CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The limo rolled to a stop at the back of the Chapel, and the women with me fell into a quiet reverence. The car had been full of chatter on the way here, but now, with the weight of the night pressing down on us, the silence was all-consuming. Esther sat beside me, her hand lightly resting on my knee, a silent gesture of support as I took a deep breath.

We stepped out, the cool evening air biting against my skin, but I barely noticed. The Chapel loomed before me—its grand structure seemed to breathe with the night, an imposing silhouette against the sky.

I was guided through the rear entrance by Esther and a masked disciple, my heels clicking against the stone floor, and there, waiting for me, was Draven.

He had an air of quiet power about him, his presence commanding. His gaze held mine, and for a brief moment, he gave me a nod—approval, understanding and pride. He reached out and took my hand, his grip firm but not unkind.

"You look stunning and ready," Draven said, his voice a low rumble. There was a warmth in his eyes, despite the chilling formality of his demeanor. "Are you?"

I swallowed, nodding. "I am." The words felt more like a mantra, something I had to tell myself over and over, but the truth was... I wanted this. I wanted him.

Draven's hand squeezed mine. "You're becoming one of us now, truly. There's no going back."

His words didn't unsettle me the way they once might have.

I had already made my choice, and tonight was about proving it. The Chapel had been transformed, every inch of the space reflecting the dark beauty of the Isle. Dark roses cascaded from the ceiling, spilling down onto the floor like a river of blood. Candles flickered in tall glass pillars, their light casting eerie shadows that danced along the stained-glass windows. It was like something out of a gothic fairytale—a twisted, beautiful vision. It was both haunting and breathtaking.

"Your gown," Draven said as he gestured to Esther, who quickly adjusted the long, flowing train behind me. I looked around, unable to help the awe that seeped into my expression. I had known this would be extravagant, but not like this. This felt more like a coronation than a wedding.

When the time came and organ music filled the air, Draven offered me his arm with a genial smile. "Ready?"

I nodded, my throat tightening as he led me forward. My heart pounded as we approached the altar, and there, standing at the front was Alexander.

The moment I saw him, time seemed to slow. He was breathtaking. The tuxedo he wore matched my gown perfectly, the deep burgundy and black lace complementing each other in a way that made the entire moment feel unreal. His eyes locked mine, and for a brief moment, the world around us faded. It was just him. Just me.

My heart twisted painfully, still aching from the way he had left me the night before. He had left me wanting, longing for him, for his touch. And yet, even now, standing before him, I felt a desperate need to be close to him. To prove myself to him. The congregation—disciples, masked and unmasked—stood watching. Their murmurs filled the air, but I couldn't focus on them.

My mind was entirely consumed by Alexander. He was the only one who mattered. Esther carefully adjusted my train as we moved forward, but I barely registered her presence. All I could think about was him. As we reached the altar, Draven placed my hand in Alexander's. The moment his fingers curled around mine, something inside me shifted. The grip was possessive, commanding, as though reminding me that I was his. Always his.

The Magistri stood in a semicircle before us, Draven joining their ranks. The air grew heavier as they began to speak, their voices low and resonant, echoing through the Chapel. This wasn't just a ceremony. This was a binding, something far deeper than any traditional union.

"This night, we witness the union of Diabolus and his chosen," the lead Magistri announced, his voice dark and booming.

"This is not a union of mere mortals. This is a bond that transcends the flesh, that binds in spirit and in submission."

My breath hitched at the word submission, the weight of it settling over me like a shroud.

"Lolita," Draven's voice cut through the air, pulling my attention to him. "Tonight, you become more than yourself. You become one with him. You will submit to his will, his needs, his desires, and in turn, you will find strength in his power."

The words felt heavy in my chest, but instead of fear, I felt a strange calm wash over me. This was what I wanted. This was what I had chosen.

"Do you, Lolita, submit to Diabolus , to his will, to his command?" the Magistri asked, their voices blending together in a dark harmony.

I swallowed, my eyes locking with Alexander's. "I do."

Alexander's gaze darkened, the intensity of his stare sending a shiver down my spine. "And do you, Diabolus , claim her, not just as your wife, but as your own in every way?"

He didn't hesitate, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I do."

A murmur of approval rippled through the congregation. The words spoken between us weren't just vows—they were a binding contract, a submission of wills, a promise that I would be his forever, in every sense of the word.

" Carnalis Dominus ," the congregation murmured in Latin, their words blending together in a haunting chant.

The words struck something deep within me. The weight of them hung in the air, sinking into my skin.

"We will tie them by blood and submission," the Magistri intoned.

I felt Alexander's grip on my hand tighten, a subtle reminder of what was expected of me tonight.

I swallowed, my heart pounding in my chest. The lead Magistri stepped forward, holding up a ceremonial dagger, its blade gleaming ominously in the candlelight. My pulse quickened as he approached us.

" Diabolus , will you offer your blood to bind this union?" he asked, the ritual words heavy with meaning.

