“Where is this party?” I ask, schooling my expression.
“At the house, of course,” Cade says, his dark eyes fixed right on mine. “But don’t worry your pretty little head about it, babe.” He presses the end of my nose with his fingertip. “I’ll protect you.”
His words make my heart beat harder. It isn’t a promise…
It’s a threat.
But something tells me there will be no escaping the party or Cade. Because I’m one of them now.
Whether I like it or not.
9
Bexley
The second I attempt to push Uncle Marcus' front door open and find it locked for the first time since I moved here, I know something is wrong.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I'm forced to ring the vintage-looking bell hanging beside the colossal double doors. A dong echoes in the silence around me, making my heartbeat increase a few notches, and I stand there wondering if anyone is going to answer for the longest time.
The sun is quickly descending in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the imposing brick building before me. When I'm starting to think that Uncle Marcus has forgotten he even invited me here and I consider returning to my car, there's a loud bang from inside the building.
There's a second bang before the doorknob twists and the door creaks open as if it's not moved in a few years. I blink a few times when my uncle appears in the doorway. The hall is completely dark behind him, making him hard to make out in head-to-toe black.
"What the hell are you wearing?" I balk when my eyes adjust, and I realize he's standing before me in a hooded black robe.
"Come in," he says in his usual creepy, low voice.
"Oookay."
I step inside and allow him to close and lock the door behind me.
"Follow me,” he says cryptically.
Okay, I mouth behind him as I follow him through the darkness, noting that all the curtains are drawn and no lights are on. Instead, candles illuminate our journey.
"What’s going on?" I ask the second he comes to a stop in front of a door that has been locked since the first day I stepped in here.
"All will become clear."
My brow furrows as he pushes open the door and I get my first look at the room inside. It looks like an office. A fucking creepy office at that.
Like the parts of the house I've seen this evening, this room is also only lit by candles. The walls are covered in bookcases, filled floor to ceiling with old books. I slip inside and take a seat when he instructs me to do so. He lowers himself to the wingbacked chair on the other side of the mahogany desk and drops his hood.
"This is really freaking weird. You're aware of that, right?" I muse, running a shaky hand over my face.
"Bexley," he says so seriously that it wipes the smirk off my face. "There are things you don't know about who you are, about who your family are, and tonight you're going to learn the truth."
"Uh… okay."
"Bexley, your surname is not Danforth. And I am not your uncle." My head spins with his words, making me wish I’d had a drink before I came here.
"What are you talk—"
"I'm your grandfather, Bexley, and your family name is Easton."
"Riiight. And this is meant to mean something to me?"
"How much do you know about the founding families of Gravestone, Son?"
"Um… not a lot. But their heirs are a bunch of douchebags, if you ask me."
"There are five founding families in Gravestone," he continues, ignoring my comments about Cade and his crew. "Kingsley, Davenport, Cargill, Rexford, and Easton."
“Easton?” I balk. “So, you’re telling me your family is one of the founding families?”
“Our family, Bexley,” he counters.
My lips part to question him, but no words leave my mouth as realization begins to dawn on me. I vaguely remember Alex trying to feed me all this bullshit back in high school. Stories of the town’s founding families and their shady operations. But I didn’t care then, and I still don’t. It’s just rumor and urban legend.
Isn’t it?
"Tonight, you begin the journey to take your rightful place in Gravestone, Son."
My head spins, his words blurring into just noise. Blood rushes past my ears with a whoosh, the racing of my heart making my chest heave.
I have no idea how much time passes, but I don't come back to myself until Marcus pushes an ornately carved box toward me. There's a crest in the top, one that looks vaguely familiar, but I have no idea where I might have seen it before.
"This is for you."
Hesitantly, I reach out, running my fingertip over the smooth wood.
"Open it," he demands, and I flip the brass catch and lift the lid.
"What the—" I stare down at the contents, my brows pinching in confusion.
"They're part of your initiation—or Initium, as we call it."
"I-initiation?” My voice cracks.
What the actual fuck?
I look at him and then back to the contents: a gold ring with that same crest stamped in it, and a glass vial.
"W-what's this for?" I ask pointing to the little bottle with a gold lid.
"Your blood."
"I-I'm s-sorry, what?" I splutter.
"Your blood," he repeats, like it's the most obvious thing in the fucking world.
"This is a joke, right?” Sweat beads down my back. “This has to be a fucking joke."
"No, Bexley. This is your reality. You are one of the five Electi."
I slump back in the chair as I think about that word, about the guys I know who hold that title.
Fucking hell.
I scrub my hand down my face, praying that I'm fucking dreaming, that I'm going to wake up any moment and realize that none of this is real.
"I need you to strip down and put that on." He lifts his chin to a coat stand in the corner of the room behind me, where a black cape that resembles his is hanging up.
"Strip
