Prologue

PROLOGUE

Wyn - Initiation

I've never done anything like this, and now that I'm here, I realize how insane it is. But this has never been about what I want. Tonight is about duty, tradition, and soul-crushing expectations...

The Burning Crown is a centuries-old secret society on the Exeter University West campus—ExU for short—and being accepted as a member is an incredible privilege. At least, that's what my parents tell me. They're both members, as were their parents before them, and so on. So naturally, when I was accepted into ExU, it was assumed I'd initiate into the society.

So here I am, standing in the center of a windowless room, naked beneath my dark robe, my entire body trembling. No one would tell me what to expect, so I'm going into this completely blind, which only heightens my anxiety.

After long agonizing minutes of standing alone in the center of the room, the door opens, and several masked figures start filing in, all wearing navy blue cloaks. Leading them is someone holding a gold ball on a chain, white smoke billowing from intricate cutouts.

My heart leaps into my throat as they start chanting something in Latin, still moving in a single line, coiling around me like a snake, until I'm completely surrounded. Only when the circle is closed do they stop chanting.

This shit is creepy as fuck. Is it too late to nope out?

Before I can even entertain that thought, though, the leader stops directly in front of me, peering at me from behind his gold mask. "Gwendolyn Renee Barker," he intones. "You come before us with the desire to become a child of the Society of the Burning Crown."

Now would be the time to speak up and say, "Just kidding," right? Instead, I find myself nodding, guided by that suffocating sense of duty. "Um, yeah."

"You come of your own free will."

I clasp my hands in front of me, squeezing them into fists. "Yes."

"You agree to serve the order, to do whatever it requires of you without question or hesitation," the leader intones mechanically.

"Yes."

He nods once. "You will now be given the opportunity to show your willingness to submit to the order. You may halt the ceremony at any point, but in doing so, you will be escorted off the premises and forbidden to enter forevermore…"

Having the agency to stop the ritual gives me a small degree of comfort, especially since I have no idea what's about to happen. I'm naked under the robe, though, so that's my first giant red flag. If I had to guess, maybe public humiliation? Paddling? I've heard that's a thing in secret societies.

I nod in response to whatever the guy just said.

"You need to say it."

Oh. "Okay," I say quickly. "I mean, yes. I agree."

With another nod, he hands the smoking ball off to someone, exchanging it for a gold chalice. He approaches me with it. "Drink deeply from the chalice of knowledge."

I grab it from him so quickly that the amber-colored liquid inside sloshes over the lip. I just want to get this shit over with. Lifting the chalice to my lips, I tilt my head back and drain it, then hand it back. Whatever that was, it tasted like really sweet orange juice, and it makes my lips pucker.

The chanting picks up again, and I allow my gaze to scan the circle. I'm new on campus, so even without the masks, I wouldn't know anyone. But the masks give the ritual an extra menacing vibe, and if that's what they're going for, then bravo. Well done.

After a couple of minutes, that anxious feeling in my stomach starts to fade and a warm sense of euphoria washes over me. Clever. They must've put a sedative or something in the drink to calm me down.

But that doesn't bode well for what's to come, does it?

I'm feeling very floaty when a female member steps toward me and unfastens the rope belt that's holding my robe together. She slides it off my shoulders, exposing my naked body to the entire room.

My muscles go rigid as the fabric falls away, and a wash of cold air brushes over my skin. My nipples instantly harden, and my hands move to my front, shielding my trimmed patch of pubic hair.

A female member steps forward with a long feather in her hand. "This feather represents our forbearers, looking down on us, guiding us in the way of the order…"

She brushes it over my skin lightly, then steps back into the circle. Someone else then steps forward, a wooden paddle hanging loose at their side. My heart rate kicks up about a thousand notches when I see it.

Without saying anything, the person nudges my shoulder, turning me around, so my back faces him. Then he applies pressure to the small of my back, instructing me to bend over.

"This paddle represents the adversity you will endure in defense of the society," he says.

I swallow, and squeeze my eyes shut, every muscle in my body tensing up in anticipation of the first blow. It comes without warning—a solid thud that pushes my entire body forward. Then a sharp sting, followed by intense heat, blooms across both my ass cheeks. My eyes water, but I manage to swallow back the whimper that bubbles up in my throat.

The person brings the paddle down two more times and by the end of it, silent tears are streaming down my face. My backside hurts so bad, I wonder if I'll be able to walk tomorrow.

Relief washes over me when, from the corner of my eye, I see the guy with the paddle rejoin the circle. Thank God. I don't know how much more of that paddle I could take.

Yet another person steps forward. By the size and frame of the person, I'm guessing it's another female member. I'm still bent over, and she's holding something I can't see. She takes her position behind me.

"This whip represents the adversaries that will attempt to pry our secrets from you." Her words have no inflection.

Wait, did she just say a whip?

I'm just starting to turn and say, "Whoa, hold up," but before I can even form the words, the whip comes down with a sickening crack. It's like liquid pain being poured over my back. On reflex alone, I arch and scream. The sting is so intense, I can hardly breathe. I can't pull enough air into my lungs. It feels like they've been stunned into malfunctioning.

There's a second of silence as everyone waits to see if I'll forfeit. But I've already come this far, so I don't say anything.

Squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth against the pain, I reposition myself to receive the next blow. It comes quickly. The whip licks my back again, leaving a ribbon of fire in its wake. And this time, I don't even try to quiet the scream that erupts from somewhere deep in my chest.

There's one more strike after that, but the pain is already so intense that I don't even feel it. It must be the adrenaline that's shooting through my system.

When it's over, I'm given a few minutes to recover before someone steps forward, grabs my hand, and walks me over to a table that's being pushed forward. It's all wood with straps dangling from it. Honestly, it looks like something straight out of a medieval dungeon, and the sight of it sends my heart rate into cardiac arrest territory.

For a split second, I consider saying, "Fuck this," but something stops me. The crushing weight of expectation. My only goal growing up was to excel at everything and do all the right things, all to please my parents. They could be so suffocatingly critical, but when they were happy with me, life was great. When they weren't, well, it's like I didn't even exist.

And this, becoming a member of the Burning Crown, is all they've ever wanted. If I back out now, I'll be dead to them. They'd never admit that outright, but I know it's true. The calls would stop. The money would stop. I'd be on my own.

So, yeah, I guess I'm doing this.

Someone guides me to the table, and I climb up, wincing when the skin on my back makes contact with the hard wood. Holy shit. Gingerly, I shift my body until I'm lying flat on the table, my thighs clamped shut.

The only thing going through my mind is, How can this possibly get worse?

In the dim light, someone steps forward. Everyone in this room looks the same—dark robe, gold mask—but there's something about this guy that commands attention. He's tall and even hidden beneath all that fabric, I can tell his frame leans toward muscular. I can't see his hair or his face, though. And it's too dim to see the color of his eyes. So his commanding presence is all there is to set him apart.

"This act consummates your forever bond to the society," he intones, his deep baritone skipping down my spine. "Do you agree?"

"Y-yes," I say, my voice trembling.

Everyone starts chanting, and he grabs my ankles, pulling me toward the end of the table. I yelp in pain as the smooth wood scrapes along my back, but he doesn't react at all to my distress. When my legs are dangling over the edge, he opens his robe, unzips his pants, and pulls his cock out.

I wish I had the presence of mind to take a good look at it, but I'm so terrified that all I can focus on is the very real possibility that being "scared to death" might actually be a thing.

He reaches up, and grabs a fist full of my hair, yanking my head back. I almost gasp because I'm not expecting it, but I swallow the sound before it can escape. I don't want this guy knowing I'm afraid, which is absurd because I'm sure he can see it written all over my face.

Arching over me, he brings his head down to mine and speaks directly in my ear, "Spread your thighs like a good girl."

Swallowing, I do as I'm told, and he releases my hair so he can grip both my thighs and pull me open even wider. Using one finger, he tests my entrance, and I'm mortified because I already know what he'll find. My pussy is soaking wet. Despite the fear, my body is responding to him…

A rumble of approval reverberates in his chest as he shifts his hips forward, pressing the head of his cock against my entrance. That's the only warning I get. A breath later, he pushes into me so deep, and so hard that my back arches, and a scream is ripped from my throat. He's so big, I wonder if he tore me. That's how bad it hurts.

The chanting continues as he thrusts into me, fucking me hard, mercilessly. I bite the inside of my cheek as his large hand closes around my breast and squeezes. It's painful, and I try to twist away, but that only makes him squeeze harder—his way of reminding me that he's the one in control here.

Clouds of sage-scented smoke engulf us as he continues his assault on my pussy, taking me hard and deep. Then something happens. Something inside me shifts and pleasure slowly bleeds into the pain. My hips arch into him, and my body opens up a fraction more.

He moans inside his mask, and that sound sends a jolt of satisfaction zipping through me. His thumbs flick over my sensitive nipples, and he arches over me, his cloak and large body shielding me from the room of people.

He falls into a ruthless rhythm, pounding into me with so much force that the solid wood table moves beneath me, the feet scraping against the tiles. His hand grips my breast so hard, it makes my eyes water. But the pain feeds something inside me, something I didn't even know was there.

With a deep, primal growl, he thrusts one more time, pushing in as deep as he can, then stills as he pumps his cum into me. Enveloped in the cocoon created by his robe, I breathe him in, my body cracking open. And once that fissure is created, there's no stopping the tidal wave of heat that crashes through my wafer-thin resistance.

I choke back a moan as wave after wave of warmth infuses my veins, and I'm left panting, my body vibrating. He still doesn't pull out of me. Instead, he gathers me up and holds me against his body as his hips continue to rock against my clit, drawing out the last little tremors of uninvited pleasure.

When it's all over, he pulls out, then grabs my robe and drapes the heavy fabric over me. It feels oddly protective, especially since no one cared about me being naked five seconds ago, but, I don't know…maybe they do that with everyone.

My attendant rushes forward and helps me down from the table as someone else steps forward, places a crown in the center of the circle, and lights it on fire. The flames surge, licking the air as everyone closes in around me, pulling me into their ranks.

I guess I passed?

I'm sore and every muscle aches. I'm sure I have cuts and bruises all over my body, but the throbbing between my thighs is next level, and I feel more wet than usual.

As the leader of this thing closes out the ceremony with a string of Latin, I covertly dip a finger between my thighs. When I bring it back up to look at it, my fingertip is bright red. The stranger fucked me so hard, he made me bleed...