I tried to be, and the spit was the ultimate disrespect. I wanted to make her feel less than, to be ground under my heel until she was nothing. If she believed it, so would they.

I didn't want to break her like that, I didn't want to say a word. We both agreed to stay silent, so why the fuck did she speak? I didn't have a fucking choice! For both our sakes. She should be thanking me, honestly. Though, something tells me thanks won't be the first words she utters to me when we move into our home tomorrow.

Did a small piece inside of me also do it for myself? Maybe. Maybe it wasn't just to keep my father and the Elder's away from her. Maybe a part of me did it to put distance between us. She was too close, too embedded in me. I could feel my whole world shifting and everything started revolving around Skyla. Which is a dangerous thing for me and my heart, when hers is already accounted for.

I don't care what her or any of the guys say. She can't love them all, not equally. In the end, she will have to choose one, and the others will be decimated. I couldn't be involved. We all know I'd never be the choice. So, why would I sign myself up for inevitable hurt?

They can play house with each other for now, convince themselves this thing they have is forever. Eventually, though, this will all be a distant memory until one is left standing…or hell, maybe none. Who knows.

What I do know is that as much as I'd like to believe in fairy-tales and happily ever after's, I'm a realist. Her heart is already too full, too occupied. There is no room left for me anyways.