"I will," Alexander replied, his voice unyielding. He took the dagger, slicing it across his palm without hesitation. Blood pooled in his hand, dark and crimson before he held it out for me.

The congregation repeated the words, "Sanguis est vinculum, " the chant growing louder, more intense. Blood is the bond.

"And do you, Lolita, submit to him, to this binding, body and soul?"

My breath caught as I looked into Alexander's eyes. He watched me with an intensity that burned, a fire that made my knees weak. I wanted this. I needed this.

"I do."

The Magistri offered me the dagger, and I took it, my hands trembling slightly as I made the cut across my palm. The pain was sharp but quick, the warmth of the blood following almost immediately.

Alexander raised his hand to meet mine, our blood mixing, sealing the bond. " Sanguis est vinculum ," the congregation chanted once more, their voices rising in a wave of dark reverence.

The moment our blood touched, something inside me shifted. It felt like a chain locking into place, a connection so deep, so unbreakable, that it consumed me. It was as though the rest of the world had disappeared, and all that was left was him and me, bound together by blood and fate.

" Diabolus ," the lead Magistri's voice echoed through the sacred space as if commanding my body to submit. I was told to kneel, to honor this moment of eternal submission. There was a fraction of hesitation, a heartbeat of resistance, before I felt Esther beside me, gently guiding me down. Alexander gripped my bloodied hand in his, his thumb brushing over my skin as he helped me settle in the heavy folds of my gown.

His eyes locked onto mine as he cupped my face, the same way the Devil statue watching over our union did to the woman at his feet. His touch was possessive, firm, an embodiment of the power he held over me. He whispered words in Latin, ancient and sacred, the weight of them making my heart race even though I couldn't understand them.

" Ego sum tuus, et tu es mea. Vinculis sanguinis et fidei, te in aeternum mihi devincio. Nihil nos separabit, nec vita, nec mors. In meo imperio vivis, in mea voluntate morieris. Simul erimus, nunc et in aeternum."

The congregation echoed in response, their unified voices a haunting reminder of the faith by which we were bound. Their chant reverberated through my bones, sealing the ceremony in a way that felt both overwhelming and exhilarating.

"Vinculis aeternis iungimur, sub imperio Diaboli et Sponsa eius. Nihil nos separabit. Fidelitas, sanguis, et devotio, nunc et in perpetuum."

I was pulled from the cold stone floor, Esther immediately fixing the intricate layers of my gown. She leaned close as she did, slipping something into my palm—cold, metallic, heavy. A ring. I glanced at it, the dark gemstone catching the light, its wicked design unmistakable.

"Place it on him," the Magistri instructed.

My brows raised in surprise as I truly looked at the ring for the first time, hearing a few chuckles ripple through the crowd.

It was bold, fierce—fitting for a man like Alexander. The grin that spread across his face confirmed it. He held his hand out, steady and unwavering, waiting for me to seal the final part of our union. My heart thudded in my chest as I slid the ring onto his finger, the crowd watching intently, the weight of the ceremony palpable.

The Magistri spoke again, finalizing the last of the sacred words. But I didn't hear them. My focus was entirely on Alexander as he cupped my face once more, his lips crashing down on mine in a deep, claiming kiss. The room erupted around us, cheers filling the air as the congregation burst into a chant, their voices echoing the union we had just forged.

Bound by blood.

Bound by fate.

The solemnity of the ceremony gave way to the grandeur of the celebration. Alexander led me into the larger room that had been transformed into a stunning venue—roses and dark lace draped across every surface, with crimson light bathing the entire space. The glow of candles flickered across the walls, their flames dancing in time with the soft music that filled the air.

He guided me to the center of the floor, his hand gripping mine, pulling me close to him as the music swelled around us. The song was haunting, a slow, dark melody that seemed to pulse with the same energy that thrummed between us.

Wicked Games.

I didn't think it would ever work as a song for this kind of occasion, but this version and with him, it was hauntingly perfect. Alexander's arms circled me, one hand pressing against the small of my back as he moved us in time to the music. I peered up at him, lost in this moment but not able to forget what he did.

"You left me," I accused just loud enough for him to hear me over the music, my voice breaking slightly. The weight of the last two days without him hung heavy between us.

He didn't tense or react immediately, but I could feel the shift in his energy, the way his grip tightened slightly. His lips found the side of my temple, his voice low and intimate as our song played and he effortlessly guided me in our dance.

"I would never leave you, carissima ," he murmured, his words like a gentle caress against my skin. "I was always coming back to you. You had to know that."

I swallowed, trying to cling to the frustration I had felt, but his voice, his closeness, made it impossible.

"I had to make sure everything was perfect for today. For us ," he continued. "You're mine. I could never stay away for long."

Slowly, my body softened against his, my grip on his shoulder easing as the music wove its spell around us. The look in his eyes burned into me. I could barely remember what it was that had hurt me so deeply just moments ago.

"See?" he coaxed, his lips brushing over mine softly. "I'm here now. And I'm not going anywhere ever again." He kissed me then, slow and teasing, making sure to erase any lingering doubt. People cheered from the sidelines, but not even that could infiltrate this moment. When he pulled away, my breath was shallow, and I could only stare up at him.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes raking over me. "You're beautiful in this dress," he remarked, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. "I can't wait to take it off you later."

