House BlackWing: Awakening

Chapter Sixteen

The day of the Lunar Eclipse had finally arrived, and all of House BlackWing gathered beneath the vaulted ribs of the Great Hall.

It was a place built for awe. The ceiling soared high, lined with blackstone arches draped in banners, each bearing the winged crest of Raven’s House. Torches burned in dragon-headed sconces, their light rippling against silver-veined marble. The air smelled of roasted meat, thick with anticipation.

A broad central aisle cut straight from the entrance doors to the throne dais at the far end, where Lord Raven’s iron-and-obsidian throne rose like a predator at rest, its back carved in the likeness of spread wings. On either side, long oaken feasting tables had been set—heavy slabs already laden with meat, wine, and trays of Ciara’s honey-dust cakes. Doms sat at the heads of the tables, while submissives knelt lower at their sides, some with eyes fixed forward, others bent in reverent bows.

Along the walls, guards stood motionless, spears grounded, rifles slung. The chamber felt as much fortress as sanctuary.

To Raven’s right stood the gift table, raised so all might see the tribute. It gleamed beneath embroidered cloth worked in silver thread, candles burning at each corner. Gold-chased chests, velvet cases of jewels, scrolls sealed with wax, silk-draped boxes hiding blades—all flanked by two guards standing like statues.

And there, set apart, stood Ciara’s offering. Plates shaped like playing cards, each crowned with a honey-dust cake. Humble, yet striking. Submissives whispered and bowed their heads lower. The Wild Card mark had not gone unnoticed.

I shifted in my new leathers, black hide clinging like a second skin. Gabriella had brought them on Raven’s order. Beside me, Ciara knelt in her black silk dress, veil drawn close. It could not hide the Black Disc at her throat.

The murmurs stilled when Gabriella stepped forward. She bowed to Raven, then to the gathered Houses, her voice clear as steel.

“My Lords, Ladies, and kin of BlackWing—tonight we stand beneath a rare alignment, the Lunar Eclipse beneath twin suns. On Earth, such shadows are common. Here, they come once in a generation. The Eclipse reminds us that even the brightest lights bow to darkness—and still return. So too does loyalty endure, even when tested by shadow. Tonight, we honor bonds of House and Master, of submissive and Dom, of family forged by choice as much as blood. May this celebration remind us our unity eclipses even the threats that circle us.”

She bowed again. “Let the feast begin.”

Cheers shook the Hall. Goblets rose, submissives bowed low. Raven inclined his head slightly toward Gabriella—weight beyond words.

The feast astonished me. On Earth, gatherings meant masks and knives in the dark. Here, men clasped forearms, women gripped shoulders, and all spoke plainly. Several warned me Ciara would be trouble—but wished me well anyway. The honesty startled me.

Then Raven approached. His stride deliberate, measured. He lifted one of Ciara’s cakes, turned it once, and took a bite.

“I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a cake so much, girl.” His voice rolled steady, unshakable. “Will you teach the cooks to make them?”

Ciara bowed low, forehead nearly touching stone. “Lord Raven, I would be honored. But they may not take kindly to learning from one who still wears the Black Disc, Sir.”

Gasps rippled. Doms tilted heads. Submissives pressed lower, as if to hide from her boldness.

Raven’s lips curved—something sharper than a smile. “Let me worry about that. When you step into that kitchen, you carry my authority. If they resist, they answer to me. Please.”

Cooks along the wall stiffened. One dropped his eyes quickly under Raven’s glance.

Trumpets blared. Raven turned to the gift table, his cloak whispering as he mounted the dais. “They require me. Again, Ciara—well done.”

The crowd surged forward. Raven lifted offerings one by one—rings, blades, stones that glittered like stars. Each richer than the last. I silently thanked Ciara for her cakes; I could never have matched such wealth.

Then Raven reached for a small box, seal-marked by the House of Ri’tal.

“What surprise could come in so small a gift?”

Beside me, Ciara went rigid. Her breath hissed. “Lord Raven—no!”

