Deadmen's Captive: A dark college reverse harem (Deadmen's Club Book 1) by Elizabeth Blackthorne

Author:Elizabeth Blackthorne [Blackthorne, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

BAST

The glass felt cool, heavy in my hand. I swirled the brandy, watched it cling to the sides like dark, liquid gold. The office was silent, save for the raucous sound of distant revelry that seeped through the walls. My desk, a vast expanse of polished ebony, bore nothing but the crystal decanter and Paige’s dossier, open at her photo.

I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking under my weight. The night had unfurled precisely as planned. The Ball, the dance, the so called kidnapping had all gone smoothly, and the ritual itself had been… delicious. She’d played the role to perfection, all purity and innocence, even her cries of pleasure were sweet and beguiling.

The Reapers had been entranced, watching every move she made up on that stage as we corrupted her beautiful body for the first time and I couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. I had chosen her, plucked her from obscurity and placed her at the heart of our world.

"Perfect," I murmured to the shadows. Her acceptance into our fold had been seamless, a testament to her allure and the club's hunger for something... pure. She'd been captivating - a vision of delicate innocence swept up in our dark world. I could still taste the salt of her skin, still smell the floral scent of her hair. It wasn't every Reaper's Ball that a virgin as lovely and unspoiled as Paige Matthews graced our stage, and the depravity that had begun when she left the room was evidence of that.

The music from the feasting room pulsed like a living thing, its base throb echoing through the walls of my office. The decadence beyond that thick oak door had reached fever pitch—the sort of primal debauchery that would make lesser men blush. But not the Deadmen. And certainly not me. I was born of this chaos, sculpted by it.

With Paige's induction, something in the club had awakened, a hunger that had been lying dormant. Nate had whisked her away, but she had already become the catalyst, igniting the kind of revelry that blurred the lines between flesh and desire, power and surrender. I could hear the laughter, the moans, the clink of glass as toast after toast was made to our new Persephone.

The taking of Persephone was a rite as old as the club itself, based on the ancient Greek myth of Hades claiming the beautiful young maiden and whisking her away to his kingdom in the underworld where he kept her prisoner until she agreed to be his queen. In the first few hundred years of the Deadmen’s Club, a young local girl had been chosen by the club’s Hades, then kidnapped and kept within the clubhouse without any knowledge or consent, but thankfully, we had moved into the twenty-first century and now consent was a crucial detail. It was why the girls who played our Persephones were invited to apply, and why the contract was checked by some of the highest ranking lawyers and judges in the UK.

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