Page 34 of Dig Your Grave

Anubis continued to pound into me, his body a storm of pleasure and dominance until he exploded inside me.I came in an uncontrollable rush, screaming out.As promised, I was hit with a jolt.But it only intensified my orgasm.

Pulling out of me, Anubis reached around and removed the device from me.He helped me to my feet.My whole body wobbled, but I straightened, struggling to shove down the mortification of being recorded.

The watchers had their footage, a “punishment scene” or “sex tape” or whatever to dangle over our heads.But I wasn’t broken, not yet.We’d endure this, and then we’d face the Bone Trials.They might have a video, but they couldn’t take what truly mattered unless we let them.

Anubis removed the blindfold and touched my chin, lifting it so I’d meet his gaze.In that moment, I saw the regret mirroring my own.“We’ll figure out a way to end this,” he whispered, voice fierce beneath the forced calm.

I nodded, swallowing past the tight knot in my throat.

“We’ll survive the watchers… and everything else these trials throw at us.”

As much as I felt determined, Anubis had orders.He shackled my wrist to the bed again.He wasn’t finished dominating me.

Chapter 13

The days after the jail cell crawled by like months.Every time I stepped out of my dorm, I expected campus security to pounce.But as Anubis predicted, the fiasco surrounding the donor’s collapse at the event blew over once the official “allergic reaction” statement was released by the Dean’s office.

Sophie didn’t contact me directly again.Instead, she sent a short text:

“Looking forward to Friday’s demonstration.”

The chill those words gave me lingered.Meanwhile, the Howler, our campus paper, was abuzz with rumors of a hush-up.Harry pressed me for the story on secret societies.I told him I needed more time.Time I didn’t have.

When Thursday night arrived, I found myself in the library after hours again, flipping through reference books about secret societies in general, gleaning any last bits of insight.Bone Trials.The name conjured images of people in robes brandishing ceremonial objects.But everything I read was half rumor, half sensationalist nonsense.

Even so, I scrawled notes in my phone:

They might demand a vow of secrecy.

Physical or psychological tasks as “proof of loyalty.”

Possible forced confessions about personal secrets.

I didn’t know what could be worse than them having footage of me getting fucked in the ass in a jail cell.The idea of me standing before them, reciting some humiliating or incriminating truth, made my skin crawl.My nightmares about the river had only intensified.

I returned to my dorm, passing a group of giggling students in the hallway, carefree and unaware of the underbelly I inhabited.The contrast was surreal.In my room, I paced, rummaging for outfits.What did one even wear to a secret society ritual?Something dark, presumably, so I could blend with the shadows.

Knock, knock.I froze, my pulse stuttering.

“Suede?”a voice called quietly.Anubis.

I let him in.His hair was damp from a shower, and he carried a small bag.“I brought you something.”

I arched a brow as he set the bag on my bed.Inside was a black garment made from expensive, slippery fabric.I draped it over my arm.It looked like some sort of dress or…robe?

“It’s for tomorrow night,” he explained, a hint of regret in his tone.“Sophie demands we wear official attire.The women’s attire is a black slip dress with a hooded cloak.I managed to snag a new one.The older versions were…revealing.”

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