CHAPTER 2

LAVINIA QUISPE POV

As I reached the end of the aisle, I caught eyes with Priestess Elowen, who wore vestments like mine, but crimson as I would wear a month hence, when the Blood Mark begun tonight would be finished. The Priestess was a stern woman, not unkind. Decades officiating at Blood-Oaths, funeral rites, and consecrated rituals had only rubbed from her whatever lightness she ever had.

Being the Covenant Priestess was an honor, so to speak, but I had somehow doubted all along. It certainly wasn't anything I wanted for myself. Being the Lady of the Covenant was a job I wasn't sure I could handle as it was.

The Priestess nodded, and all three Princes knelt on the velvet cushions placed before a low obsidian altar. Traditional, like the robes. Hard to look graceful kneeling when the sash was wrapped so tightly around my waist I couldn’t take a complete breath.

I fell to one knee, facing the Priestess across the long altar, and bowed my head.

"We begin," the Priestess said, her voice just a little hollowed out by the great hall as her hands extended as if to receive some gift given of the gods from an Elder. I was born into the ways of the Covenant, and yet I could not seem to find faith. Not that I would ever dare utter such blasphemous doubt aloud, not even to Mari.

“Klaus, Zilo, and Zack,” she continued, looking at each of the men in turn. “You three have been chosen by the Ancients to lead this Covenant, and the Blood-Mother, in return, has chosen to bestow upon you a most precious gift. The gift of a Lady.” Her voice softened as she looked at me. “All Princes are Marked in the Flesh at their Ascendance. A Mark unique above all others, a sacred signifier that he has been chosen. For a single Mark to be shared by two is a tremendous rarity. To be shared by three is the sign of an extraordinary destiny. One you must now step into, united by your Lady in heart, soul, and flesh. Tonight, we celebrate the inception of that union. A Mark in three parts. You must Mark your Beloved to bind her to you, as you are bound to each other.”

Love. I hadn't studied the old rites well enough to learn that portion of the script, but the moment the word dropped from the Priestess's lips, my eyes went to the Princes for a reaction. Klaus and Zilo alike watched with solemn reverence, their faces grave but accepting.

I instantly regretted glancing Zack’s way.

There was no longer just apathy in his gaze. There was stark anger and resentment, a cold fire burning in his blue eyes. All my attempts to convince myself that his mood wasn't directed at me, but merely the product of a destiny he found overwhelming, evaporated in this instant. He hated this. He hated me.

I looked down at my hands again, the wave of nausea running through me. Beloved. No, that was most definitely not what I was. Not even remotely, and I highly doubted I ever would be. But this was the lot that had been chosen for her. For both of them. If he wanted to sulk about it, so be it. I would fulfill my duty to the Covenant, whether my consort wanted to throw a temper tantrum or not.

There was an electrical charge in the air, and when the moonlight streamed in through the painted blue glass of the Sanctuary windows, it was almost warm on my skin, raising the other-worldly magic.

“The first stage, the sharing of Blood,” the Priestess announced, taking a silver chalice off the altar and holding it up so that its surface glinted brightly in the moonlight. She lowered it and picked up a matching silver athame before passing them both to Zilo on her right. “Blood received, and Blood given freely.”

Zilo took the blade and brought it to his palm. I held my breath and winced as he cut into his lifeline, but his eyes met mine, glimmering with a gentle amusement that made clear he wasn't the least bit bothered by this gruesome portion of the ritual.

"I give of myself freely," he said in his silken, deep yet gentle voice, as he made a fist and let the deep crimson blood trickle into the chalice. The words were so sincere that it was as if it were something more than just a ritual, more than some archaic duty.

He passed the blade and chalice across to Klaus on his right, and that other man did the same, equally undisturbed by the cutting of his own flesh.

“I give of myself freely,” he said, the first hint of reverence in his voice thus far. His dark eyes, normally so impassive, stared at the chalice.

My heart was hammering by the time the chalice and athame were passed into Zack’s waiting hands. He was seated to my right, and I found myself grateful that I was supposed to keep my head down for most of the ritual, as he couldn’t see how flustered I was.

