Chapter 40
Cayden
I walked slowly, fingers brushing each enchanted item and gem I’d pulled from my void. My TB now rested where my gems had been, far away from the prying eyes of my family. Four of my brothers in orange and yellow robes flanked me. None of them had been at the Mixer with Emil.
No guards had watched the outer gates.
We walked past dark halls, usually filled with light.
Something didn’t feel right.
‘Where are you?’ Rowan demanded in my mind.
‘Focusing on something else; piss off,’ I responded, surprised our connection was still strong miles apart.
The Prophet demanded a strict curfew on his compound, yet my journey through the building was suspiciously quiet. It wasn’t that late; I should have seen at least a few brothers roaming. The silence thickened, pressing in, but I kept my focus.
‘Just… come back when you can.’
My heart softened. My friend missed me. ‘That is the plan.’
My Prophet thumped his cane before dragging his too-slow steps farther into the building. The pattern repeated, maddeningly slow, each drag grinding away at my control.
I’d spent days memorizing every secret passage in the Architect’s Castle, yet I didn’t know if there were any in my family’s sprawling Victorian manor house. The only exit through our walls I’d ever used was the front gate. Until my daughter, it had never occurred to me to leave.
But that was the power of a cult leader.
My Prophet’s words echoed in my head: ‘She’s been prepared for you. Wanton and waiting.’
His statement made my blood rush below my belt, and shame ate at me.
It was wrong, so wrong. I’d been conditioned, forced to crave sexual appetites that left women powerless.
Quinn would look exquisite in my ropes. I took deep breaths and forced the fantasy not to form.
The familiar red and gold walls of my home laughed at me.
I had to get Quinn out of here, and then I needed to reassess everything.
The rooftop observation deck mirrored the Architect’s lecture hall in size, but not in purpose.
A two-way mirror enclosed a tube, just large enough for a bed at its center.
My brothers circled it, eyes fixed on a figure who should have been basking in our Sun God’s light, just as we were meant to mark her inside and out as ours.
This was not a ritual done at night. Taking away the sun removed our beliefs from the equation, but this had never been about our Sun God. The Prophet was just a man desperate for control. My father, not some powerful god, needed people bound and loyal to him.
I forced myself not to look at my ex-Prophet so he couldn’t observe the calculation in my gaze. We came to a stop in front of the tube door.
Someone had positioned Quinn on top of the bed.
Ropes and lace of deep red twined around her body, highlighting her curves and pinching her breasts.
Her beautiful hair had been brushed to a shine and fell in large curls down her back.
Even in the moonlight, sparkling locks framed her face.
One of my sisters, I would guess, had painted her face, bringing out her cheekbones and the green of her eyes.
A silver collar lay tight on her neck and matched her belly button piercing, framed by ropes.
She looked incredible, like a delicate peach waiting to be plucked.
In another life, this is how I wanted her. Tied up in my bed and screaming my name as her body shook with pleasure. But not now. Not here. And not like this.
“Kneel,” my ex-Prophet commanded.
I turned to him and went down on one knee.
The action came too easily, proof that the Prophet had bent me into this shape long before I ever questioned him.
It felt like stepping into my own grave, dirt and darkness swallowing me whole.
Had any of the women I’d brought into the family consented? Or had I raped all of them?
My Prophet pressed his hand to the top of my head. “Your lips will seal her commitment to the family…”
Filth, all of it.
“…Your bruises will mark her as ours…”
Each word was a chain tightening.
“…Your seed will fill her belly…”
Not again. Never again.
“And may the sun…” he faltered, his voice wavering. “Reflecting off the moon on this sacred night, shine down on you.”
My entire life had been complete and utter bullshit.
His magic sank into me and faded like cheap wine, but my heart beat strong and even.
I knew what real strength felt like now.
And it wasn’t this cheap mockery my Prophet created.
Quinn’s determination, Rowan’s acceptance, and Xan’s raw skill chased away the last bit of fear I had of the withering old man standing above me.
His only real power was manipulating others.
That would never be me again.
I rose taller, heavier with defiance.
My ex-Prophet grinned, so secure in the world he’d created, he couldn’t see the threat now towering over his bent frame. He motioned, and my brothers stripped me bare.
My Prophet, my father, looked me up and down like a prized bull. “She belongs to the family now, like you. Show us the Sun God’s blessing.”
I turned my back on everything I’d believed in and turned toward my future, the woman who stole my heart and showed me a better world.
Inside the tube, Quinn still sat on the bed, a red silk sheet pooled around her legs.
The mirrors showed countless reflections of her spiraling into infinity.
My bare feet hit the cool stone with a dull thump, and Quinn’s glazed gaze didn’t turn.
He’d drugged her, which meant she’d fought the brainwashing and wasn’t an empty shell.
Hope and pride filled my heart.
I approached the edge of the bed. She leaned toward me and blinked her glassy eyes. A pleasant gasp escaped her lips, not from me, but from the ropes. Knots in all the right places made it so that every breath she took, every subtle movement, rubbed against her sensitive skin.
The anger and hate filling my veins hadn’t destroyed my blood flow.
My body betrayed me, heat pooling low, and I loathed it as much as I loathed him.
Cutting off the offending appendage would be the only way to keep me from physically reacting to the goddess in front of me.
How she didn’t understand how special she was blew my mind.
I flicked my gaze around the tube. My family gathered. Though I couldn’t see them, they could see me. And they were strong. I couldn’t do this on my own.
‘Did you follow me?’ I asked Rowan.
‘No,’ Rowan responded.
I forced myself to stay calm. On some level, I assumed he had.
‘We made it to the edge of Edinburgh before the first explosion,’ Rowan said too calmly. ‘The Castle’s under attack from the inside.’
Rowan hadn’t missed me. His home. My home was under attack.
‘Ezra’s with you.’ Rowan’s mental voice grunted like he’d been punched while talking to me. ‘Make him an opening.’
I managed to turn my frustration into a husky growl. My Prophet watched. My family watched. If I was going to make an opening, I couldn’t give up the game; I had to play along. I took in Quinn, like the meal my ex-Prophet wanted me to feast on, and let my palm rest on her warm skin.