Beautiful Lies (Dark Secret Society 2)

“Do your sisters know you’re doing this? The Initiation?” I asked.

“Does yours?” she countered.

“Yeah,” I said as I found a rock to sit on. “You can’t be brought up as a VanDoren and not know about the Oleander, The Order of the Silver Ghost, and all the other fucked-up crap that comes with it. It’s part of our Southern charm, I guess you could say.”

“Why do you want to be part of the Order if you hate it so much?” she asked as she stepped out of the water and grabbed my jacket off the nearby rock and put it on.

Good question. Why?

Insanity.

Rape of will.

Forced obligation.

“Fate. Destiny. I don’t know. Bred into it.”

“So, you don’t want to be part of the Order?” she asked as she came and sat down near me.

“It’s complicated,” I said, always hating that statement, but it was the only one that really described me and my situation. “What about you? Why are you truly putting yourself through this? What’s the dollar amount?” I tried hard not to sound judgmental, but instead hoped it came off as the genuine question it was.

“It’s complicated too.” She froze and her eyes widened. “Did you hear that? I think I heard something outside.”

Standing up, I walked toward the entrance of the cave. I signaled for Portia to remain where she was. I didn’t hear the hounds but that didn’t mean a member of the Order hadn’t broken away from the pack like I had in hopes of having better luck solo. The darkness made it tough to see much further than a few feet ahead of me. I considered calling out but wasn’t sure I was ready to face the Order yet.

“I see tracks leading to this ridge,” a voice called out. “Get the others and the dogs. She may be hiding in these rocks. Let’s flush our little fox out.”

Fuck.

We didn’t have the time I thought we would. I turned back around and entered the cave. “Take off my jacket and hand it to me,” I ordered as I walked toward her with my hand out. “They’re coming.”

Portia stepped back and tightened the coat around her neck. “What does that mean?”

“It means, I can’t have you wearing my jacket.” When she didn’t instantly give me the coat again, I clarified, “I hunted you down, remember? You’re my win. Don’t give the Elders reason to believe I helped you in any way.”

Her eyes were wide, and I could see her lip begin to tremble, but she removed the jacket and stretched her arm out for me to take it.

Clearing the last steps between us, I softly touched her upper arm, and then stroked her cheek as I looked her directly in the eyes. “You’re going to be okay. Trust me on that. I won’t let them touch you. You’re mine. I found you.”

Without giving her a chance to say another word, I bent down and flipped her over my shoulder, carrying her as one would carry their prey. Her bare ass rested next to my face, and I figured the display of me carrying my captured fox like a bag of potatoes would please the Elders.

“I found her!” I called out as I exited the cave. “I captured the fox!”

It wasn’t long before we were circled by the members of the Order all on horseback. I had hoped to keep them up all night searching for her, but it had been hours since the hunt first began, and I could see the men were weary and pleased that the fox had finally been found.

“I see you know your belle’s scent well,” one of the Elders said with a wicked grin.

“I found her in the rocks,” I said, pleased that I had headed the Order off before they found us in the cave. Maybe some knew of our special place, but it gave me satisfaction that I at least shielded the secrecy from the hunting party.

“The little vixen shed herself of the cloak and the tail, I see,” another Elder commented.

I placed Portia onto the ground and decided to distract the group with my next action before they could start criticizing or discussing her lack of cloak and tail and if there should be ramifications for that act.

I looked Portia in the eyes and prayed she could read my thoughts. I needed her to trust me. I needed her to remain quiet and allow me to handle everything. I needed her to submit to what I was about to do.

Taking out my pocketknife from my pants, I grabbed her hand and faced her palm toward me. “I won the hunt,” I declared.

I sliced the blade along her palm, holding it firmly when she hissed in pain and wanted to pull away. A crimson red streak coursed along her flesh, and I hated that I was the reason for this wound. Swiping my fingers into the cut, I then smeared my bloody fingers all over my face, marking myself with the hunted’s blood. I then took her hand again, swiping at the remaining blood from the wound, and wiped it down her face as well.