Vicious Society

  The Obsidian Order

  Book 2

  Morgan Bridges

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without prior written permission from Podium Publishing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2024 by Morgan Bridges

  Cover design by Dark Imaginarium Design

  ISBN: 979-8-3470-2990-7

  Published in 2026 by Podium Publishing

  www.podiumentertainment.com

  For the readers who love a morally-black character.

  Xavier does some shady shit in this one.

  Content Warning

  Vicious Society is a dark stalker romance that contains graphic scenes of a sexual nature and explicit violence. It features a morally gray MMC and dubious consent. Additional themes that some reader may find triggering include on-page murder, breath play, and mentions of domestic abuse and drug addiction.

  Chapter 1

  Xavier

  “Xavier.”

  The silence that follows Delilah’s tortured whisper is deafening. My instincts are louder. They scream at me to rush to her side, to staunch the blood flowing from her stomach.

  To save her fucking life.

  And mine as well. Because if she dies, I’ll take the knife from her body and slit my throat. I can’t live in a world where she doesn’t exist.

  The leaders of the founding families watch us with morbid fascination. The men are wearing masks, but that doesn’t hide the vicious light in their gazes. Is their silence one of approval? Or is it a continuation of the Trials, to gauge my reaction to Delilah bleeding out before my eyes?

  If they don’t give me their blessing soon, I might fail entirely. I’d rather face punishment than let her die.

  I turn to them while keeping my bride in my peripheral vision. Delilah grips the knife handle, and I grind my teeth, knowing firsthand the pain she’s experiencing.

  My girl wrenches the blade from her body with a grunt, her chest heaving. Blood pours from the wound. I can’t stop my eye from twitching.

  “Not bad,” she says, glancing down at the puncture wound, “but not good enough.”

  Her voice is thin and airy but strong, fueled by an inner fire that I adore. Delilah’s words are the very ones I said to her three years ago when she stabbed me. If this were any other circumstance where her life wasn’t in danger, my dick would be hard.

  She doesn’t wait for a response and tosses the knife as if it’s of no consequence. It clatters against the wooden platform, fracturing the tension in the air. She takes a step and groans softly, her hands hovering over her stomach.

  I force myself to remain frozen in place. If I’m to protect her, my role demands stoicism, even as her suffering tears me apart. When Delilah drops to her knees with a small cry, all thoughts of strategy disappear, replaced by unadulterated panic.

  “My bride needs medical attention,” I say, keeping my voice even. Barely. “If she doesn’t survive, I’ll revert back to a vow of celibacy, which would fucking suck.”

  The leaders don’t react to the caustic statement. My heart, already thumping in my chest, beats even harder. I flick my gaze to Delilah, noting the blankness of her stare before her eyelids close and she falls onto her back. She smacks her head with a thud, and I wait for her to groan or curse. The stillness that follows has my skin prickling with terror.

  Did I nick an artery?

  I know my aim is excellent, more accurate than any other recruit, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t mortally wound her. If I’m the reason she dies . . .

  I spin on my heel toward my bride.

  Fuck. This. Shit.

  “Don’t move, recruit.”

  Halting, I look over my shoulder to find Daniel Kent, ruler of the medical empire, watching me. His stare is a challenge, a demand for submission. I hold his gaze, unwilling to back down.

  “She’s dying,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

  “We know.”

  I stand there, struggling to contain the frenzy churning inside me. It builds with every moment, zipping along my flesh like electricity, until I’m ready to explode.

  “What’s the point of this?” When he doesn’t answer me, I continue. “Do something, or I will.”

  Kent’s gaze hardens, a construct of reprimand and authority. “Is that a threat, recruit?”

  “No, it’s a statement. She’s my property, and it’s my right to determine if she lives or dies.”

  His eyes never leave my face, as though he’s searching for something. Defiance? Resolve? Fear? I keep my expression blank and my hands loose at my sides. Whatever he’s looking for, he won’t find it.

  If I haven’t already exposed my weakness for Delilah.

  In this moment, on the edge of insanity, I reflect on the enormity of my declaration. It could be viewed as an act of rebellion and disrespect, a direct challenge to the protocols and the chain of command. Or it might be interpreted as a show of strength, a future leader taking ownership of what he’s been entrusted with.

  There’s a fine line between insubordination and initiative.

  “You have passed your Trials, recruit,” Kent finally says. “By dagger’s kiss, allegiance sworn.”

  “In shadows deep, our oaths are borne,” the other leaders answer, their voices a low hum.

  I bow my head, not only to show respect, but to hide the relief that has to be all over my face. When I meet Kent’s gaze once more, I’m in control of myself.

  “Votum meum tibi,*” I say, not meaning a fucking word. The last time I spoke that vow it was to piss off my father, but right now I’d say anything to keep the leaders from suspecting how much my little raptor means to me.

  Kent nods, his body losing some of its tautness. “Votum tuum receptum est.**”

  It takes every ounce of discipline I have not to run to Delilah. I walk with an even stride until I’m on the platform kneeling beside her. My hands, normally steady and secure, tremble as I grab the fallen blade, still covered in her blood.

