3. Cav

Chapter 3

Cav

THE PUPPETEER

T he summons is expected.

A heavy thud-thud-thud against my door has all our heads turning.

We know that knock.

Dawn slides through the cracks in my blackout curtains like a goddess's fingers determined to illuminate her enemy's crypt.

The succinct snap when I draw the curtains shut snuffs out her progress.

"The Selection must be over," Axe says from his favored spot against the far wall.

Kaspian frowns at the small licks of fire struggling for survival in the hearth. "You'd think the Sovereigns would've stretched out their time with their own Selections."

"Those fuckers are so ancient, they fart bone dust," Wilder bites out, capping the crystal stopper of my scotch decanter with a sharp clink . "No way could they get through one thrust in sweet, young pussy before drowning the poor girl in a cloud of spores."

"Now, there's a vision I didn't need behind my eyes." Kaspian lowers his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Three knocks come again, the space between them shorter.

"Messenger boy grows impatient," Wilder croons, swirling the ice in his third—maybe fifth—drink.

We're all coping in our usual ways after Elara's illustrious exit a few hours ago. The fact that we're even coping is a huge red flag in itself. Accusing us of cold-blooded murder and subterfuge is a compliment. We didn't join the Court for anything less. But to be accused of it when we didn't do it … that's what bothers us.

It's an insult.

Neither of us participated in Maverick's death or knew of it. That was confirmed the second after Elara slammed my door.

I went for their throats—Kaspian first.

He kept his smooth grin the entire time I hooked his neck, but I believed him when he said he had no fucking clue until he discovered the evidence yesterday.

Wilder dodged my physical restraint, choosing to run for my bed and jump on it like a goddamned toddler, daring me to catch him. In the pauses between my snarls, he denied any knowledge.

Axe preempted my interrogation by sneaking up behind me while I was distracted by the jumping idiot and coiled his arm around my neck, murmuring into my ear that if I thought he'd hurt Elara that way, I'd be dead before realizing I was incorrect.

These are my brothers. Not by blood, but soul brothers.

If they say they don't have any further information about Maverick Wraithwood, I believe them.

At the time of Maverick's death, we were seventeen and about to graduate from our various high schools. We would've just received the coveted invitation to officially join the Court as their members by enrolling at TFU.

The Court has global scouts who troll schools, clubs, and streets for the talents required to join their ranks. When looking for gifted criminals, they deliberately avoid juvenile detention centers or other justice systems since they have no interest in those who've been caught.

It makes me wonder how they scouted Maverick, the all-around golden boy and doting big brother. We didn't let Elara know he was an initiate. With the way she reacted to his involvement with the Heart, damning him further would've been too much for her.

Despite what it looks like, we do care about mental health.

Sometimes.

It's another question mark to add to my lengthy mental list regarding Elara Wraithwood.

With a long sigh, I stride across the bedroom, passing Wilder and Kaspian, neither of whom made a move to answer the knock.

I open the door to find a hulking initiate adorned in a black velvet cloak and the upper half of his face obscured by an ivory mask.

His chapped lips part to reveal his chipped front teeth.

"The Sovereigns request your presence immediately," he intones.

"Just me? I'm flattered."

The initiate isn't amused. Clearly, he didn't partake in the Selection, or if he did, he was one of the … colder ones.

He sneers, "All of you."

"Understood," I reply, my voice dripping with the usual frigid calm.

Snapping the door shut, I glance back at Wilder and Kaspian, whose expressions have all but morphed into masks of indifference.

But they're like me, and my blood boils underneath.

Closing my eyes as I take one last swig of my drink, an image of Elara pressed between me and the wall flashes across my mind; her body writhing under my touch, her sweet lips parting in gasps as I explored every inch of her. The thought sends a jolt into my cock.

Elara may be furious at me right now, but I'd love to fuck her while she's angry.

She'd be ferocious, clawing at my skin, biting, kicking, then tilting her head back and screaming in pleasure as I gave it all back to her tenfold.

I am abruptly brought back by Wilder's voice.

"What's the plan, Cav?" he asks with an intrigued smirk, clearly reading the lust-filled thoughts crossing over my features.

I send him a look that sends initiates screaming in the other direction. He merely cocks a brow.

"We tell them nothing," I answer.

Axe doesn't give any indication whether he agrees or disagrees with my decision. Wilder shrugs, and Kaspian frowns.

The floorboards creak under my weight as I head back to where Wilder and Kaspian are lounging and carelessly toss the crystal decanter in Kaspian's direction.

He catches it in midair without glancing toward me, or it.

Instead of telling them to take one last swig before we leave like I was going to, I begrudgingly ask, "What's on your mind, Kasp?"

He doesn't hesitate. "We can use this as leverage."

I frown at him, aware that Wilder's attention perks up at the scent of a good deal. "Leverage?"