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I knew my face had flushed under the weight of his words. I had barely gotten used to the dress, but he already had plans to remove it. I bit my lip, unsure of how to respond, but his gaze never wavered, and when I finally spoke, my voice was a soft whisper. "Your parents are here and can see us," I reminded him, though I wasn't even sure if it was a protest or an excuse.

He smirked, unbothered. "So are your aunt and uncle," he countered smoothly, his hand tightening on my waist, pulling me closer.

A reminder of the two of us being cousins—something I had accepted in a manner that made me cling to him even more, and he knew it. He leaned in again, his breath warm against my ear. "And do you really think they would care if I bent you over here and now? They would be elated."

"Stop it," I hissed, a mix of embarrassment and desire flooding through me.

He laughed softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down my spine. "I missed you," he said, then followed it up with something in Latin that emphasized the point, a phrase so fluid and intimate, that it washed over me like a caress.

I swallowed, feeling my resistance melt under his gaze. "I missed you too," I whispered back.

His grin widened, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he turned me with the music, pulling me even closer to his chest. My heart pounded in time with the beat of the song, and I let myself fall into the moment—until my gaze landed on the centerpiece hanging above the head table. My eyes narrowed as I tried to make sense of it, the ornate design catching the light in a way that made it almost look like...bones?

"What the hell is that?" I asked, still keeping my voice down, unable to hide my shock.

Alexander laughed, a deep, amused sound that vibrated through my chest. "Over there," he nodded toward another table, one full of gift-wrapped boxes, as if trying to distract me. Beside it was a dog with a red bow around its neck, a Rottweiler that looked eerily similar to the one that had taken down Nicolette. It wasn't the moment to bring her up, or to focus on the fact that he'd gotten me a dog because I'd mentioned always wanting one. I was trying to focus on the fact that the centerpiece above the table was—.

"You know that's not what I meant," I murmured, dragging my eyes back to the gruesome sight.

He chuckled, far too at ease. "Ah, you must mean the masterpiece Phoenix made us."

I blinked, my stomach twisting as I studied the centerpiece again. Slowly, the horrifying truth settled in.

"Is that the guy from...the cliff?"

Alexander's grin stretched wider, a mix of pride and dark amusement. "Yes," he whispered, his eyes gleaming. "William. Phoenix thought it fitting that we honor him in our own special way."

William's arms were tied back at grotesque angles, ribbon threaded through them like some twisted decoration. His eyes—what used to be his eyes—were now replaced with bundles of blood-red flowers, the petals slightly drooping as if they wept in mockery. His lower half was gone entirely, covered in an elaborate floral arrangement that somehow made the whole display even more horrifying.

Someone had made that.

The artistry, if you could call it that, was disturbingly precise.

Flowers were woven into flesh; ribbons twisted through his limbs as if his body had been repurposed into some macabre piece of decor.

"Phoenix," I whispered, realization dawning. Of course, it was him. The twisted genius behind this nightmarish masterpiece.

Alexander tilted his head, a dark smile on his lips as he leaned in closer. "Beautiful, isn't it? He's the perfect centerpiece for us. A tribute."

I wanted to look away, but I couldn't.

My stomach churned, a nauseous feeling curling inside me. "Someone… made that."

Alexander's grip on me tightened slightly, a silent reminder of who I was, where I was, and what this meant. "Not just someone," he corrected softly, brushing his lips against my ear. "Phoenix made it... for us."

"It's… fitting," I whispered, the words foreign on my tongue but no less true.

The horror of what I was seeing began to dull as if my mind was rewiring itself, molding to fit the world Alexander had pulled me into.

His smile widened as if sensing the shift in me. "You see it now, don't you?" he murmured, his lips grazing the side of my neck.

"How perfect this is. How perfect we are."

I nodded, barely conscious of the motion, my gaze still fixed on William's flower-filled eyes. "It's perfect," I agreed. The words felt wrong, but they also felt inevitable. The ribbons, the flowers, the intricate, grotesque display—everything had its place. Everything was a part of this twisted world I was now a part of.

The disgust was fading, slowly replaced by a kind of numbness, and even deeper than that—a strange, creeping admiration. The beauty in the horror, the art in the destruction. Phoenix's handiwork was more than just a symbol of the power we held. It was a reminder of the lengths we'd go to protect it.

I was still horrified, yes, but there was something else now—something that told me I could live with it. That I wanted to live with it.

I looked up at Alexander, my pulse racing but not out of fear anymore. "I understand," I said quietly, my voice stronger this time.

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction; a dark promise reflected in them. "You're starting to, carissima . But you'll understand even more as time goes on."

I held onto Alexander a little tighter, savoring the feel of his body against mine. "I really did miss you."

His smile was warm and satisfied as he glanced down at me, his hand slipping just a bit lower on my waist, possessive. "After tonight, you'll never have to miss me again."

