Deep Redemption
Page 52
“I do,” I whispered, feeling my heart fall in sadness.
The crowd roared as Brother Luke held up his hands and shouted, “The union of the Cursed and the prophet has been sealed!”
I saw Prophet Cain’s feet inch closer to mine. He tugged me closer to him. I cried out as my body collided with his, and before I knew it, Prophet Cain had pulled on the back of my hair to raise my mouth toward his. With no warning, he crashed his lips to mine in a rough, unyielding kiss. I whimpered as his tongue plunged into my mouth. My hands balled into fists, instinctively preparing to fight him off. But I dropped my hands down by my side and let him take my mouth. This was just the beginning of what he would take without permission.
I had no choice but to obey.
I kept my eyes cast down as the prophet released me and moved to address his people. “I will now take my bride to the wedding bed and begin the long and heavy process of ridding evil from her soul. Of chasing the devil from her soul with my seed.”
The crowd roared in happiness. Prophet Cain turned us away from the crowd and toward an elevated platform. I risked a glance up at the stage, and my stomach rolled in trepidation. In the center was a large, high mattress draped in a shroud of gossamer-white gauze curtains.
Prophet Cain’s hand tightened on mine. He led us up the staircase to the bed. With every step, my fear intensified. By the time we had reached the bed, I was terrified that I would pass out from that fear.
The prophet came to a stop. I saw Brother Luke’s feet before us. “Prophet,” Brother Luke said. “The joining bed is ready.”
“Thank you, brother,” the prophet replied, releasing my hand to part the curtains. I stood, waiting for my command, my legs wobbling so hard that I did not think I would be able to move.
I gasped as someone moved behind me and drew the garment off my shoulders. It fell to the floor, pooling at my feet. I screwed my eyes shut in shame as my naked body was bared to our people. I trembled with humiliation, and it took everything I had not to break down in tears.
“Go to your prophet,” a low, stern voice ordered into my ear. I opened my eyes. Brother Luke was holding apart the curtains around the bed. The prophet lay in the center, still fully clothed.
“Go,” Brother Luke ordered when I made no move. With leaden feet, I forced myself to walk. I did not breathe as I made my way to the bed. When I raised my knee and crawled to the center beside the prophet, I was sure I would never breathe again.
As I had been instructed by the sisters this morning, I lay flat on my back, keeping my eyes downcast, never meeting the prophet’s gaze. I placed my hands over my stomach, frustrated with myself as I failed to stop their intense, incessant shaking.
The curtains were closed around us. The crowd began praying for salvation, their murmurs penetrating through the gauze. I looked at the curtains, trying to see how see-through they truly were. I could see Brother Luke and the other elders through the material, but their features were blurred.
I took some comfort in that. Although this joining would be public, only our movements would be seen. My tears would not betray my fear to the people. I could not stand for them to see me break.
You must do this.
Tinny prayer music began pouring through the speakers surrounding the commune, and my heart matched its pace to the beat. I felt the prophet shift and remove his pants, but not his top. He lay back down next to me.
Stray tears escaped from the corners of my eyes as he climbed above me. I closed my eyes as I felt his warm breath ghost over my face. I expected him to speak. I expected him to be rough and cruel, so I was startled when he delicately pushed a strand of hair from my forehead.
His hand fell to mine on my stomach. I stiffened as he laced his fingers through mine. I sucked in a shocked breath when I realized his hand was trembling.
I froze, completely still, as I fought over whether or not to open my eyes. I counted to three, then blinked up through my long painted lashes . . . and straight into the kindest set of dark eyes I had ever seen . . . a pair of eyes I would know from anyone else’s . . .
He moved our joined hands up to his lips. And that was when I saw it. I saw what his subtle movement was showing me—his heavily inked skin, the demonic forms peeking out from beneath the tunic’s sleeves. My heart swelled to an impossible fullness, and astounded relief flooded though me.
“Rider,” I mouthed, expelling the breath that I had kept so tightly caged. Rider’s dark eyes closed in relief too. He placed a kiss on our clasped fingers and opened his eyes.
His fear of this moment reflected my own.
Rider stared into my eyes, and we both tensed as the crowd’s prayers grew louder, urging the joining to be complete. Brother Luke coughed from beside the bed. “Prophet Cain? Is everything well?”