Kaspian's eyes glint, as if he's already several steps ahead of us all.

"We use Maverick's involvement with the Heart as a bargaining chip," he explains. "We tell the Sovereigns we know more than they do, but we want something in return."

Axe scoffs in his corner, but doesn't deny that Kaspian has a point.

"Then we might as well tell them that Heart is broken. We can give them Elara's necklace, our one piece of leverage, so they can promptly kill us for destroying their sacred artifact," I counter.

Kaspian smirks and pours himself another drink into his empty glass on the side table. He'd never sully himself by drinking directly out of the decanter.

"They need us," he says matter-of-factly.

"They need us until they don't," I say as Wilder plucks the decanter from him and tips it to his mouth. "They seek every opportunity to punish us."

"We've gotten further into the hunt for the Heart than any other members. Ever," Kaspian adds.

Reluctantly, I motion for him to continue. I'm conscious of the Sovereigns waiting for us.

"We've outsmarted even the Vultures," Kaspian says. "We have a piece of the Heart. If the Sovereigns kill us, we can go no further, and that wouldn't bring them any closer to this ruby, now would it? Telling them about Maverick and the Heart, since clearly they weren't aware of his possession when they had him killed—as well as some of what I've found, perhaps the encrypted files in Maverick's flash drive that the Sovereigns can't access immediately, could buy us more time to present the Heart to them once it's whole."

"They could still torture it out of us."

Axe's voice, lower than hell itself, draws all of our attention.

And our answering silence backs up his point.

"It's nothing we haven't endured before," Kaspian says while swirling his drink.

He's right, damn him. We've all been on the receiving end of the Sovereigns' brand of "motivation"—it's how we all ended up here in the first place.

I'm saved by agreeing with Kaspian, maybe even changing my plans, when Wilder throws back his head and laughs, coarse and hard.

He says breathlessly between laughs, "You've got to be fucking kidding me! You want to blackmail them?"

Kaspian sets down his glass and rises, straightening the lapels of his blazer. "Do you have a better idea?"

"No, no, go ahead, use that as your bargaining chip. They own everything we have and everyone we've ever known. But sure, give the Court the one thing we've kept for ourselves. Make sure to spread our legs for them, too, so they can fuck us fully."

"Wilder," I start to say, but his laughter cuts off and he looks directly at me, his gaze fierce.

But the flint in his eyes is fueled by something else entirely. Elara's introduction into our lives has brought his loss of Teagan back to the forefront, the two women becoming the same person: one he can't save.

It's consuming him from the inside out.

Giving the Sovereigns Elara's necklace, or exposing Maverick's brief possession of the whole Heart, means leaving Elara vulnerable, ensuring the Sovereigns' continued interest in her, perhaps bringing her to their chambers and doing god knows what until they discover what she knows. Even then, they might keep her out of pure, vindictive enjoyment, exactly like we do.

Save for our willingness to keep her whole.

My lips stiffen. Twist. Turn bloodless and feral.

Wilder has a true and striking point.

They can't have her.

"We hold on to all of our information for now," I say with surprising calm against the spreading wildfire in my head. "Including the necklace. Until we're certain it won't backfire on us."

Kaspian doesn't look happy about it, but he nods, understanding the hierarchy and that I'm in charge, which is also shocking. I have to believe he's come to the same conclusion —presenting Maverick on a silver platter means that Elara will be the Sovereigns' dessert.

"I can access Maverick's encrypted files, given some time," Kaspian says. "The bastard was good at tech, I'll give him that. Or he knew someone, but I guarantee you they won't be as good as me."

I say to Kaspian, "Find more about what Maverick knew, take us to where you discovered this flash drive, and we'll go from there."

"What are we supposed to do about the summons?"

At last, Axe creeps from the shadows after asking the question, his face pale and angular from the play of dark and light against his features.

I set my jaw. "Leave the Sovereigns to me."

Exhaustion gnaws at my brain as I lurch down the underground tunnel leading to our ritual chambers. I need to rest, but the thought of Elara fuels the thrashing tension within me. My body rebels against the distance from her, every muscle straining in her direction.

But in order to return to her, the Sovereigns have to be satisfied in some way tonight.

My gaze slants to Axe, his hulking frame mere inches from my right shoulder, a sentinel poised to intercept any threat. Wilder prowls to my left. His movements are fluid and predatory, a jungle cat stalking its prey. Kaspian guards our rear, his keen eyes scanning for any anomaly.

Our fighting circle was trained in us at a young age. Indeed, it was ingrained in us the instant we were torn from our beds after the Court's invitation, which conveniently did not list a date or time to arrive.

How old were we when we had to audition to become initiates? Thirteen?