We finished our dance just as the music swelled, and as we came to a stop, the announcement echoed through the Chapel:

" Diabolus et Sponsa Diaboli ."

The words sent a ripple of pride through me, a strange sense of belonging that I never expected to feel. It was official now—I was bound to him in every feasible way before everyone who mattered. The rest of the evening unfolded in a blur, but the heaviness I'd felt earlier had been lifted. Alexander remained at my side, watching everything and everyone with those sharp, calculating eyes, while I found myself enjoying the revelry more than I could have anticipated.

When dinner was served, I didn't blink twice at the meat on my plate, though I knew deep down what it was. It was part of the life I had chosen, part of the world I now embraced. I ate, savoring the flavors without hesitation, and found Alexander's gaze fixed on me with approval. The night wore on, and I was passed from one dance partner to the next. Draven, stoic, and commanding led me across the floor with an ease that belied his intensity.

His strength radiated from him, making me feel both protected and slightly intimidated. But there was a gentleness to him as well, a quiet assurance in his touch. When Bishop took over, his grin was wide and wicked, a playful contrast to Draven's intensity. "You look beautiful tonight, Sponsa Diaboli ," he teased, his voice low enough that only I could hear. I couldn't help but laugh, feeling lighter in his presence, even as I remained aware of the dark undertones lurking beneath.

Emilio followed next, his movements smooth and confident. "Welcome to the family," he whispered, though there was something more in his tone, something secretive and knowing. After the men, I danced with Esther, Beatrice, and Adelita, each of them offering soft words of encouragement or praise. It was strange, the way this night felt like a celebration of something both holy and profane.

The conversations flowed as the evening wound down, and I found myself speaking with people I hadn't met before. Each of them greeted me with respect, their words careful and reverent, as though they were addressing something sacred. And perhaps, in their eyes, they were.

But as the night began to draw to a close, I saw Alexander approaching from across the room, his eyes locked onto mine with that familiar intensity. My heart raced, and even before he spoke, I knew what was coming next.

"The cleanse," he murmured, his voice low but unmistakable. It wasn't a request, but I didn't need him to ask. I knew what it meant, though I had only read about it. Esther appeared at my side, gently taking my arm.

"It's time," she said, her tone soothing as she led me away from the main hall.

She took me to a small side room off the Chapel where a black gown of tulle awaited me. It was lighter than the dress I had worn earlier, simple yet elegant, with sheer layers that draped across my body in flowing waves. Esther helped me change, her fingers deft as she adjusted the fabric, making sure it settled perfectly.

When I was ready, she gave me a quiet nod, and together we stepped out onto the path that led away from the Chapel. The night air was cool, a gentle breeze brushing against my skin as we walked toward the lake. I could already see people gathered at the water's edge; their faces illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns. Alexander waited, his presence commanding even in the dim light. He reached for me as I approached, his hand warm and firm as he took mine.

Without a word, he led me into the cool lake water, the gentle waves lapping at my feet as we waded deeper. The water climbed higher, enveloping me in its embrace, but I didn't feel fear—only an overwhelming sense of anticipation.

This was a baptism of sorts, but not one of purity. It was something darker, something that tied me even closer to the Isle, to Alexander, to our faith. As we reached the deeper part of the lake, Alexander turned to face me, his hands resting on my shoulders. His gaze never left mine as he began to speak, his voice steady and filled with a reverence that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Tonight, you are cleansed of your past life. You are reborn, not as a servant of the light, but as a vessel for the darkness that binds us. From this moment, you belong to me, to this Isle, to our faith."

The congregation gathered at the shore began to chant in unison, their voices rising in Latin as they echoed his words. The sound was haunting, almost hypnotic, and as it washed over me, I felt a strange calm settle in my chest.

Alexander's hands slid to the back of my neck, tilting my head gently back. "Let the water take you, Sponsa Diaboli ."

With that, he guided me down into the water, submerging me completely. The coolness of the lake enveloped me, my body suspended in the stillness beneath the surface.

For a brief moment, I felt weightless, unburdened, as though the water itself was washing away everything I had once been. When Alexander pulled me back up, gasping for air, I wasn't the same. The lake dripped from my skin, but it wasn't just water. It was a transformation. I looked into Alexander's eyes, and I knew beyond any reasonable doubt—I didn't just belong to him, but the Isle too

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Dripping wet from the lake, Alexander lifted me effortlessly onto the waiting boat, his hands firm but gentle as they gripped my waist. I shivered slightly, not from the cold, but from the weight of the night, of what I had just gone through. He climbed aboard behind me, his presence a comforting shadow at my side.

A masked disciple stood at the helm, starting the engine with a low rumble, and as the boat pulled away from the shore, the sound of the congregation's chants echoed behind us, the haunting Latin words carrying across the water. Everyone remained offshore, watching as we drifted into the night.

I couldn't help but glance back, feeling a sense of finality wash over me. "What will they do now?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the hum of the boat.

Alexander's eyes flicked to mine, a glimmer of amusement in them. "Celebrate," he said simply. "Keep the party going in their own way."