  My bride blinks several times as if waking up. Her eyes are glazed with pain and an emotion I don’t want to acknowledge.

  “Don’t move,” I say.

  “Last time you said that, it didn’t work out so well for me.”

  The snark in her voice, although weaker than a few minutes ago, still makes me want to smile. “Hold on, little raptor,” I whisper, not wanting the leaders to hear me.

  The sight of Delilah pale and vulnerable spreads fear through every inch of my body. I take a deep breath to steady my hands and cut a strip from her dress to bandage the wound that’s still bleeding too much for comfort.

  Balancing speed and efficiency, I wrap the cloth around her waist, tying it off with enough pressure to stem the blood flow. Each second feels like an eternity. Her hisses of pain cut me deeper than any blade.

  With as much gentleness as I can, I lift her into my arms. She groans and stiffens in my embrace, becoming more rigid when I walk down the small set of stairs. My steps across the rooftop are measured and controlled, but as soon as we’re out of sight, I break into a sprint toward the medical ward.

  Delilah’s breaths, shallow and uneven, skim my neck and ignite my adrenaline until I’m shaking again. Each tiny puff of air is a whispered plea, a mantra to save her life. I can’t fail her.

  The halls of the castle blur past me until I spot the on-site physician lingering inside the waiting room. Another member of the Kent family, a crow who earned his wings six years ago. His forehead creases when I walk past him and set Delilah on one of the examination tables.

  “She’s been stabbed,” I say. I meet his gaze, my voice resolute. “If she dies, you die.”

  The doctor doesn’t flinch at my threat. His eyes narrow with scrutiny before he moves toward Delilah. Unlike mine, his hands are steady as he begins to assess her condition, his focus entirely on my girl.

  “I need you to step back,” he says. His voice is authoritative and calm, and there’s a confidence in his demeanor that eases some of the panic in my chest. When I comply, he removes the bandage from her stomach. His movements are methodical and his examination swift. “She’s lost a fair amount of blood, but the blade missed her vital organs. I need to stop the bleeding and close the wound immediately.”

  “Whatever it takes,” I say.

  “I was informing you, not asking you.” Dr. Kent shifts his attention from me to the assistant who appears in the doorway. “Prepare her for surgery.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young man says.

  I fold my arms. “How long will it take?”

  Dr. Kent meets my stare with one of his own. “As long as it takes, recruit. Listen, this isn’t the first time I’ve stitched up a stab wound. She’ll be fine.”

  I give him a curt nod. One of the hardest lessons in life is learning when someone is more skilled than you. Right now, this doctor can help Delilah in a way that I can’t. Although I struggle to let him take her away, wanting to inflict violence on anyone who touches her, this is the
only way to save her life.

  * * *

  * My vow to you.

  ** Your vow is received.

  Chapter 2

  Xavier

  Dr. Kent holds my world in his hands.

  I pace back and forth, the cold stone floor of the waiting room a reflection of my demeanor. The physician’s assurance echoes in my mind, but images of Delilah fainting on the platform, her body still and lifeless, gnaw at my psyche like a pack of rabid dogs, ripping away my ability to think rationally.

  It’s the only explanation for why I threatened Dr. Kent’s life. My fear of losing Delilah was and is so potent that I couldn’t stop myself. If he reports my conduct to the council, I’ll be fucked.

  If she dies, it won’t matter.

  I glance at the closed door that leads to the operating room. My hands grow clammy. Wiping them on my pants, I remind myself that bursting through the door could cause the physician to make a crucial mistake. The need to satisfy my uncertainty isn’t enough for me to risk her life.

  The room is silent, save for the distant clatter of medical equipment and the muted conversations of the staff beyond the thick walls. Only when my legs begin to cramp do I make myself sit down, the ancient wooden chair creaking under my weight.

  The waiting is excruciating, more agonizing than the mental torture my father put me through when I was younger.

  The memory of the tunnels underneath the university, a labyrinth of darkness and silence, creeps into my mind unbidden. How many hours did I spend navigating those places with terror as my only companion?

  My father believed in teaching through adversity and pain. The first time I was left in one of the tunnels was when I was a small boy, armed with nothing except a flashlight and a directive to find my way out if I wanted to see my mother again. Eventually, that wasn’t grounds for motivation.

  In those underground passages, I grew accustomed to the threat of the unknown and used it to push myself, to show my father he couldn’t break me with fear. The echoes of my past collide with my present worries. Here in this waiting room, the obstacles are not something I can overcome. I’ve been forced to place my trust in another.

  This overwhelming sense of helplessness threatens to wreck me.

  I stand again, my restless energy too much to contain. Time stretches, each second longer than the last. I clench my fists until my arms shake and my knuckles turn white. The physician’s confidence in his ability should comfort me, but it doesn’t.

  My fear of losing Delilah is just too great.