He sliced his palm and bled into the chalice, his voice hushed in a rather impatient, "I give myself freely." The words were empty of conviction, less a vow to the divine than an inconvenient duty.

When he was done, he handed the chalice to me, his fingertips grazing mine. At the moment, I felt less smitten and more annoyed. He could at least fake this wasn't a chore for him.

I took the chalice in both hands and stared down at the mixture of blood. I took a deep breath and brought the chalice to my lips, letting the blood wash over my tongue. It didn't taste sharp and metallic as I had expected. It was deep, rich, and almost like a spiced wine. Perhaps it was just the power of suggestion, but I felt like something shifted within me as I consumed the blood of my consorts. Like a bond was being forged somehow, even if it was only the genesis of one.

Fortunately, I didn't have to drain the chalice dry. The Priestess nodded in satisfaction; then I launched into another silent anxiety attack at the knowledge of what was coming next.

“You may claim your Lady,” said the Priestess. “When the Blood Moon is full and the Mark complete, you shall be bound together. For eternity.”

I swallowed. I didn’t have the courage to look up and see how the others would react to that. It was easier that way. As the three rose from their spots around the altar, my heart pounded even more fiercely against my ribs. I moved back away from the altar to give them room.

I had every right to a little anxiety, I thought, as most Ladies in my position had only one male to be Marked by. I had three.

Zilo dropped to his knees beside me, to the left; Klaus took my right side, while Zack knelt right in front. I glared hard at my hands in my lap, doing everything possible not to wring them.

When Zilo pushed a strand of hair that had fallen from my braid back behind my shoulder, the sheer gentleness in the touch made me shiver. I looked up instinctively, and when I met his eyes, they were full of knowing and silent reassurance.

I'll be gentle.

Klaus took my right hand, his touch amazingly soft as well. My breath hitched when he raised my wrist to his lips, but he didn't waste any time sinking his fangs into my flesh. It was a relief, really. I didn't have to anticipate it forever. It did hurt, of course. More than I'd imagined, even though I knew he was being careful.

The low, possessive growl that tore from his throat seemed more instinctive than threatening, but it made me shiver for a different reason all the same.

Zilo leaned in, and I felt the whisper of his lips against the side of my throat, right above my shoulder, before he bit in. I gasped because the pain was starting to give way to a strange dizzying sense of euphoria I wasn't prepared for. No one had mentioned that.

The satisfaction was very short-lived, however. Zack leaned in, his face so close to mine that I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

What came as a bit of a shock was what lay within them. Not the anger nor impatience of before, but something that disquieted me far more. There was raw bloodlust. Maybe not the kind of desire I wished I was capable of stirring within him, but a consuming hunger nonetheless.

He leaned in, sinking his fangs into the other side of my throat and growling, just as Klaus had, but with something a little more, something possessive and dangerous laced within the sound: a primal claim that left me more an object to be possessed, not a "Beloved" consort as the Priestess had said.

This time, I couldn't fight the cry of pain escaping my lips. The other two released me, but Zack remained, fangs buried in my flesh, drinking more than he probably needed to for the simple ritual. The moment I was starting to think that he was crossing a line, he pulled away, his eyes dark with a Blood Hunger that made me feel even more prey-like.

Already, the three wounds were gradually starting to heal, although Zack's took longer because his was deeper. Zilo's tongue swept up along the lines of blood his fangs had drawn on my flesh, a soothing clean gesture where he had bitten. It was an unexpectedly intimate motion, leaving me to think about the final stage of the Mark that was to come. But for tonight, at least, the ritual was complete. "Before your Covenant and the Divine, the Blood Mark has begun," she declared, throwing her arms up triumphantly.

"Let the Feast of Binding begin! The great hall instantly erupted in a roar of polite, cultured applause. The ritual was over, and the political theater was about to begin. The sheer exhaustion from the experience settled over me instantly, but I had to stand, to smile, and to receive the congratulations of the aristocracy. Zilo and Klaus each extended a hand, both at the same time, but before I could take either one,

Zack moved forward, setting a hand lightly on my lower back, his body angling in close. His warm breath tickled my ear. "You're shaking," he murmured, his voice low, an implicit promise in every word. "Try not to bleed on the floor, Lady. It's expensive marble."