The crowd roared as Brother Luke held up his hands and shouted, “The union of the Cursed and the prophet has been sealed!”
I saw Prophet Cain’s feet inch closer to mine. He tugged me closer to him. I cried out as my body collided with his, and before I knew it, Prophet Cain had pulled on the back of my hair to raise my mouth toward his. With no warning, he crashed his lips to mine in a rough, unyielding kiss. I whimpered as his tongue plunged into my mouth. My hands balled into fists, instinctively preparing to fight him off. But I dropped my hands down by my side and let him take my mouth. This was just the beginning of what he would take without permission.
I had no choice but to obey.
I kept my eyes cast down as the prophet released me and moved to address his people. “I will now take my bride to the wedding bed and begin the long and heavy process of ridding evil from her soul. Of chasing the devil from her soul with my seed.”
The crowd roared in happiness. Prophet Cain turned us away from the crowd and toward an elevated platform. I risked a glance up at the stage, and my stomach rolled in trepidation. In the center was a large, high mattress draped in a shroud of gossamer-white gauze curtains.
Prophet Cain’s hand tightened on mine. He led us up the staircase to the bed. With every step, my fear intensified. By the time we had reached the bed, I was terrified that I would pass out from that fear.
The prophet came to a stop. I saw Brother Luke’s feet before us. “Prophet,” Brother Luke said. “The joining bed is ready.”
“Thank you, brother,” the prophet replied, releasing my hand to part the curtains. I stood, waiting for my command, my legs wobbling so hard that I did not think I would be able to move.
I gasped as someone moved behind me and drew the garment off my shoulders. It fell to the floor, pooling at my feet. I screwed my eyes shut in shame as my naked body was bared to our people. I trembled with humiliation, and it took everything I had not to break down in tears.
“Go to your prophet,” a low, stern voice ordered into my ear. I opened my eyes. Brother Luke was holding apart the curtains around the bed. The prophet lay in the center, still fully clothed.
“Go,” Brother Luke ordered when I made no move. With leaden feet, I forced myself to walk. I did not breathe as I made my way to the bed. When I raised my knee and crawled to the center beside the prophet, I was sure I would never breathe again.
As I had been instructed by the sisters this morning, I lay flat on my back, keeping my eyes downcast, never meeting the prophet’s gaze. I placed my hands over my stomach, frustrated with myself as I failed to stop their intense, incessant shaking.
The curtains were closed around us. The crowd began praying for salvation, their murmurs penetrating through the gauze. I looked at the curtains, trying to see how see-through they truly were. I could see Brother Luke and the other elders through the material, but their features were blurred.
I took some comfort in that. Although this joining would be public, only our movements would be seen. My tears would not betray my fear to the people. I could not stand for them to see me break.
You must do this.
Tinny prayer music began pouring through the speakers surrounding the commune, and my heart matched its pace to the beat. I felt the prophet shift and remove his pants, but not his top. He lay back down next to me.
Stray tears escaped from the corners of my eyes as he climbed above me. I closed my eyes as I felt his warm breath ghost over my face. I expected him to speak. I expected him to be rough and cruel, so I was startled when he delicately pushed a strand of hair from my forehead.
His hand fell to mine on my stomach. I stiffened as he laced his fingers through mine. I sucked in a shocked breath when I realized his hand was trembling.
I froze, completely still, as I fought over whether or not to open my eyes. I counted to three, then blinked up through my long painted lashes . . . and straight into the kindest set of dark eyes I had ever seen . . . a pair of eyes I would know from anyone else’s . . .
He moved our joined hands up to his lips. And that was when I saw it. I saw what his subtle movement was showing me—his heavily inked skin, the demonic forms peeking out from beneath the tunic’s sleeves. My heart swelled to an impossible fullness, and astounded relief flooded though me.
“Rider,” I mouthed, expelling the breath that I had kept so tightly caged. Rider’s dark eyes closed in relief too. He placed a kiss on our clasped fingers and opened his eyes.
His fear of this moment reflected my own.
Rider stared into my eyes, and we both tensed as the crowd’s prayers grew louder, urging the joining to be complete. Brother Luke coughed from beside the bed. “Prophet Cain? Is everything well?”
