by Ella Fields
Wanting to end this so I could find out as much as I could, I said, “I’ll be okay, I’m sure.”
Both son and father looked at me with mirrored expressions of doubt, brows heavily furrowed.
We rounded the hall in silence, and when Elijah opened the door to a room beside what I now knew was called the room of servitude, I pulled my shoulders back.
Soft chatter and laughter mingled with the light rhythm of three acoustic guitars in the corner.
I wasn’t sure what I had to be afraid of. An elegantly dressed table stretched before us. White linens and black roses littered not just the banquet table but also the smaller circular ones housing refreshments in the corners and on the sides of the room. Black velvet chaise lounges and bench seats sat between them—some filled with couples and others with females gossiping and laughing.
We selected some finger food. I stuck with chicken skewers but added some type of lettuce concoction to the side of my plate to appease my mother, wherever she was.
She appeared when we found a spare seat on the side of the room, still warm from being recently vacated. “Good, you’ve eaten,” she said, seeming flustered as she looked from me to Jude. “Have you spoken to her?”
“About?” he asked, shoving a mini cucumber sandwich inside his mouth, cheeks bulging.
My mother’s eyes swelled, and I refrained from laughing. “This evening, you brat.”
“Oh, that.” Jude took his time dabbing at his clean yet forever bristly chin. “She said she’ll be fine.”
January turned her scowl on me, but it softened, her mouth tightening with worry. “Fern, you really should—”
A woman in varying shades of sheer red chiffon touched my mother’s elbow, leaning in to whisper something in her ear.
Mom looked back at me, but clearly, she was needed elsewhere and rather urgently, for she merely glared at Jude in a way that spoke volumes.
Volumes I knew he’d ignore.
Growing tired of feeling like a third wheel to my own life, I gave my plate to a passing waiter and brushed my hands over my skirts. “Okay, time to fill me in.”
“On what, exactly?” Jude licked his fingers, then waved a waiter over.
“Oh, custard tarts.” I grabbed two and a napkin while Jude selected a chocolate eclair.
Watching him maul it made it obvious he was either a big fan of baked goods or a big fan of evading my desire for information. Probably both, I mused, watching him lick cream from his upper lip.
“Sorry,” he said, turning into me, his arm heavy upon mine. “Would you have preferred to clean it up for me?”
I ignored that. “What’s going on tonight?” I looked around the rapidly filling room. “Seems like a fancy dinner party.”
Jude snorted, then stole my napkin to clean his fingers while I ate.
“It’s called A Night in October. The couple directly opposite us?” he said without looking.
I briefly shot my eyes that way and found a young brunette, maybe a few years older than us, sitting with a graying, handsome man with a goatee. “What about them?” I took my soiled napkin back to clean my own fingers.
Jude grabbed my hand, the napkin tumbling to the floor as I rose. My purse, still strapped over my shoulder, bounced into my back as I collided with the side of his body.
His arm crawled around my waist, keeping me unbearably close, as he said to the side of my forehead, “Hank’s in the drug trade, a retired extortion extraordinaire.”
I blinked, forcing my eyes to remain forward as Jude walked me up two sets of steps into the same ballroom we were married in. The room of servitude.
Colorful Nightingales flitted around the domed glass ceiling, and a myriad of chaise lounges, leather sectionals, bench seats, and other reclining comforts had been scattered over the mosaic floor.
I was about to ask Jude why there were so many… sitting areas when he whispered, “Behind us and to your left. Thomas Verrone and his wife, Jemima. A caretaker on retainer if you will.”
He pulled me into a large cleared space in the center of the room, and we joined another smattering of couples who were slow dancing and kissing. Doing so gave me the opportunity to glance around and discover who Jude had been referring to.
A tall man with dark hair combed back over his head, making his bright blue eyes all the more piercing, turned our way. Swiftly removing my gaze, I caught a glimpse of almost black shoulder-length hair on the slender woman tucked protectively to his side.