I swallowed, knowing that for them, "celebrate" had a much darker meaning. But before I could ask more, he added, "We have one last ceremony to complete."

I turned to him. "What is it?"

Instead of answering, Alexander smirked and changed the subject with a casual ease that made my heart skip. "Did you see your dog?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "It was kind of hard to miss."

His smirk widened. "It needs a name. Right now, he's just K9 614."

I couldn't help but laugh, a small sound breaking through the tension. "Is there a reason you chose that dog specifically?"

His eyes met mine, and there was something darker there, something knowing. "Yes. It's trained on the Isle, and it won't piss and shit on our floors."

I chuckled again, but the weight of the conversation lingered. There was always something more behind Alexander's words. But before I could question further, the boat began to slow, and I noticed the looming figure of the lighthouse ahead—the same beacon I had only ever seen from a distance.

The closer we got, the more imposing it seemed. The stone structure was tall, and ancient, with the waves crashing at its base as the light flickered high above, casting long shadows across the dark water. It felt like the final destination, the culmination of everything that had happened tonight.

The disciple cut the engine, and Alexander rose to his feet. He extended his hand to me, and I took it without hesitation, letting him help me from the boat. The moment my feet touched the solid ground, I felt a chill run through me, but not from the cool night air.

Alexander didn't say a word as he led me up the stone steps toward the entrance of the lighthouse, his hand firm around mine. The wind howled around us, the waves crashing in the distance, but all I could focus on was the feeling of his presence beside me.

When we reached the door, he swept me up into his arms, carrying me across the threshold with ease.

I gasped softly, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck, my heart racing at the sudden movement. The inside of the lighthouse was a stark contrast to the rugged exterior. It had been transformed to match the Chapel, with flickering candles lining the walls, soft drapes cascading from the ceiling, and the faint scent of incense filling the air. It was like stepping into another world—a world crafted just for us.

Alexander set me down gently, his hands lingering on my waist as he looked at me with a possessiveness that made my pulse quicken. "Welcome to our sanctuary," he revealed, his voice low and intimate, as if the entire night had led to this moment. "Come."

I followed him up the winding staircase, slipping off my shoes as the smooth stone steps felt cool beneath my feet. My heart beat steadily, but there was a new tension in the air, something unspoken between us, something heavy.

The stairs twisted higher, and when we reached the top, I paused, my breath catching in my throat. The room was vast and luxurious, bathed in soft flickering light from candles and lanterns. A canopy bed stood at the center, its dark, velvet curtains pulled back, revealing an opulent expanse of pillows and silks. Beyond that, massive windows stretched from floor to ceiling, opening out to a view of the sea far below, the crashing waves echoing faintly against the rocks. We were so high up—it was dizzying. Just a few feet from the bed, a large, round jacuzzi tub sat, decorated with intricate designs that shimmered in the low light.

But what truly captured my attention wasn't the elegance of the room. No, it was the figures standing around the bed—robed disciples, each holding lanterns, their faces obscured beneath their hoods. The flicker of the lantern light danced across their robes, casting strange shadows. At the edge of the bed was a woman.

My heart sank when I recognized her.

Clarice.

Her body was spread in an X shape, arms and legs bound tightly between two of the thick canopy posts, which had runes etched into the wood. There was something else—something wrapped just barely around her neck. Barbed wire, or something worse, biting into her skin, though it didn't seem to pierce her fully. Her mouth was covered, muffling any sound she might have made.

Her eyes met mine, wide and pleading.

"What is this?" I asked Alexander, my voice calm, betraying none of the confusion that swirled inside me. I wasn't afraid. Strangely, I wasn't even upset. My curiosity gnawed at me more than anything.

Alexander stepped closer, his presence enveloping me as he spoke. "This," he began, his voice low and reverent, "is Ultima Consecratio —the final blessing. It's the Isle's way, a sacred tradition. There are no divorces here, you know that. And this...this is Clarice's role in our union. A final offering."

My eyes flicked back to Clarice, her body trembling slightly as she struggled against her bonds. The disciples stood silently, their lanterns casting eerie light across the room. The runes carved into the posts glowed faintly, pulsating in time with my heartbeat.

"It's punishment," he added softly, tenderly. "She blesses our union, ensuring that nothing of the past remains, only the future—our future."

I felt the weight of his words. Clarice's presence here, bound and helpless, wasn't just a punishment. It was a message. A reminder of the Isle's unbreakable rules, of the darkness that bound us all together.

I swallowed hard, my eyes flickering between Clarice and Alexander. "What do we do?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady despite the chill crawling up my spine. I could feel the weight of what was about to happen, but still, I wasn't afraid.

He grinned, that dark, knowing smile that had become both familiar and terrifying. "Something we're quite good at," he replied smoothly, stepping forward to scoop me into his arms.

I couldn't help the small intake of breath as he lifted me, carrying me effortlessly toward the bed, Clarice's bound form just behind us. The room was draped in an eerie quiet, broken only by the soft crackle of candle flames and the faint rustling of robes from the surrounding disciples. My heartbeat quickened, but not in fear—rather in anticipation of what came next.

