Requiem of the Soul (The Society Trilogy #1) - Natasha Knight Page 0,40

hand still on the top of my head.

I know this part. The words. The act. I know exactly what I must do. Every daughter of The Society knows because every one of us will be made to submit no matter how high ranking.

And I know there’s no way around it. There never was, even when I believed for those short six months that I’d somehow escaped and was in charge of my own destiny. I never was.

I hold his gaze a moment longer than is proper or than he’s used to. I see a flicker of anger. Good.

He thinks I’ll be easy to break. He thinks I’m weak. He thinks my tears are weak. I see it. But I’m stronger than he knows. I almost got away. And I’ll survive him. I have to.

I empty my eyes of any emotion. I lock myself off from him, and I tell myself the words mean nothing. This is not an oath I choose.

“Dominus et Deuce.”

But when I say them, it’s as if the act is sealed, and again, I wonder if God truly is on their side.

Dominus et Deuce. My lord and my god.

I take his offered hand with both of mine, the one with which he marked me, and I press my lips to it. Raising my gaze to his, I watch him from beneath my lashes.

I think of my little sister. I think of what I have to do. How I have to play this game to which I don’t even know the rules. Because even if I could run away and I managed to do it, like Hazel did, what would happen to Evangeline? I won’t abandon her like Hazel abandoned us.

My lips pressed to his cool hand, I keep my eyes locked on his as the beginnings of a plan form in my mind.

When Santiago swallows, I watch his Adam’s apple work. He’s impacted. I’m not sure if it’s me kneeling for him or the act of the marking itself. It has to be heady stuff. I get it. But he is affected.

I’ll use that.

And I keep my eyes on his as long as I can as I bend, bringing my forehead to his shoe. I am to kiss it, but I won’t do that. The men won’t see. If my husband knows, he will punish me for it. It’s a small rebellion, but it’s mine, and it’s something, and I’ll submit to his punishment. At least he’ll know where I stand.

When he grips my arm and hauls me to my feet, I know he hasn’t missed my deviation from the rules. My dress slips as I fall into him, then stumble backward. He looks down at me, and I follow his gaze to my exposed breast. He roughly tugs the lace up, and the look in his eyes is darker than I’ve yet seen.

And for a moment, the weaker part of me, the scared part thinks maybe I should have kissed his shoe.

But then he’s reined himself in, and I think this side of my husband is more frightening than the outwardly angry side. This quiet is more terrifying.

Because his eyes hold a promise inside them.

I’ll deal with you later.

“Close your eyes,” he says, voice low, not a whisper but simply quiet.

I do.

He pulls me close, and I gasp when he kisses me hard on the mouth, my hands coming to his chest as his fingers claw painfully into the ruined twist of my hair, his hard body against mine as I bend over backward to take his kiss. A small taste of what he’ll do tonight.

15

Santiago

De La Rosa Manor is quiet and dark when Marco drops us off at the front entrance. My wife peers up at the mansion with what I can only guess are equal parts apprehension and curiosity. The exterior is constructed from stone in a gothic revival architectural style. Carved buttresses, Palladian windows, ornate gables, and rambling vines of ivy lavish the historic structure she will come to know as her own personal prison.

An almost ever-present fog seems to lurk around the property, lending to the mystery of the area. Small groups of terrified tourists often peer through the gates outside while their guides whisper hushed rumors of the hauntings that occur here. But the only ghosts Ivy will need to concern herself with are those of my father and brother, calling out from beyond the grave for her Moreno blood.

She swallows and clutches the torn shreds of her dress to her