  Finally, the door opens and Dr. Kent steps out, removing his surgical mask. I rake my gaze over his face, searching for any signs of the outcome, my chest tight.

  “She’s stable,” he says. “She’s young, and that should help her recover quickly. I’m going to keep her overnight and for however long I see fit until I’m certain she’s free of danger. Do you understand, recruit?”

  I nod, unable to articulate words. Relief sweeps through my body, making me unfocused and off-kilter.

  Dr. Kent tilts his head, his gaze assessing. “You can see her now, but she’s going to be under for a while. The anesthesia needs to wear off naturally. Also, I’ve given her something to help with the pain. It’ll be hours before she’s awake.”

  “I need to be there when she opens her eyes.”

  I need to see if she hates me, if I’ve lost her forever.

  The physician shrugs. “You might want to sleep first. I can call you the moment there’s any change.”

  “No. I’m not leaving until she’s conscious.”

  “Very well,” he says. “Wait here while my staff transports her from the surgical room to a recovery one. I like to keep the OR available. You never know when a recruit will need it.”

  “Understandable.”

  I watch the physician walk away, and a wave of exhaustion hits me, burrowing into the marrow of my bones. However, it’s not enough to pull me away from Delilah. I’ll sleep on the floor of her room if I have to.

  My foot taps in sync with my pulse, the rapid beat reaching dangerous territory. I just need to see her. Once I do, I’ll be fine.

  At the sound of voices coming from the other room, I narrow my gaze, my focus on the doorway. A moment later, someone wheels in the gurney. Delilah lies on it, covered in hospital linens, her skin not much darker than the stark white fabric.

  I blow out a long breath to ease the tension running through me at seeing her so weak. To stop myself from reaching for her. All I want to do is snatch Delilah up in my arms, but my protection is not enough right now.

  The nurse eyes me with a wary look as he guides my bride into a nearby room. He positions the gurney next to the bed and leans down to lift her.

  “Don’t touch her,” I say. The dark tone in my voice is more than a warning. It’s a death sentence. “I’ll do it.”

  The nurse hesitates but steps back, his expression distrustful. I slide my hands underneath Delilah’s back and legs and pull her close. The feel of her in my arms is euphoria, and I nearly sigh like a fucking pussy.

  Under the scrutiny of the nurse, I place my bride in the bed and then cover her with the blanket, careful to tuck the material snugly around her frame. She looks tiny and fragile in a way that unsettles me.

  “I’ll check on her in a little while,” the nurse says.

  I nod and return my attention to Delilah. She remains asleep, her face relaxed and her breathing regular. The set of monitors emits a soft beep periodically, a reminder that she’s not resting but recovering from an injury.

  Will she understand that I had no other choice? That I stabbed her to ensure she’d live?

  Just like I want Delilah’s love and her loyalty, I want her forgiveness. If she hasn’t figured out I’ll do whatever it takes to get those things, she’s going to learn soon enough. I don’t give up, even when the odds are stacked against me. If I did, I’d be dead.

  My determination to win her is as hard and unyielding as the diamond I’m going to put on her finger.

  After the Trials.

  I sit down in the chair next to her bed, my gaze fixed on her face and the rise and fall of her chest. The repetitive movement keeps me still and eases some of the tension in my body. I take her hand in mine, relishing the softness and warmth of her skin, and sweep my lips over her inner wrist.

  “Tibi semper sum.***”

  * * *

  *** I’m yours forever.

  Chapter 3

  Delilah

  Fuck a duck.

  I feel like someone ran me over with an eighteen-wheeler, put the vehicle in reverse, and did it again out of spite. An unfamiliar tightness wraps around my entire body, encircling my arms, chest, and legs like an array of tourniquets halting blood flow. My eyelids are heavy, and the struggle to lift them is daunting. When I finally manage to open my eyes, the blurred outlines of the room slowly come into focus.

  And then I see him. Xavier.

  He’s sitting beside my bed, his hand gripping mine like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. His posture is rigid, the lines of his face drawn tight with an emotion I can’t decipher. Concern? Guilt? Or is it just exhaustion? If the sun shining through the window is any indication, several hours have passed.

  Since he tried to kill me.

  The memories from the rooftop slam into my brain all at once: being dragged onto the platform. The Obsidian Order members. The pain of the blade cutting into my skin.

  Why?

  The question echoes in my mind, swirling amidst a storm of confusion, betrayal, and an inexplicable undercurrent of relief at his presence. Xavier stabbed me, yet here he is, watching over me with an intensity that speaks of unwavering loyalty. Considering he hasn’t changed his clothing and there are dark circles under his eyes, I’d guess he hasn’t left my side.

  His gaze finds mine, and I suck in a breath, unable to stop the unease coursing through my veins. “You’re awake,” he says.

  His voice washes over me with the force of a tidal wave, sweeping away my initial apprehension and replacing it with resentment. Maybe I should be afraid, but if Xavier wanted to kill me, he would’ve when I was unconscious.