Oaths And Omissions Novels & Stories

He’d thought about how to begin this on the couch at 4 in the morning. He started with 19. With Osei’s office and the job that wasn’t really a job. He was methodical and specific and he didn’t editorialize and he didn’t minimise. Every transaction he remembered. Every name. Every instruction given and followed. The shape of the operation as he’d understood it from inside. Marsh listened. Her officer beside her took notes. She asked precise questions in the pauses. Good questions. The kind that showed she’d already been building a picture and was using his account to fill the gaps.

My father didn’t raise me to back down from any man—no matter how handsome he was. Momentarily taken aback, he laughed even harder displaying the deep indents on his cheeks. And there goes my ovaries! “It’s cute that you think you can intimidate me,” he began, his accent heavy. “But I’m the one making the bargains here.” He stepped closer, grasping my chin in a way that was both unsettling and oddly thrilling. Raising my head so our eyes locked, he continued, “Honoring OMERTA requires that I kill you for overhearing what you did, but I’m going to make you an offer.”

“And if I sew a man between your sentences, you’re more careful with your adjectives.” Rooke’s matriarch passed a note to the magistrate. He read, coughed into the bell in an act of small rebellion, and addressed the room: “We will hear the Charter’s clauses individually.” Item by item, they placed the sentences in the mouth of government. Witness weekly. No Oaths of Keeps. Floor Doctrine. Kitchen Lists. River Liaison. Triage First. The Hinge. Summoning is a Crime. Names. Money. Silas bled them by paragraph and called it hygiene.

“From what?” This time, silence answered first, then one of the wolves laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “From us,” he said, and a few of the vampires smiled. Virelle’s stomach tightened. Edric raised one hand, and the room quieted again. “The oath is not symbolic. It is old magic. It enforces order. It prevents certain… appetites from becoming inconvenient.” Virelle glanced around the chamber once more. At the glowing eyes. The sharpened expressions. The hunger that had not truly left some of their faces.

Did that jerk feel so fulfilled that he rushed to them to announce his victory? “It's on the– the news” Nora stuttered, completely avoiding my gaze. Something within me twisted. I quickly put the TV on, and there stood my supervisor, giving a speech. My picture by the side of the screen, with the headline; "MABEL HAWKINS BREAKS THE #1 RULE: NEVER OFFEND A BILLIONAIRE!” Apologizing for my misconduct and taking the blame. Telling the world that I have been relieved of my duties as a consequence of my actions.

However, he seemed different to me. I was going to be destroyed by this man. The person who wanted to shatter me was the one who ought to be close to me. I was aware of it. I could feel it in my bones. The priest spoke calmly and clearly as he began the vows, but I could hardly hear what he was saying. Everything seemed surreal to me. And then the words appeared. "Do you consider Kayla Adam to be your legally wedded wife, Dante Cruz?" the priest asked. At last, Dante turned to face me, "To love and cherish, from this day forward, till death do you part?" His hateful gaze met mine.

That's when I noticed there were no croissants on the tray. "Sorry sir, there must be a mistake. I will go inside to check on it." I said “It’s fine. Just cancel that order. I don’t have the whole day to wait.” He said nonchalantly. But there was a silent warning looming. I could feel it. “Sir, wait just a minute, I will be back with croissants.” I said pleadingly. He can report me and I might lose this job. I can’t let that happen. “I said, cancel the order. Don’t you understand english? I am pretty sure I’m not using any accents either.” He said with an evil grin.

Emotion rose fast and unexpected in her throat. No one had ever spoken about wanting her like that — not as possession, not as fate… As responsibility. Her voice came out small. “I don’t want to be something you’re obligated to.” “You aren’t,” he said immediately. “The bond may have started this… but what grows from it is ours to choose.” Her heart thudded harder, slower. Deep. Without fully deciding to, she shifted closer across the rug. Not touching. Just nearer. His breath changed — barely — but she heard it.

Dutch opened the email himself, his weathered hands steady in a way that surprised Sloane, though perhaps it should not have. This was, after all, a man who had spent thirty years learning to receive bad news without flinching in front of the people who depended on him. He read it aloud. It was formal, bureaucratic, and utterly chilling in its blandness. The federal prosecutor's office was initiating an immediate compliance review of the Iron Vow's cooperation agreement, citing, in careful legal language, concerns about the credibility and completeness of information previously provided. Pending the review's conclusion, all previously discussed protections, including witness safety provision

He was patient. My throat was a tight, painful knot. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry, Ella. Crying was weak. I was a nineteen-year-old woman who’d just torched her entire future over one stupid, drunken mistake. “There’s nothing?” I finally whispered, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence. “No appeal? No… anything?” He sighed, a soft, almost bored sound. “Your actions were a clear violation of the code of conduct, Miss Hayes. My hands are tied.”