by L. DuBois
The rare book room was small, with each rack dedicated to a subject. There were a few tables, each with a box of cotton gloves placed precisely in the center, so the rare books could be handled without picking up corrosive oils. Behind a section containing maps and diaries said to belong to members of the semi-secret Masonic Temple was a section of wall with a triangle inscribed into the plaster. She touched her scarf, which hid the chain she wore with the same symbol hanging from it. Below the triangle were three words. “Mitimur in Vetitum.”
“We strive for the forbidden,” she whispered, tracing the words.
Her stomach clenched. She was terrified of what she’d find beyond that door, of what she’d discover in the temple of the Trinity Masters.
With their help, Carly’s company was now one of the fastest growing in the industry, and at only thirty-two, she was well on the way to becoming very, very wealthy.
Taking a deep breath, she placed both hands on the triangle relief and pushed. A section of wall popped in and then slid to the side, disappearing into a pocket. She passed through and waited in the darkness on the other side as it shut, sealing her inside.
Once the door was fully closed, the lights clicked on.
The small foyer was exactly as she remembered. The room was small enough to be mistaken for a closet if anyone who was not a member found their way in. The walls were paneled wood, the floor covered with the same carpet as the outer room. An empty book cart took up a third of the space. Turning to her right, she examined the panels. Numbers were etched into the wood, seemingly at random.
The Grand Master’s instructions said she was to open box thirty-one. Pressing her finger against the number, she felt a click. When she pulled her hand back, a small tray popped out of the wall. Reaching in, she retrieved a key and a piece of paper.
You’ll find garments in Room C. Right hand corridor.
Wait until you hear the bell.
—Grand Master
The note was written by hand. Carly shivered a little. The Grand Master was the head of the Trinity Masters and a man of unspeakable power and influence. No one knew who he was, though there were plenty of rumors. At the Trinity Masters annual gatherings, meetings hidden inside library benefit galas, Carly had done her share of gossiping about who he might be.
Now she wasn’t curious, she was afraid.
Note and key in hand, she moved the cart out of the way and—with another push—opened the door hidden in the back wall. It revealed a narrow elevator. When she pressed the button, the door opened and Carly stepped in. She took a moment to gather herself as the small elevator took her down to the sub-basement. When it stopped and the door slid to the side, she bit the inside of her cheek to center herself.
A long marble hallway stretched out in front of her. Columns supported the double-high arched ceiling, which was a smaller replica of the grand hallway above. Her footsteps rang as she made her way along the hall, the sound bouncing off the walls to echo down to the grand double doors at the far end. There were no books here to muffle the sound. At the midway point, there were openings in the walls, one to the right, another to the left. She’d been down the left hallway before. There were changing rooms there, elegant as the locker rooms in a fancy spa. For ceremonies, all members wore robes to protect their identities, and those with the most need for secrecy had private dressing rooms.
As she turned right, she wondered if that was where she was going—to a private dressing room. Now that she had been called to the altar by the Grand Master, she supposed she’d earned a private dressing room.
After all, she was about to meet her husbands.
Or maybe it would be husband and wife.
Her hands shook, and it took her a few tries to get the key into the lock on Room C. Once in, she found a small, but well-appointed room. A white robe waited on a hook. Normally they wore gray.
Setting her purse on the vanity, she touched the robe. “It’s like a wedding dress,” she whispered to herself.
It would be the only wedding dress she’d ever wear.
In exchange for the Trinity Masters’ help, she’d given up her future, specifically her choice of whom she would marry.
Throughout history, the world had been secretly controlled by relationships that defied societal standards. Some of those relationships had come to light, the most famous of which had been Vice-Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson, who’d been in a relationship with Lady Emma Hamilton and Sir William Hamilton. The gossip papers of the nineteenth century had called it an affair between Lady Emma and Lord Nelson, but it had been so much more. The three-way union between them had helped end the Napoleonic Wars, and both Emma and William had mourned Lord Nelson after his death.
The Trinity Masters believed that when three people were united, it created a bond far stronger than the pedestrian two-person marriage, and that these triads—if made between those with power and intellect—had the capability to change the world.
Carly slid out of her clothes, leaving on the corset-bra, panties and garter set she’d bought especially for today. She closed her eyes, trying to still her nerves.
She’d joined the Trinity Masters at nineteen, when the idea of some crazy secret ménage marriage had seemed exciting, elicit. In her twenties, she’d enjoyed herself, knowing there was no need for her to worry about falling in love or getting married. By the time she was twenty-eight and her friends were married, some expecting children, she finally understood what she’d really given up in her quest for success.
However, the consequences of crossing the Trinity Masters were too dire to contemplate, and so here she was, waiting to meet the people she’d share the rest of her life with. That thought sent another shard of panic through her before she beat it down.
She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror, then raised the hood and tugged the chain out from under the robe so it lay on her chest in plain sight, the triangle glinting in the low light. Carly had never shirked from a challenge…or a commitment. She wouldn’t begin now.
Taking a seat on a velvet chair, she breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.
