Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 114551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
There’s no masking the shock on his face, realizing he is far from the first to arrive. Unease flashes in his eyes, and then without a word, he collects his cloak and silently makes his way to his pillar, making for a very uncomfortable hour.
One by one, the other members of The Circle appear at the bottom of the steps, and just like Hartley, they respect our traditions and collect their cloaks before taking their place in front of their pillar until all thirteen spaces have been filled.
The faces of the men around me are all concealed, their long cloaks brushing against the old stone floor, only Cara’s is practically draped across it. She’s not nearly tall enough to fit the traditional cloak, and it looks like a bad scene out of Harry Potter in here, all we need are wands and we’ll be set.
Nikolai Thorne would have been the one to step forward and get this meeting underway, and seeing as though Cara has no idea what the fuck she’s doing, I bear the burden and raise my head, spreading my hands out beside me in welcome. “My brothers,” I say, my gaze shifting around the hostile room just as the clock ticks past midnight. “Welcome to the sacred tomb of our people, the final resting place of our past and present leaders.”
I pause, letting the heaviness sink in. “Tonight, as the sun sets on another day, we take one step further to the birth of our new future. There are four days and four nights until we will gather here again and sacrifice the heart of an innocent, Miss Oakley Quinn.”
My gaze shifts to Cara, and I watch as she looks away, bowing her head, unable to meet my stare. “Tonight as we stand as one, we must cleanse our sacred tomb with the blood of our people, wash away the sins of those past, and prepare for a new ruler, a new age, a new legacy.”
I let my words fall away as my gaze shifts around the tomb, meeting the eye of every man in the room. “Brothers,” I say, drawing the same dagger I used on my palm as I stood over the flames of my father’s remains. “Let’s get started.”
With that, I step forward and hold my palm out flat before digging the dagger deep into my skin and carving the perfect arc. Blood pools in my palm, and I close my fist before turning my hand and allowing my blood to spill on the floor of the sacred tomb.
Next, Ira Abrahms steps forward, and I pass him the dagger before watching him repeat the process. One by one, we make our way around the room, the dagger passing from brother to brother, until it’s put into Cara’s delicate hand. Her gaze flickers to mine, and I discreetly nod, telling her to get on with it, and as she stares down at the dagger, the faintest “Gross” is heard through the tomb.
She scrunches her face in disgust, then taking a breath, she presses the ancient blade to her palm. She cuts deep, probably a little too deep, and it’s clear she’s trying to prove some kind of point, but nonetheless, her blood pools in the palm of her hand, and just like I did, she balls her hand into a tight fist before rotating it and allowing it to fall to the ground.
Once the circle is complete and the blood of all twelve members has spilled, I look down at the ground, watching as it trails into the crevices and runs toward the center of the room. It’s a slow process, and as we wait, the twelve Circle members begin their chants, proudly speaking the words of those who have stood here before them. Cara just moves her mouth, doing what she can to blend in.
When the last drop of blood has pooled in the center of the tomb, the chanting stops, completing the first step of tonight’s ritual.
Breaking formation, Hartley Scott steps away to retrieve the cup of Empire; a large brass, double-handled, diamond-encrusted pot that looks like some kind of Formula 1 trophy. It’s filled to the brim with what’s supposed to be holy water sourced directly from the Vatican, but honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s just dirty creek water from outside the tomb.
Hartley makes his way around the room, starting with me, and without hesitation, I drop my bloody fist into the water, letting it cleanse my hand. I’ve never really understood this part of the ritual, but I suppose it meant something to the old bastards who created it.
One by one, Hartley makes his way around the circle, allowing everyone to take their turn before handing the cup of Empire to me so that he may take his turn.
The moment he is done, Hartley steps back into formation, and more than ready to get this shit over and done with, I pour the spoiled holy water onto the ground, washing away the pooled blood and cleansing the heart of Empire in preparation for our new beginning, completing tonight’s bullshit.