Jude nodded at them, taking his hand from my hip to wipe beneath my bottom lip. I didn’t care what had been there, not as darkness crept into the side of my vision. “What do you mean?” I asked. “For their gardens?” That would explain his beautiful olive skin but not his presence here.
“He’s good at garnering intel and taking care of… issues.”
Oh. Oh.
I felt my face drain of color as I tried my best to keep my eyes away from the man and his wife.
“Things…” I couldn’t even say it, but I tried again. “They really take things that far?”
“If necessary, yes. Though typically, he comes in handy for intel.”
I didn’t want to ask how handy exactly he was, and so I looked over Jude’s shoulder at two guys who were holding hands as they drank and talked amongst themselves. “The male couple.”
“Theo and Elvis,” Jude said. “Visiting from London with Theo’s parents. They were at the wedding. Theo is Henrietta’s stepson. She adores him, and his father hates him.”
“Because he’s gay?”
“Because he doesn’t want a gay man running their chapter when he retires or dies.”
I frowned. “That’s basically the same thing and stupid.”
Jude hummed in agreement, steering me to the outer wall as the chandeliers above began to wane from a florescent yellow to a dull gold. “We need to stay over here.”
It was as if the change of lighting had taken his relaxed demeanor with it, his body and voice simmering with heightening tension.
I noticed Thomas and his wife bidding people farewell, and a few others doing the same. Not initiated, I knew without asking, but associates.
They knew whatever was to come was nothing they wanted a part in, and I had a feeling they wouldn’t be allowed to remain anyway.
More laughter tumbled into the room, and I peeked over my shoulder to find a bunch of giant green and red velvet cushions had been placed where we’d once been dancing.
And people were starting to make out on them.
It began with couples, and when I swung my eyes around the room, I noticed more and more people moving toward those couples, individuals who were stripping themselves of their jackets. Women unraveled their hair, and some men and women took up seats around the outside, waiting and watching, it seemed.
“Jude…” I gulped and gulped again.
He’d stepped back to a table of refreshments, his expression void as he handed me sparkling champagne. “Drink.”
With a tremble in my hand, I took the glass. He saw it and tugged me close.
Releasing a resigned sounding breath, he said, “Look, you’re about to witness a giant party with an orgy thrown right into the middle for all to see. You don’t need to participate. No one is forced to. But we must bear witness to it.” He downed half a glass of champagne, his throat bobbing. “The annual fuck-fest, as Silas and I call it. All must attend, but not all must share.”
It was then I realized Silas wasn’t here. “Where is he?”
“In severe shit and he knows it.” Jude finished the rest of his champagne, then dumped the glass on the table. “My guess is he wants nothing to do with the people who stole his beloved from him, nor does he wish to make matters worse for himself with said beloved.”
I looked around for his parents. “You won’t find them,” Jude said. “They use the smaller room with some of the other oldies.”
“Oldies,” I muttered, my expression souring enough that Jude chuckled as
I wondered where my mom was. “He’s making matters worse for himself by not attending, though, isn’t he?”
Jude tipped a shoulder. “Being Clint’s son, he’ll get bitch slapped for sure, but not as hard as anyone else would. I’ll bet he merely gets beaten up by his dad’s choice of brute.”
My eyes widened, and again, Jude laughed, but it died quickly. He nodded to the forgotten drink in my hand. “Drink, Red.”
I did, and when I was done, he was ready with another. “I just… why?”
He knew what I was referring to and chewed his cheek for a moment. “It keeps inhouse fighting to a minimum, you know, affairs and the like, and also…” He took my drink when I was done. “Power.”
“Power?”
He poured me another. “Yep. Control under the guise of a sordid gift.”
I frowned at the champagne he handed me. “One might think you’re trying to get me drunk, husband.”
With his jaw set, eyes ablaze with cold, he dared to say, “Trust me?”