A bell rang, the deep sound vibrating through her. She looked up as a door in the wall opposite where she sat opened.
Rising to her feet, Carly threw back her shoulders, lifted her head and walked through.
*****
Preston Kim stretched, and then slowly sat up as the bell rang. He was in one of the Trinity Masters’ private dressing rooms. It wasn’t the first time he’d merited the honor of one of the private rooms, but it was the most important.
Preston smiled and rose to his feet. He pulled the black hood over his head, hiding his dark hair and eyes.
It felt like Christmas morning. Anticipation hummed through him, and yet he didn’t want to rush. He wanted to savor it, wanted to remember every detail so one day he’d be able to tell his children how Dad met Mom and Mom, or Mom and other Dad.
The same way his parents had told him.
Preston was a legacy to the Trinity Masters. His parents—Dad and both Moms—were members. His biological mother had married his father in a traditional ceremony several years after the three had been married by the Grand Master. All three parents raised him and his sister. He’d grown up knowing he was the child of something special, powerful and secret. His dad, mother and Imo—the name he and his sister used for their other mother, which was a bastardization for the Korean word for aunt—were now all immensely powerful in the world of education. They’d been joined together by the Trinity Masters at a time in their lives when it seemed they had nothing in common—an electrical engineer, a junior political aide and a mathematician. Many years and two children later, his father, the engineer, and Imo, the mathematician, owned an educational company that developed much of the technology and curriculum used by the country’s leading science magnet schools. His biological mother was a lobbyist, who worked to keep the money flowing to education no matter what happened to the national budget.
And
now it was Preston’s turn to meet his partners.
The call from the Grand Master had been both welcome and poorly timed. Though he’d been waiting for years to be called to the altar, his company was having financial trouble, with lower profits than projected in the last quarter. He’d walked away from a lengthy financial report—far from his favorite reading material—to fly to Boston. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to put work concerns away. Today was too important.
The door opened and he stepped through.
The room on the other side was intimate, unlike the massive gathering room with its stone altar. The floor and walls were marble. Three high-backed wing chairs sat in a semi-circle, facing a large metal medallion in the center of the floor. A rectangle of lighter colored stone led him to the chair farthest to the right. A soft sound made him look to his left, and he saw two other robed figures, one in black and one in white, emerging. Turning his attention to the center, he followed the path in the floor and took a seat in his chair. There was the rustle of fabric and the pad of feet as the others took their places. In the shadow of his hood, Preston grinned.
Light illuminated the bronze medallion with the Trinity Master’s symbol and logo, as well as the chairs, but the corners of the room were cast in darkness. Less than a minute passed before a patch of shadow detached from the wall and came forward to stand in the center of the medallion. He wore a black robe trimmed in gold and a heavy chain draped his shoulders.
The Grand Master.
Preston sucked in a breath. He’d been introduced to the Grand Master as a child, had seen him at the galas and initiation events, and yet he still scared Preston. He knew, from hearing his parents’ whispered conversations, that if crossed, the Grand Master was ruthless. It was said that he’d not only ruined members who disobeyed their laws and ignored their vows, but had them imprisoned, sometimes even killed.
“Welcome.” The Grand Master’s voice was deep, commanding. His hood moved from side to side as he looked at each of them. Preston thought he caught a glimpse of a nose or chin in the darkness of the hood, but he couldn’t be sure.
“Grand Master,” he murmured in greeting. He heard the others do the same.
If the robe colors hadn’t given them away, the voices would have. There was one man and one woman. He felt a small moment of disappointment. Secretly he’d hoped for two women—he’d always thought his father’s life seemed more than agreeable—but growing up as he had made him more open-minded than most. He would accept the other man into his life—and into his bed—if they were attracted to each other.
Preston had never been with another man, but there was a first time for everything.
“When you joined the Trinity Masters, you made a vow. You pledged your lives to our cause and our traditions. The time has come for you to meet your partners, your lovers, your spouses.”
The words rang, echoing off the walls. He thought he heard a small sound of distress from the woman, hidden in her virginal white robe.
“When I call your name, stand and remove your robe.”
Preston’s belly lurched. This was it.
*****
Lance Glassco’s fingers tightened on the arms of the chair. The wood groaned as his knuckles turned white. He wanted to jump up and pull down everyone’s hoods. He hated the secrecy, hated not knowing what was going on.
Hated not having control.
Joining the Trinity Masters had been a blessing when he was younger. Without them stepping in at several key points during his career, he would probably be dead, another fallen Marine in some desert. As it was, he was a proud United States Marine Corps Reserve Officer, and a mathematician for DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, research and development arm of the United States Armed Forces.
Personal relationships weren’t his strong suit. He needed rules and guidelines, and relationships—or more accurately women—didn’t come with either. Knowing the Trinity Masters would someday step in and tell him whom to marry had relieved him of the burden of worrying about it.
It wasn’t until he’d gotten the letter from the Grand Master he realized exactly how much control he’d given up. He had no say about what was happening right now. He hadn’t even gotten to pick if his partners would be men or women. Seeing another man in the circle left him feeling more than a little uneasy.
