War and His Queen (Carpe Noctem #1) Read Online Amo Jones

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Dark, Forbidden, Mafia, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Carpe Noctem Series by Amo Jones
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Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
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Thank fuck for my mother, or us three girls would be cooked meat.

I take a single step up as Vaden stops walking and the recitation ends. When he’s no longer in view, I stride forward and lower to my knees.

We know the routine. We’ve been taught it since we could walk.

Vaden’s presses his arm against mine gently, as Stella does the same on the other side. A silent you good? The concrete floor gnaws at my knees as I blow out a steady breath.

“Tonight we witness the inauguration of the six progenies of Kings. Hayes, Vitiosis, Malum. I want to start by acknowledging the last surviving Founding Families. Hayes, Malum, Vitiosis, Venari, Ditio, Divitae, Rebellis, and Stuprum. Hunters of the night, the Elite Kings Club was formed by the power of three who desired to live lawlessly outside the scope of mankind.”

He pauses, looking out behind us. “They then found seven other members who would share their philosophy, before building a legion so strong that not a single sector of power amongst civilians could touch them. But in doing that, and because they existed during a time of anarchism and destruction, the ritualistic events that took place over the years, though barbaric, were worshipped amongst those who both idolized and feared them. Humphrey Hector Hayes was both monster and man, who continued his legacy the way he saw fit. The extirpation of Swan’s born into the Founding Families continued until I met my wife—” I gaze up from below my lashes just in time to catch Dad smirk at someone. It’ll be Mom.

He continues. “—who broke through generational curses so that our children wouldn’t know the pain and suffering that so many did before us. The Elite Kings started as a conspiratorial disassemble by becoming just like them. Every Founding Father had a purpose, placed in the ten highest points of power across the globe. Hayes, the Devil; Malum, evil; Vitiosis, vicious; Venari, to hunt; Ditio, power; Divitae, wealth; Rebellis, rebellion; and finally Stuprum, debauchery.”

A smirk touches my lips at the mention of Tillie’s last name. I don’t have favorites, but it’s no secret how close she and I are.

“Over the years of training, Kings would slowly part into their titled positions, leaving Hayes, Vitiosis, and Malum to run the Kingdom from the inside. So tonight, we welcome all who have traveled from around the world to bear witness to the first of what I’m sure will be many more generations to come.”

I pale. Hell no. I’ll leave that to Priest.

We all stand to our height, lifting my head to face the line of Fathers. All eight that are still alive. Right in the middle, dressed in a dashing Armani suit, with the strokes of our family skull painted over his face, is Dad. He broadens his smile when his eyes lock with mine, before he dips his head at my brother.

A thrill of euphoria blooms in my chest, and my chin lifts a little higher. I won’t let him down—ever.

The Fathers part, exposing a copper barrel that’s wide enough to fit us all inside. Latin is engraved at the front.

Carpe Noctem.

I shudder. That is clearly the place of—everything. Sometimes I wonder if we all should have just stayed at the Hamptons instead of coming back to the mother ground.

But no.

No, because there’s no need for us to be there anymore, because they captured their swan and she turned into a crow.

“Quod Ritualia will begin with three steps. The first, the soul knot that will bind all six of you together.” I hear a ruffle of approval from behind us and excitement ripples through my veins as the minutes pass on. I don’t know if it’s the tomb, or the five hundred or so people at our back, dressed in similar robes without the patterns down their sleeves, but all painted with the skull of their ancestry, or if it’s that right beside Dad, is Aunty Saint, holding a brass bowl in her tiny hands.

Her silvery hair flows out from her robe, her Vitiosis skull a little distant to Brantley’s. With a palette of white and gray, the corners of her eyes sparkle with two diamonds. I remember overhearing the talk of the Calvarias a few years ago before they were made, and it was her who helped inspire the idea. She suggested that they be forged by tracing only half of our traditional skull, and the other left uncovered, or as she put it, to display our humanity. Ironic since the lot of them have exactly none. I don’t think that reference stuck.

I love our Calvaria, they only add depth to a century-long tradition. It kind of helps that we don’t have to go through the painting process every time too.

When she steps directly in front of Priest, the air becomes dense.


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