Page 102 of Semper

My eyes flicked back to Clarice, her body trembling slightly as she struggled against her bonds. The disciples stood silently, their lanterns casting eerie light across the room. The runes carved into the posts glowed faintly, pulsating in time with my heartbeat.

"It’s punishment," he added softly, tenderly. "She blesses our union, ensuring that nothing of the past remains, only the future—our future."

I felt the weight of his words. Clarice’s presence here, bound and helpless, wasn’t just a punishment. It was a message. A reminder of the Isle's unbreakable rules, of the darkness that bound us all together.

I swallowed hard, my eyes flickering between Clarice and Alexander. "What do we do?" I asked, my voice surprisingly steady despite the chill crawling up my spine. I could feel the weight of what was about to happen, but still, I wasn’t afraid.

He grinned, that dark, knowing smile that had become both familiar and terrifying. "Something we’re quite good at," he replied smoothly, stepping forward to scoop me into his arms.

I couldn’t help the small intake of breath as he lifted me, carrying me effortlessly toward the bed, Clarice’s bound formjust behind us. The room was draped in an eerie quiet, broken only by the soft crackle of candle flames and the faint rustling of robes from the surrounding disciples. My heartbeat quickened, but not in fear—rather in anticipation of what came next.

My breath hitched as I lay there, still catching sight of Clarice from the corner of my eye. Her bound form at the edge of the bed, half-obscured by the sheer canopy curtains, was a constant, ominous presence. I could hear the soft shuffle of the robed disciples in the background, but it was faint and insignificant compared to the weight of Alexander’s gaze on me.

"Are they going to watch?" I asked quietly.

"To an extent," Alexander replied smoothly, his tone soothing yet charged with something darker. He brushed his knuckles against my cheek. "All you need to do is focus on us."

I swallowed hard and nodded, the gravity of the situation pressing down on me. The canopy curtains were sheer, offering just enough concealment for the disciples to remain shadowy figures. Only the end of the bed, where Clarice’s body was stretched and exposed, remained open, her presence an eerie backdrop to this moment. Her muffled breaths filled the space as she struggled to stay calm, while my attention remained riveted on Alexander. He was undressing me with such care, his touch lingering on my skin as he removed every last piece of fabric.

I hurried to help him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, my hands trembling slightly under the intensity of it all. Once we were both bare, he straightened, his eyes flashing with amusement as he reached for something beside the bed. It was small, and elegant, like the handle of a jump rope but made of gleaming metal, intricate and purposeful. He handed it to me without explanation, a second one already in his other hand. I looked at him, confused, unsure of what he expected me to do.

"It’s self-explanatory," he teased, a wicked grin curving his lips as he gently laid me back against the soft sheets.

I studied the object in my hand, its weight cool against my palm. The realization hit me like a wave as I pulled slightly on the handle, feeling the resistance, a connection. I gasped when I heard Clarice’s muffled whimper, her body twitching in response.

My eyes flew back to Alexander, and he smiled down at me, encouragement in his gaze. If I pulled too much, it affected her. The bindings around Clarice, intricately tied to whatever this device was, responded to every move I made. My heart pounded as the enormity of it hit me. My hand tightened around the handle as Alexander leaned down, his lips grazing my neck, sending shivers down my spine. The tension in the room thickened, the weight of the ritual and the presence of the disciples merging into something almost tangible.

"Focus on us," he ordered again, his hands roaming over me with the same possession and control that had always made my head spin. But now, it was different. Now, we were bound to each other in a way that couldn’t be undone. And Clarice—her suffering, her submission—was part of it. I gasped again as Alexander’s body pressed against mine, and I instinctively pulled the handle tighter, feeling the surge of power that came with it.

Clarice whimpered in the background; her suffering intertwined with our pleasure. It was a twisted, dark dance, one that blurred the lines between pain and ecstasy, dominance, and submission. And in that moment, with the canopy curtains barely concealing us from the disciples, I realized that I wasn’t just a participant in this ritual—I was its centerpiece.

Alexander’s hand slid up my arm, tracing a path from my shoulder to the back of my neck, his touch a possessive claim on me. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the side of my face,and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath ghosted against my ear as he whispered, “You’re gorgeous, so fucking beautiful.”

His hand found mine, the one that had sealed our blood pact, and he kissed it softly, reverently, his lips lingering there as if the very act of the pact had tied us in ways words could never fully describe.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice low and thick with emotion, with that dark intensity that always made my pulse race. His gaze stayed locked on mine, never wavering, never straying to the woman bound at the end of the bed. Not once did he acknowledge her presence, and somehow, that excited me more.

I was the center of his world—his perfect bride, his blood-bound partner. The presence of Clarice felt like a distant echo, an offering to the power we shared. But all his focus, all his attention, was on me, and that realization sent a thrill through me that I couldn’t control.

I tightened my grip on the handle, pulling slightly, feeling the resistance again. A whimper sounded from Clarice, but Alexander’s gaze never shifted. His eyes, dark and full of desire, stayed on me, his lips curling into that dangerous smile that made me weak.

“I would have waited a lifetime for this,” he whispered, brushing a kiss over my forehead, then down to my lips. The kiss was slow and deep.

He was savoring every second of this moment. As he settled between my legs, I felt a tension coil tightly in the pit of my stomach. The masked disciples stepped forward in unison, their robed bodies moving as one, brushing just against the curtains of the bed. The dark, heavy atmosphere wrapped around us, thick with the weight of the ritual, but none of it compared to the gravity of the man in front of me.

“Eyes on me,” he demanded, his voice low and rough, thick with power and authority.

I barely registered the subtle furrow in my brow as he entered me, my breath catching in my throat, my fingers instinctively tightening around the metal handles he had given me. It wasn’t intentional at first—pulling on them, grasping for leverage as my body responded to his—but as I did, something shifted.

His movement sent a surge of heat through me, and from the moment I felt that pull, the room shifted. A low chant began, rising from the masked disciples, their voices filling the room with dark Latin incantations. The sound was hypnotic, building in intensity with every movement Alexander made inside me.

"Vinculum sanguinis, vinculum animarum."

(The bond of blood, the bond of souls.)

"Diabolus et Sponsa, una in aeternum."

(The Devil and his Bride, one for eternity.)