It's a branding iron that has left an indelible mark on my psyche. Torn from our privileged homes, thrust into a world of violence and brutality, molded into the weapons the Court desired. The training, the torture, the endless trials designed to break us, to reshape us into their twisted image.

As legacies, our parents expected the abduction, but didn't warn us. They didn't get a heads-up, so why should their offspring?

We should be thankful we were legacies, which meant our invitations were inherited but not our membership. Those scouted and chosen, the random selections around the globe, were taken with a lot less grandeur and much brutality.

Those initiated with us died, ran, or were cut down by their own family for their cowardice.

All for the promise of power. Control. Heedless and hedonistic for the rest of our lives.

Yet we endure. We survive. We thrive .

I will not falter. I cannot. Not when Elara's fate is woven with mine.

The thought of her, ignorant and vulnerable because of her brother's deadly mistakes, causes my hands to clench into fists, the knuckles cracking like gunshots in the quiet underground of the tunnel. I will not let them have her. I will not let them break her as they broke us.

The stone corridor winds directly under campus grounds, passing below the dorms, scholarly buildings, and recreation centers, with direct access points all if we choose to sneak in and alter papers, fuck co-eds, seduce professors … anything, really.

We reach the end of the tunnel, the massive iron doors looming before us like the gates of hell itself. I square my shoulders, drawing in a deep breath that fills my lungs with the stale, musty air. With a nod to my brothers, I step forward, my hand reaching for the handle.

The door swings open with a groan of protest, revealing the cavernous circular chamber beyond. The Sovereigns sit upon their stone thrones, their faces obscured by the emotionless masks clinging to their faces. The air is thick with the stench of decay, the coppery tang of blood, and the incense meant to diffuse the stench, a miasma that burns the back of my throat with each inhalation.

Black-robed figures ring the periphery, still as statues. In the center, atop a dais of obsidian, the three Sovereigns await.

I stride forward, my gaze unwavering as I move in front of the Sovereigns. I've never seen their true features or called them anything but the three Sovereigns, but I've always imagined them behind their disguises and how they likely regard me with a mixture of contempt and amusement, their lips curling into cruel smiles that promise only pain and suffering.

I mount the steps, spine straight, shoulders back. Kaspian, Axe, and Wilder flank me in a united front.

And we kneel.

The middle Sovereign fixes his bottomless gaze upon me. Firelight dances across the porcelain mask. "You took your time in answering our summons."

I incline my head, finding the Sovereign's stare through the eyeholes of his mask. "We came as soon as we received your summons, my lord."

The Sovereign leans forward, his robes rustling. "Yet you tarried. What pressing matters could possibly take precedence over our command?"

The undercurrent to his words runs deep. Someone will be punished for your tardiness.

I fight not to look at Axe.

And I refuse to tell them the information Kaspian uncovered. About Maverick. The files. This supposed hidden library underneath Thornhaven.

Do the Sovereigns know about this forgotten room?

The question gives me pause.

Everything I say must remain one step ahead. Half-truths. White lies. But never, ever, complete deception.

My attention flicks to the silent Sovereign, motionless, yet I can feel his study like spiders crawling under my shirt. To invoke his wrath?—

We've never done it. For good reason.

The silent one hasn't moved, his gaze cold and dispassionate like the mask that conceals his face. A chilling reminder that he always watches. Always waits.

And I wonder how long it will be before my turn comes to kneel before him.

I choose my next words with care. "We were discussing the Heart, my lords. Strategizing on how best to retrieve it for the Court."

The center Sovereign leans back, his fingers steepling. "Is that so? And what, pray tell, have you discovered?"

I hesitate, weighing my options. To reveal what we know about Maverick risks exposing Elara to their machinations. But to lie outright invites the creativity of the silent Sovereign.

"We believe we have a new lead, my lord. One that may prove fruitful. But we need more time to pursue it."

The Sovereign's mask betrays nothing, but I sense his displeasure. "More time? You have already had ample opportunity to retrieve the Heart. Yet it remains lost."

I lower my chin, acknowledging the rebuke. "You are correct, my lord. But this lead is... delicate. Rushing in blindly could jeopardize everything."

The Sovereign's fingers drum against the armrest of his throne, a staccato beat that grinds against my ears. "And what assurances can you offer that this lead will bear fruit?"

I meet his gaze squarely. "None, my lord. Only my word that we will not rest until the Heart is in your hands."

A long, tense moment stretches out, the Sovereign's scrutiny boring into me like a physical weight. Then, abruptly, he nods. "Very well. You have one week. One week to bring me the Heart. Fail, and the consequences will be severe."

I bow my head, relief and alarm clashing. "Thank you. We will not fail you."

The Sovereign's masked gaze shifts to Kaspian, Axe, and Wilder. "And what say you three? Are you as confident as your leader?"

They bow their heads in unison.

Kaspian murmurs, "We will not let you down, my lords."