Something told me I could with this, but given our messed-up history, I would never admit as much. “Not in a million years.” Still, I tipped the champagne back, handing him the glass to refill it afterward.
We ended up staying on the side of the room as moans diluted with laughter and low chatter. No pictures were allowed to be taken and no filming, Jude had said. If anyone was caught doing so, they’d lose more than their devices.
Jude seated himself on the arm of a cream leather couch by the drink table, his hands upon my hips as I kept my back turned to the many naked people behind me. The music grew in volume with female cries and male grunting, and so did my fraying nerves.
Jude wiggled my hips side to side, and I found myself enjoying his attention, the way his hands fit my hips like they were made to hold them, way more than I should. “Dance,” he urged, gazing up at me with a twinkle I hadn’t seen enter his eyes in months.
I twirled, naked bodies blurring until Jude halted me, and I fell into him, laughing between his splayed legs. “Now kiss me,” he murmured, eyes dropping to my mouth.
I captured his rough cheeks, thumbs rubbing at the bristles, and folded my lips over his.
His hold grew tighter, fingers squeezing, and I was struggling to remember why I hadn’t done this with him since we’d moved in together.
Oh yeah, he’d broken my heart.
Scowling, I pulled away, but he simply handed me more champagne. “Drink.”
Eyeing him over the glass, I then tipped it back, handing him the remains, which he polished off.
“Now dance.” He spun me again, this time pulling me back to his lap. Straddling his knee, I felt myself grow damp when it rose to press firmly into my center.
I moaned, and he held me to him, his lips roaming up my neck to my chin. He nipped it. “So beautiful.” The whispered groan heated me to boiling point. “Kiss me.”
Clasping his face again, I tilted his head, my tongue searching for and finding his. They rubbed, and they tickled, and he sucked mine into his mouth before biting my lower lip as he pulled back. “Drink,” he said, handing me yet another glass of champagne.
Grinning, I was spinning while not moving at all and drank a few mouthfuls as I rocked over his knee.
“Kiss me,” he said when I took the last sip, his voice threaded with want.
He pulled me over him again, drinking the bubbly liquid from my mouth. I licked the remnants from his chin and neck, and heard his breath catch, a rumbled curse scraping up his throat to thrill my ears.
Gripping my chin, he kissed me once more, and this time, he didn’t pull away and tell me to drink.
This time, we fell onto the couch, my legs on either side of his waist.
I woke what felt like hours later on that same leather couch, curled around my husband with my head tucked into his neck, as the party slowly came to a close.
A muscular man with unbound, long dark hair rose from a chaise lounge on the other side of the room, his shirt in hand. Blinking at his chest, then his face, I startled and glanced away when his eyes met mine. “Is that Headmaster Taurin?”
Jude yawned. “Indeed.”
Wow. I didn’t ask why he was here. That answer was explained by his presence.
Clothes were everywhere, as were champagne bottles, glasses, and naked people. A few were still fucking while others lay spent, kissing lazily and chatting.
Jude handed me the water he’d been clutching, the glass warm, and I sat up a little higher, drinking the entire thing. “What time is it?”
“One,” he said. “It’s after midnight, so we can leave.”
“Please,” I said, handing him back the glass as my mom entered the room, her hair a mess and a half-naked blonde attached to her side.
We didn’t move for untold minutes, and I knew that was my fault, but his neck smelled so good, and I was so tired. Everything developed a haze around it as though the sensation of spinning was fighting to stay a little longer.
“You got me drunk,” I croaked, my finger toying with a button on his shirt.
Jude yawned again. “You’re welcome.” He then rose from the couch, and I squeaked as he carried me out of the room, down the steps, through the adjoining room, and out into the hall. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I must have fallen asleep again after he’d set me inside the car, for I woke with a start as soon as Jude pulled into our driveway.
I might have still been half tanked, but as the evening’s events wandered inside my sleep-addled brain, I was filled with many other things too.