Her voice cracked the Hall. Submissives gasped, some dropping flat in terror. Doms straightened. She tore the leash from my hand and sprinted forward, skirts flaring. Mid-run, she struck the box from his grasp. It clattered across stone. She dove, curled around it, clutching it to her chest.

Rifles rose. Boots thundered. Screams. Only Derek’s bark froze trigger fingers.

Silence. Then Raven’s voice, low, sharp. “There is much I will endure from a submissive, especially one new to BlackWing. But assault I will not. Sir Wildcard—does your submissive have reason?”

My throat was dry. “She does, my Lord. She will explain.”

Ciara pressed tighter around the box. “Lord Raven—I have seen these. In House Vesper. Weapons. I saw them kill. If you had opened it, the charge would have torn you apart. I acted to preserve your life, Sir.”

The Hall murmured. Raven raised a hand. Silence returned.

“Sir Derek. Take charge.”

Guards erupted into motion. Sandbags slammed into place, a funnel aimed upward—toward Derek. He donned apron, gloves, shield, and knelt. His voice gentled only for Ciara: “Child. Roll left. Crawl clear.”

She obeyed, knees scraping marble, collapsing at my feet. Gabriella whispered to her urgently. Holley seized her hand, trembling.

I studied the wall’s angle. “That funnels the blast into Derek.”

Holley’s lip quivered. “You noticed too, Sir?”

Derek’s earpiece crackled. “Seal’s forged. Wood’s mismatched. I’m opening it.” He winked once, snapped the latch.

The box shuddered. A hiss bled out. Then something struck his glove—clinging, shimmering. Blue rings pulsed.

Derek cursed, ripped the glove free, flung it aside.

The Brin’gal scuttled out.

Fist-sized. Limbs jerking too fast, too sharp. Skin shimmered in pulsing rings. Suction-cups clamped marble with metallic snaps. A thought given claws.

Gasps swept the Hall. Submissives shrieked, pressed flat. Doms barked for calm, blades half-drawn.

Derek fired. Bullets sparked stone, fragments showered—but the Brin’gal darted, venom sizzling holes wherever it struck. The air reeked of acid and scorched metal.

Holley’s nails dug into my arm. “No one survives its bite. If Lord Raven had touched it—” She broke off, shuddering.

Raven whispered to a guard, who sprinted from the Hall. Then his gaze fixed on Ciara.

“Ciara, of the House of Wild Card. Step forward and be recognized.”

I touched her shoulder. She rose, trembling, and crossed the marble to kneel before him. Submissives craned, whispering like wind through banners.

“When you came,” Raven thundered, “I thought you spy or assassin. But no longer. You will not wear the Black Disc another day.”

He beckoned me forward, placed a silver blade in my hand. My grip shook once before I cut the Disc free. It fell, lifeless, to stone.

I lifted her hair. Raven fastened at her throat the Emblem of Deepest Blue, and with it, the Silver Rose.

“For courage, for loyalty, for saving my life,” he declared. “I owe you, Ciara, and my gratitude.”

Her breath broke in sobs. Relief, disbelief, and something fiercer shone in her eyes before the veil hid them again. Around us, submissives wept openly, bowing low. She had won the impossible. She belonged.

For a heartbeat, I almost believed peace had found us. But beneath the cheer, the marble seemed to hum, waiting.

Raven lifted his arms. “My friends! Eat, drink, celebrate. That is my order.”

The cheer rose, thunderous. Then died as static split the air. Lightning arced the ceiling. A Tube spiraled open down the aisle, light twisting like a wound.

A spear slammed into the marble at Raven’s feet. Another followed. One bore the white banner of truce. The other, the red of House Vulkarin.

From the Tube strode Lord Kael of Vespar, arrogance trailing like a cloak. Submissives shrank, clutching boots. Doms squared shoulders. Ciara tightened on my leash. I wound it firm around my hand.

Raven sighed, steady as ever. “It never fails. I throw a party—and I get gate crashers.”