Since receiving his letter, his frustration had grown to the point that he could now feel it boiling under his skin.
“When I call your name, stand and remove your robe.”
Lance froze, his shoulders cramping from the tension in his arms and back.
“Carlene Kenan.”
The figure in the white robe rose from her chair. Her hands were slim with painted nails.
He was glad at least one of them was a woman.
She threw back her hood and Lance jerked in his seat. She was beautiful with creamy pale skin and dark hair. Reaching back, she did something so her hair fell down around her shoulders in pretty waves. He wanted to bury his hands in those long tresses, taste those pink lips. Her gaze met his, though he doubted she could see his face under the hood. Then she looked at the other man before facing at the Grand Master once more.
The Grand Master raised a hand, and Lance noticed he wore gray gloves. The Grand Master motioned to her, the twitch of his fingers impatient.
The woman…what was her name? Carlene, that was it.
Her fingers moved down the front of her robe, undoing the small hook and eye catches that held it closed. As she did, the robe fell apart a bit, giving him teasing glimpses of flesh.
When the robe was open, she grasped the edges. There was an expression on her face Lance couldn’t read.
He sat forward, anxious to see what she hid under the enveloping material. Her gaze focused on him, as she raised her chin and dropped the robe.
Lance was sure he’d break the chair, he gripped it so hard. She had long legs and full breasts. She wore some lacy corset thing and a tiny pair of panties covered her sex. Garters held up dark stockings. Her face was beautiful in a way that made him think of the porcelain dolls his mother collected, but her body was lush and soft, made to be touched and stroked.
Lance sat back, his frustration gone, replaced by a need to have her. He’d never felt an attraction this strong, this instantaneous.
He grinned.
She was his.
“Preston Kim.”
Lance had been so wrapped up in imagining what he’d do to Carlene he’d forgotten this wasn’t just about the two of them. He looked where the other figure in black now stood. The hood fell back to reveal a tall man with a lean, handsome face. He had dark hair and slanted eyes that probably meant he was at least part Asian.
Preston’s gaze focused on him, and Lance felt the challenge.
Black velvet dropped to the floor. The man wore a pair of dark boxers. He was trim and muscled. Lance was sure he could take him in a fight, but it wouldn’t be easy. Preston reminded him of some jungle cat, maybe a black panther.
“Lance Glassco.”
Finally, it was his turn to stand. Lance rose to his feet. Impatient, he stripped off his robe, tossing it to the floor. He looked at Carlene, saw her brows go up as she caught sight of him. He’d kept up with his physical training while in the reserves. He wasn’t vain, but he knew that physically he was a good specimen. And his mama always said he was handsome.
“You now belong to one another. Come forward.”
Barefoot, they approached the Grand Master, stopping when they stood on the medallion. He grasped each of their right hands, bringing them into the center. Taking the chain from around his shoulders, he bound their wrists with it. Lance saw Carlene shiver as the cold metal touched her.
Lance’s hand was on top of hers. He squeezed her fingers. She looked at him, and Lance smiled. She tentatively returned the friendly gesture.
“Preston,” the Grand Master said.
The other man stepped closer and his hand, which lay a
top Lance’s, tightened. Lance tensed. Reaching out with his free hand, Preston cupped Carlene’s face. Her eyes widened as Preston pulled her to him.
He kissed her long and deep, their cheeks only inches from Lance’s face. Desire warred with jealousy. Lance wanted to be the one kissing her, and yet he liked seeing Preston touch her. It didn’t make any sense to him.
Lance hated things he couldn’t understand.
The instant Preston pulled back, Lance jerked Carlene to him. Burying his hand in her hair, he nipped her lower lip, demanding she let him in. When she took a breath, he pressed his tongue into her mouth, tasting her sweet flavor.
Preston touched his bare back, his hand sliding over skin and muscle. Startled, Lance ended the kiss when Preston reached for him.
Lance knocked his hand away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Dark eyes examined him. “The same thing we just did with Carlene.”
They stared at each other, right arms held awkwardly, their hands still bound together by the chain.
“Don’t touch me,” Lance snarled. It wasn’t that he had a problem with men touching each other, but he’d never had one try to kiss him. He hadn’t signed on for that. Had he?
Preston raised one brow. “You must have known there was a chance you’d be placed with another man.”
“I did, but we have a woman.”
“Oh, you must be fucking kidding.”
They both jerked, then looked at Carlene. Her lip was curled. Lance wasn’t good at reading people, but he was pretty sure the look on her face was one of disgust and anger.
“You have a woman? I really hope you don’t mean me.”
Lance frowned. “You are our woman.”
“I’m not your fuck toy or some baton you’re going to pass back and forth.” She jerked her wrist free of the chain and took a step back, rubbing the marks it left.
“Carlene.” The Grand Master’s voice was menacing and dark, dripping with warning.
She stopped in her tracks.
“You are incorrect. You are theirs…and they are yours.”