Flustered and confused and terrified and other sickened things with no available name, I slammed the door behind me and tossed my purse onto the couch in the living room. “I will not be blindsided again. You need to tell me everything. Everything, Jude.”
He stalked casually to the coffee table and looped a finger through the handle of a mug I’d left there, swinging the black porcelain in the air. “Would it fucking kill you to rinse your shit and put it in the dishwasher?”
“We have a housekeeper.” I frowned. “It’s one cup.”
“Once a week, Red, and I’ve seen fifty more just like it.”
“Keeping count? Really?”
“Fifty-one, to be precise.”
I sighed. “Jude.”
He walked off. “I don’t know how to say this nicely, but you’re going to be blindsided again, and I probably will be, too.” He dumped the offending mug into the kitchen sink and filled it with water before coming back. “I’ve only been initiated for a year. I can tell you what I know, but it’s not everything. Things are only revealed via gossip, which isn’t always accurate, and by experiencing them ourselves.”
In answer, I dropped to the couch, waiting.
He remained standing but folded his hands over the back of the recliner across from me and rolled his neck. “Chess Club. Nightingale. The society. Peridot’s elite and almighty. We now belong to a division that stretches across seas, borders, and is harder to tap into than any other in the world. For not anyone can request entry and initiate. You are born in, or you marry in.”
“Chess Club,” I repeated, remembering some of the guys at school say it now and then. I’d thought they were covering up something stupid, but nothing like this.
Jude continued. “The initiation is brutal, and you only know the half of it. They take what you love most, and they make you destroy it.” He huffed, hands scrunching into the leather as he stared out the window to the night sky. “Why? Because you’re not a connection that members can trust if you aren’t willing to sacrifice all you hold dear.”
What did you do, Jude? I didn’t ask.
He stared at me then, green eyes bright in the firstborn hours of a new day. “It’s ancient and outdated, sometimes sexist and cult-like, but it’s a world most people only hear rumors about, dream about, create stories about—never able to hear enough about. If you’re in, you’re protected for life.” He tipped a shoulder. “Any cr
ime you commit, within reason, can be wiped. Any financial difficulties you may face can be fixed. Any education, job, or even funds to start a business is yours. Any political ties or favors you need can be arranged, and the list goes on.”
And his father and my mother were two of the current ringleaders.
He stalked out of the living room, and I sat with the dark, with the knowledge I might have entered into something that could make or break me.
Returning with a pen and paper, Jude knelt before the coffee table and drew a diamond. A star at each point. “There are factions in four places of the world. Europe, Asia, Australia, and right here on the very edge of the US of A.”
He then went on to write the names of each faction’s alphas.
London’s alpha, of whom I’d briefly met, was Benjamin Gabe.
Australia’s was a woman—Amanda Bright.
Japan had a young man by the name of Leon Arakan.
“His father recently died of a stroke, leaving Leon the youngest alpha in Nightingale history.”
“How old is he?” I whispered, unsure why.
Jude, noticing, smirked. “You would’ve found this out on your own, and you’re in, so I’m allowed to tell you. Chill.”
“You like that annoying word.”
His eyes dipped to my mouth. “I like a lot of other annoying things, too.” They then returned to the paper, and with my heart twisting, I watched him scrawl twenty-two beside Leon’s name.
“Whoa.”
“Yep,” Jude said. “His father was a decent guy, but man, was he tough on him. If there’s anyone equipped to deal, it’s Leon.”
“He wasn’t there tonight,” I said, unless I’d missed him.
“He’s exempt while grieving.” He wrote down dates, one three months from now. “There’s an annual hunt for those who wish or need to find themselves a bride and want to choose from the offspring of members.”
“No,” I said, knowing it was pointless to doubt what he was saying.
“Yes, this year’s ended rather swiftly. The three males knew what they wanted and didn’t fuck around.” While I grappled with that, Jude went on. “If someone betrays us, then they’re tortured before the entire enclave in that country.”