"See that you don't," the Sovereign growls before motioning with a bone-white hand. "Rise."

A weight lifts off my shoulders as I rise, my brothers along with me.

And that is my mistake.

The righthand Sovereign croons from his stone perch, "Kaspian."

Kaspian stiffens yet says with unaffected calm, "Yes, my lord?"

"You show much faith in Cavenaugh's leadership. Dare I say as much, if not more, than your faith in us, if you're willing to follow in his steps and allow this delay."

Sensing the direction of the conversation, Axe steps forward, bracing his posture for the worst. I shoot him the most murderous look in my arsenal, freezing him in place.

Leave the Sovereigns to me.

That is what I promised them.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, thinking of the last person to touch me. The woman whom I settled between with such utter perfection, I no longer want anyone else. The way her lips split for me, her mouth, her pussy, her moans and whimpers as I soaked in her heat and felt oblivion for the first time.

I open my eyes.

And say, "As their leader, punish me for forcing them to heed my delay."

The chamber erupts in a frenzy of whispers and speculation. The black-robed initiates in their half masks shift and murmur like a swarm of agitated insects. The middle Sovereign raises a hand, silencing them.

My heart thunders in my chest, but I keep my expression impassive. "Let my punishment serve as a reminder to all. The Court's will is absolute."

After a beat of silence, the middle Sovereign nods. "Very well."

He motions to the black-robed initiates, who surge forward like a tide of shadows. Rough hands seize me, dragging me toward the center of the chamber. I don't resist, even as Axe lets out a low growl and Wilder's muscles bunch under his skin, ready to spring. Kaspian's lips pull back like he wants to confess, the finishing stroke to all of us.

My mouth wrenches into a snarl when I catch his eye. Don't.

Each of them obeys, though I can see the fury in their eyes, the helpless rage at watching me suffer for their sake.

I don't resist as I'm dragged toward the circular floor, its surface stained with the blood of countless punishments. They force me down, the cold stone biting into my back through my shirt.

Rough rope binds my wrists and ankles, then are tied to four wooden pegs one initiate has happily shoved into designated holes, stretching me out like a sacrifice upon an altar. I stare up at the vaulted ceiling, picturing Elara in this position. Envisioning nothing but her pleasure with my pain.

The second Sovereign—not the silent one, thank fuck—looms over me, his mask a death's head in the flickering torchlight. "You will learn obedience, Cavenaugh. One way or another."

He raises his hand, a glint of metal catching the light. A blade, its edge honed to razor sharpness. My teeth clench, a fortress holding back a flood of sound, bracing for the burn of fresh cuts.

The knife descends, slicing through my black shirt, parting fabric and flesh with equal ease. Blood wells, a crimson tide spilling across my skin. I bite back a scream, my body fighting the restraints.

Each cut is a masterpiece of agony. He peels back skin, exposing muscle and sinew. I writhe, swallowing my howls until I'm suffocating and unhinging my jaw to the point of dislocation.

My world narrows to white-hot fire.

Time loses meaning, reduced to an endless cycle of torment. The Sovereign's blade dances, leaving ruin in its wake. My blood paints the ground, rivulets filling the symbols carved into the stone underneath me.

Through the haze of pain, I cling to one thought, one image. Elara .

I will endure. For her. For the chance to hold her again, to lose myself in her warmth.

She hates me, but her body is made for me.

As I might be made for her.

An eternity passes before the Sovereign retreats, admiring his handiwork. The lead Sovereign begins chanting in a language I don't understand, part Latin, part guttural horror.

The curse. He's reinforcing it onto my flesh. I'm doomed. My life is forfeit…

I lie shattered, my chest a ruin of flayed flesh. Each breath is agony, my lungs straining against the ravaged cage of my ribs.

"Cross us again, and this suffering will seem a mercy."

My depraved surgeon turns, his crimson robes swirling, and strides from the chamber. The lead Sovereign finishes his chant. The initiates release my bonds, their hands slick with my blood.

I struggle to rise. Every movement is a new discovery of pain. Kaspian and Wilder are there, lifting me and supporting my weight. Wilder looks like he wants to throw up at the sight of my chest. Kaspian deliberately keeps his attention on me from the neck up. I'm too exhausted and dizzy from blood loss to see what, exactly, they've done to me.

Axe stands guard against the overexcited initiates, his face pensive.

We stumble from the chamber, leaving a trail of ruby droplets in our wake. The tunnel stretches endlessly before us.

I'm not going to make it. Am I ever going to make it?

I lean on my brothers, drawing strength from their presence.

The iron doors slam shut behind us with a final, punctuated clang.

We pass under the girls' dorms, where Elara is likely sleeping, completely unaware of the eternal cruelty occurring beneath her feet, leaving nothing but blood beneath her dreams.