My breath hitched as I lay there, still catching sight of Clarice from the corner of my eye. Her bound form at the edge of the bed, half-obscured by the sheer canopy curtains, was a constant, ominous presence. I could hear the soft shuffle of the robed disciples in the background, but it was faint and insignificant compared to the weight of Alexander's gaze on me.

"Are they going to watch?" I asked quietly.

"To an extent," Alexander replied smoothly, his tone soothing yet charged with something darker. He brushed his knuckles against my cheek. "All you need to do is focus on us."

I swallowed hard and nodded, the gravity of the situation pressing down on me. The canopy curtains were sheer, offering just enough concealment for the disciples to remain shadowy figures. Only the end of the bed, where Clarice's body was stretched and exposed, remained open, her presence an eerie backdrop to this moment. Her muffled breaths filled the space as she struggled to stay calm, while my attention remained riveted on Alexander. He was undressing me with such care, his touch lingering on my skin as he removed every last piece of fabric.

I hurried to help him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, my hands trembling slightly under the intensity of it all. Once we were both bare, he straightened, his eyes flashing with amusement as he reached for something beside the bed. It was small, and elegant, like the handle of a jump rope but made of gleaming metal, intricate and purposeful. He handed it to me without explanation, a second one already in his other hand. I looked at him, confused, unsure of what he expected me to do.

"It's self-explanatory," he teased, a wicked grin curving his lips as he gently laid me back against the soft sheets.

I studied the object in my hand, its weight cool against my palm. The realization hit me like a wave as I pulled slightly on the handle, feeling the resistance, a connection. I gasped when I heard Clarice's muffled whimper, her body twitching in response.

My eyes flew back to Alexander, and he smiled down at me, encouragement in his gaze. If I pulled too much, it affected her. The bindings around Clarice, intricately tied to whatever this device was, responded to every move I made. My heart pounded as the enormity of it hit me. My hand tightened around the handle as Alexander leaned down, his lips grazing my neck, sending shivers down my spine. The tension in the room thickened, the weight of the ritual and the presence of the disciples merging into something almost tangible.

"Focus on us," he ordered again, his hands roaming over me with the same possession and control that had always made my head spin. But now, it was different. Now, we were bound to each other in a way that couldn't be undone. And Clarice—her suffering, her submission—was part of it. I gasped again as Alexander's body pressed against mine, and I instinctively pulled the handle tighter, feeling the surge of power that came with it.

Clarice whimpered in the background; her suffering intertwined with our pleasure. It was a twisted, dark dance, one that blurred the lines between pain and ecstasy, dominance, and submission. And in that moment, with the canopy curtains barely concealing us from the disciples, I realized that I wasn't just a participant in this ritual—I was its centerpiece.

Alexander's hand slid up my arm, tracing a path from my shoulder to the back of my neck, his touch a possessive claim on me. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the side of my face, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath ghosted against my ear as he whispered, "You're gorgeous, so fucking beautiful."

His hand found mine, the one that had sealed our blood pact, and he kissed it softly, reverently, his lips lingering there as if the very act of the pact had tied us in ways words could never fully describe.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion, with that dark intensity that always made my pulse race. His gaze stayed locked on mine, never wavering, never straying to the woman bound at the end of the bed. Not once did he acknowledge her presence, and somehow, that excited me more.

I was the center of his world—his perfect bride, his blood-bound partner. The presence of Clarice felt like a distant echo, an offering to the power we shared. But all his focus, all his attention, was on me, and that realization sent a thrill through me that I couldn't control.

I tightened my grip on the handle, pulling slightly, feeling the resistance again. A whimper sounded from Clarice, but Alexander's gaze never shifted. His eyes, dark and full of desire, stayed on me, his lips curling into that dangerous smile that made me weak.

"I would have waited a lifetime for this," he whispered, brushing a kiss over my forehead, then down to my lips. The kiss was slow and deep.

He was savoring every second of this moment. As he settled between my legs, I felt a tension coil tightly in the pit of my stomach. The masked disciples stepped forward in unison, their robed bodies moving as one, brushing just against the curtains of the bed. The dark, heavy atmosphere wrapped around us, thick with the weight of the ritual, but none of it compared to the gravity of the man in front of me.

"Eyes on me," he demanded, his voice low and rough, thick with power and authority.

I barely registered the subtle furrow in my brow as he entered me, my breath catching in my throat, my fingers instinctively tightening around the metal handles he had given me. It wasn't intentional at first—pulling on them, grasping for leverage as my body responded to his—but as I did, something shifted.

His movement sent a surge of heat through me, and from the moment I felt that pull, the room shifted. A low chant began, rising from the masked disciples, their voices filling the room with dark Latin incantations. The sound was hypnotic, building in intensity with every movement Alexander made inside me.

"Vinculum sanguinis, vinculum animarum." (The bond of blood, the bond of souls.)

