Page 95 of Crown of Steel

When Louis and Gaël walk away—of course after making sure that we hear their loud cackles—Régis pushes me in my chest.

“Get off me, they can’t know.”

“Know what?”

Our gazes collide, his still a stormy blue filled with conflict. “That you…and I—” He bites his lip, then looks away. “Just, get off me.”

“That we fuck?” I tease. “That we talk? They already know.” Pulling off from him and onto my haunches, I let my fingers trail over his white shirt, tracing his abs and curves all the way to his hardened cock. He clears his throat when I brush myfingertips over it. “Actually, there’s something I’d like your opinion on.”

“What’s that?” He eyes me suspiciously.

I chuckle, then slide off the bed. “Well, there are more topics I’d like your opinion on, but this is quite a pressing matter. Hang on.” I open the damaged door, making a show of ignoring the inquisitive looks from my family members as I head for my own bedroom. My cock is hard and impatient in my pants, and I need to keep my thoughts free from anything sex-related that involves Régis to keep my control.

Grabbing my gear for the night, I head back to Régis’s room, only to catch him pulling on his own cloak as well. He looks fucking delicious in it. All smooth and black, with those lush curls and clear doe-eyes glancing at me through the mirror.

“I need you to pay careful attention tonight.”

Régis stills, my words somehow hitting its goals. “For what?”

I shrug, the movement a strong contrast from my searching gaze. I am worried. “For anythingoff.”

He turns around in a rush of clothes, then gives me a nervous laugh. “Can you at least give me a clue?”

“No.” Pursing my lips, I hold up the shiny, golden mask I hold up. “I’ll be wearing this one tonight. You’re a brother now, so you can make your own choices. Just know that during a celebration, there’s a lot of fucking.” Régis gulps. Sliding my hand down over my stomach and making sure he watches when I squeeze my hard-on, I add, “I want you to be the one I fuck tonight,chaton. But it’s time you come and collect your prize yourself. No more little boy manners, Régis, not after that show you put on earlier tonight. So if you want me, you come and find me, before someone else does.”

23

RÉGIS

The Atrium appears spine-chilling dark and foreboding as we make our way inside following the secret passage underground. I absorb my surroundings—the large plants, couches decorated with loosely dotted pillows, nothing more than curvy shapes, lit by the outside moon and cressets that burn fiercely all around us.

Just like my own blazing heart.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Stepping inside the brightening room, I follow my fellow brothers, placing the torch I’ve been handed into the designated spot by the piano. Dominique’s already playing, half of his face blindfolded by some form of thick silk with a pattern which replicates the delicacy of lace. Whatever it is, it’s smooth and soft, like the tones coming from the instrument.

“Moonlight Sonata.”

He told me this was his brother’s favorite song. He must be thinking of him tonight. Dominique is wearing a black suit with a brooch of a white mask with silver curls on them, just like the one Gaël wears.

Claimed.

That…must feel nice. To be protected by someone, to be kept warm in the cold, to know that you’re not alone when you fear you are.

“Mes frères.” Elder Jacques calls out, thudding his cane onto the cool ground from the central place on the stage from where he looks down upon us. He stands in between two other black cloaks that also have white fur around the edges of their hoods.

The three white furred cloaks.

The three leaders of the Alpha Fraternarii at Monterrey Castle.

They carry identical masks of golden crows, its nose an obscene curve that leads all the way to the non-existent mouth of the bird. Unlike their usual masks, the shape of the bird reveals their own, curved lips. Around us, the crowd silences almost immediately, the melodic sound of the piano the only filler of the heady quiet.

“We’re here, at thissoirée, to celebrate. Because we have so much loyalty. Talent.” His cane points slightly toward a part of the glazed wall, where a group of red cloaks are kneeling, their heads bowed, hair covered with their hoods, ready to serve as tonight’s entertainment. “So much respect.” Elder Jacques’s voice is barely more than a satisfied hum, coming from a man who’s used to getting what he wants.

“Yet you are restless.” Monsieur Z speaks now. His raspy, high-pitched tone should be amusing, but in this context, it comes off as threatening. But it’s notoff, is it?

As subtle as I can, I shift my stance and look around, in search for shiny gold, but come up empty. Instead I catch the attention of a few brothers with white, matte masks and hungry eyes that pierce through the creepy holes. It makes me shiver.

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