"Diabolus et Sponsa, una in aeternum." (The Devil and his Bride, one for eternity.)

"Submittit corpus, submittit mentem, submittit animam." (Submit the body, submit the mind, submit the soul.)

"Nostrum votum, inviolatum manet." (Our vow remains unbroken.)

"Sponsa Diaboli, benedicta in obscurum." (Bride of the Devil, blessed in darkness.)

It reverberated through the air, weaving around the bed, intertwining with our bodies. My grip tightened again on the handles, the connection to Clarice unmistakable, and I felt her presence, bound by my actions, by us.

Alexander's rhythm intensified, the sound of our breaths mingling with the relentless chanting. His gaze bore into mine, unyielding, forcing me to focus solely on him, on this moment. The disciples' chanting only grew louder, their words punctuating every thrust, every pull on the handles, until it was a symphony of control, submission, and power.

"That's it," he encouraged me through clenched teeth, his lips brushing against mine, his movements relentless, deliberate. I was losing myself in the pleasure.

The moment Alexander's thrusts grew rougher, my body responded instinctively, a mixture of pleasure and pain swirling together as the chanting grew louder, more intense. It was as if the rhythm of our movements synchronized with the dark melody of the Every pull on the handles, every rise and fall of my hips, brought the chant to a fever pitch, echoing around us like a command from the dark gods themselves as blood rained down on our naked bodies,

"Sponsa nova, benedicta super omnes."

My breath hitched as Alexander pushed deeper, his grip tightening on my hips. "Eyes on me," he demanded, his voice a growl that sent shivers down my spine. An irrational wave of jealousy surged within me, burning hotter than the fire of the ceremony.

The blood was Clarice's—her pain, her punishment, her degradation. I knew it was necessary, but I didn't like that she was part of this moment between him and me. His eyes stayed locked on mine, seeing everything.

Understanding my conflict, he leaned down, his lips brushing my ear.

"She's nothing," he promised, his voice thick with pleasure. "This blood only makes us stronger. Make her bleed, deliciae ."

I bit my lip, my body responding to his words, arching into him despite the chaos swirling around us. He was right. Clarice's suffering was nothing but fuel for the fire of our union, a final act of submission, a reminder that she was no longer relevant.

The chanting continued, growing louder, more feverish:

"Claricia tradita, Sponsa elevata."

My body shuddered, not just from the intensity of our connection, but from the power in the room—the power of being chosen, of being his. The sobs from the woman bound at the end of the bed became background noise, blending with the rhythm of the chanting and the sound of Alexander's breath against my skin.

The violence of the moment, the roughness of his movements, the way my body responded despite everything—it was all too much.

As the blood continued to spill, a fire ignited within me. My eyes narrowed as I looked at her, bound and helpless on our bed. Clarice was nothing but a remnant of the past, a ghost clinging onto what should have only been mine. She had no place in this twisted ceremony that Alexander and I were participating in, this binding that would solidify our power and control.

I leaned in close to Alexander, my voice low and urgent. "Let me do it," I whispered, my fingers digging into his skin.

There was a flicker in his usually stoic eyes. He still wasn't one to easily relinquish control, but tonight he could see the hunger mirrored in my own eyes. He wanted to see me take charge, so with a low growl, he gave me permission.

The power shifted as I straddled him, feeling the firmness of his body beneath me. Without hesitation, I tightened my hold on the metal restraints that bound Clarice's limbs to the bedposts and sank down onto his cock with a moan. The handles were cool and heavy in my hands as I gripped them, pulling with all my strength. A sick satisfaction washed over me as I heard her choke and gasp on the other side of the bed. And then came the unmistakable sound of liquid hitting the ground, more blood spraying across our bodies.

Riding him harder and faster, I fed off the intense look in Alexander's eyes. That dark grin on his face was everything I needed. He felt so good inside me. The room was a whirlwind of passion and violence, the aroma of blood thick in the air. Alexander's stare was fixed on me, his eyes burning like molten gold as he watched me defile Clarice's body.

"You're mine now," I said to him, my voice hoarse from the exertion. "No one else will ever have you again."

He responded with a savage growl, flipping the dynamic with one fluid motion without pulling out of me. His touch was rough and brutal, and I loved it. He pounded into my pussy remorselessly.

"Yes, Alexander," I moaned, spreading wider, wanting him deeper. His control over me was absolute, but I didn't care. I craved it. I wanted him to tear me apart, to consume me until there was nothing left but us. I pulled the restraints harder, gripping the handles so tight my knuckles turned white. Every pull brought more choking, more gurgling sounds from behind me. More crimson sprayed across the sheets, splattering across our skin.

It felt like we were drowning in it, lost in a sea of red. And then, in one final pull, the tension snapped.

The head severed cleanly, rolling across the floor with a grotesque thud, leaving behind nothing but a lifeless, bleeding stump. The candles around the room flickered, their light dimming as if the very air had grown heavy with the weight of what had just transpired.

One by one, they extinguished, leaving the room bathed in a thick, oppressive darkness. The chanting, which had been an ever-present hum in the background, ceased abruptly the moment her head hit the floor. For a brief moment, everything was still. The only sound was our ragged breathing, the scent of blood thick in the air, clinging to our skin, to the very walls around us. I clenched around him as it all registered.

"Alex," I moaned.

He began to move again, each thrust more powerful and relentless than the last, his dominance stealing the air from my lungs.

I released the handles, no longer able to hold on, my hands clawing at him in desperation, desperate for every inch of him.

I came begging him not to stop, my nails digging into his back, leaving angry red marks. He swore through gritted teeth, gripping me even tighter. His voice was rough and raw as he finally growled those three words that shattered everything, I thought I knew: "I fucking love you."

His declaration pierced through the chaos, reaching deep into my soul. I believed him with every fiber of my being. I reached up and pulled his mouth to mine, desperate to taste the madness between us.

We didn't stop.

Not for what felt like hours.

We moved together until we were both drenched in sweat and covered in dried blood. When we finally collapsed, spent and breathless, I couldn't move. My body felt shattered, and yet, I had never felt more alive.

He found endless amusement in it, his chuckle vibrating against my skin as he held me close. I hadn't even realized the disciples had left. Clarice, too, was gone. The only trace of her presence was the saturated sheets, and the mess on the floor—a blood-soaked reminder of the sacrifice she'd made for our union. Without a word, Alexander cradled me in his arms, carrying me to the tub facing the view of the lake. He stepped in first, settling into the warm water, then gently pulled me down with him.

It had to of been close to scalding before to still be so warm. My head leaned back against his chest as the water soothed my battered body. The view outside was calm and peaceful—a stark contrast to the storm we had created inside. I felt a strange sense of peace, as though I had been reborn in that blood-soaked ceremony. I felt it in my bones—the binding, the submission, the ownership.

Despite the weight of what this all meant, I didn't regret it.

"You were incredible, deliciae ," Alexander murmured, his voice thick with admiration. "I've never seen anything more beautiful."

I turned my head and smiled at him, warmth filling me. "What are they going to do with the head?" I asked, my voice raw from moaning and coming, but also casual, as if this was a normal thing to discuss after a night like ours.

He kissed my temple, his lips lingering. "Take it back to the Chapel as a show of our last binding."

"Interesting," I mused, the concept sitting strangely with me, but I didn't feel the revulsion I might have had months ago. Perhaps I was more his now than I even realized. We fell into easy conversation after that, as we often did. He asked me if I felt any different after the Rite, his voice curious but knowing.

"I don't know… I feel more..." I trailed off, searching for the right words. "Complete, I guess."

He chuckled. "I knew you would."

I shifted in his arms, turning to face him fully, leaning up slightly so I could meet his gaze. "I need to tell you something," I said softly, heart pounding against my ribs.

His lips curved into a playful smirk. "You love me too?"

I blinked, caught off guard by how casually he asked as if he already knew. "I do," I whispered.

His expression softened for the briefest moment, something vulnerable flashing across his face before he masked it. He hadn't expected me to say it, not yet. "Do you?" he asked, his voice low and teasing, but I could hear the genuine curiosity beneath it.

I settled my hands on his broad shoulders, looking deep into his eyes. "What else could explain this?"

He grinned that devilish smile that always made my heart skip a beat. "A lot of things, actually," he said, chuckling when I scowled at him. He pulled me closer, my chest pressing against his. "Of course you love me. I told you that a long time ago," he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.

"And now you finally get to hear it," I replied, my voice soft but filled with meaning.

He gazed at me for a long moment, his hands firm and comforting on my back, as though he never wanted to let go.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of what I was about to say. "Alexander... I'm pregnant."

His stare didn't falter. He didn't flinch or pull back. Instead, he just studied me, his amber eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite place. Then, after what felt like forever, he spoke. "I've been waiting for you to say it out loud."

"And?" I was almost afraid of what his reaction would be, though I knew deep down that he already knew and had wanted this.

He cupped my face gently, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks as he kissed me, softer than I'd ever expected from him. When he pulled back, his voice was steady, almost reverent. "Our life will be everything I've promised you. The Isle will rejoice for our child, and you—" he paused, his lips curling into a satisfied grin, "—you will give me everything, deliciae . You already have."

I rested my head against his shoulder, letting his words settle deep inside me, replaying everything that had brought me to this moment. The chaos, the bloodshed, the heartache that had shaped me into something both broken and whole—it was a love born in shadows, nurtured by violence, and sealed with obsession. Ours was a story carved out of madness, a slow descent into darkness, where the line between pain and pleasure blurred into something I craved.

In that darkness, where the world outside ceased to matter, I found something I never expected. A twisted sense of belonging, a purpose that only made sense with him. He had torn me apart, remade me in his image, and yet I didn't resist. I couldn't. In his arms, with all the power, danger, and sin wrapped around us like a shroud, I realized something I had never dared to admit before.

I was exactly where I was meant to be.

I was his.

And for the first time, in this life we were shaping together, I finally felt it.

I was home.