70. Briella #2
Silky dark hair, swept back, curls just beneath his ears. That sculpted face I once watched from pews and shadows. Full lips that spun salvation into poison. His warm, rich brown eyes pierce straight through me like he’s reading every thought I never wanted him to know.
He hasn’t aged a day. Not one wrinkle earned. And somehow, that’s worse.
Because I have.
I bled and limped and clawed my way out of this place, and he’s still beautiful. Still magnetic. Still the Prophet.
He must be drinking the blood of children to stay immortal.
I flinch as he picks up Seth’s Christmas gift off the floor nearby and glides his fingers across it. “This is a sturdy cane. Hand-carved. A master carver, I’d wager.”
“Give it back.” I glare. Get your filthy fucking hands off it.
“The chess piece handle is a lovely touch,” he remarks while making his way to me, still wearing his twisted black robe.
He taps the handle with his index finger, the tapping like a ticking time bomb.
“Give it back!” I demand louder, though my spine chills more with every step he takes.
“It’s clear someone put much time and work into it. Chains and flowers.” He traces a finger along the designs. “You always did like flowers.”
Close enough to touch, I lurch and wrap one hand around the stem, not surprised when he doesn’t release it.
It’s a stalemate, but one corner of his mouth twists into a sinister smirk. “What is it worth to you, my Bri?”
I choke on the emotion in my throat. Tears blur my vision at the thought of losing the one tether I have to them. Wait. Where is—
“The hat…” I whisper, though it feels like a howl in my mind.
Alden smiles slowly, and my heartbeat hammers in my ears as he reaches into his pocket with his other hand, withdrawing the cap, Raphael’s cap. And my crown.
“What are they worth to you, Gabriella?” he asks again, his hold on both unyielding. I look down at them. Then up at him.
“What do you want?” I spit out, my spine locked, chest tight.
“I want you to kneel.”
I glance down at the floor and then back up at him.
The thought of kneeling before him, submitting in any way to him, scalds my throat like acid.
His brown eyes are dimmer. The shadows grow from the firelight.
He’s like some ancient seer, a black one with the scent of incense on the outside but with rot and bones on the inside.
He tilts his chin, cocking his head like a…predator. A hunter.
You kneel to none but us. Raphael’s words echo in my head, in my heart, my soul.
So, I stab my chin toward his sickly beautiful face and grit my teeth, “No.”
He straightens with disapproval on his face. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Gabriella. It seems the past five years have sharpened you. But don’t worry…” he walks away, back toward the hearth.
Oh, god, no. My breath pitches, my lungs shrink as he holds the cane and hat over the flames. My only tethers to Raphael, to Seth.
I scramble with the sheets, getting out of bed and limping. All I see are the cane and hat until—
—he drops them.
“No!” I scream, trying too hard, forgetting I can’t run.
So, when I hit the ground, I crawl. Crawl as fast as I can to that fire. To my lifelines, the only tethers. It’s not dignified. Instinct and grief drive me.
“How intriguing,” he says like honey dripping over a blade. “You’d crawl for them. Like a bitch on your knees, the whore you swore you weren’t despite how many times I used your mouth.”
His shadow swallows me, but I ignore him, pulling myself up onto the stone. The heat sears my cheeks, and I don’t care.
I lift my hand. It shakes—
And I plunge it into the fire.
Just enough. Enough to get the cane. Enough to scream.
“Bri,” he growls, seizing my wrist.
The flames consume what’s left of the hat.
My skin is hot as an ember, but when he wrenches the cane out of my hands, it’s only a blister. The cane drops a moment later. I reach for it, cradling the scorched wood against my chest.
“Keep your precious treasure. Hold onto what’s left, Gabriella,” he says, grim and calculated, one I recognize from the past. “You want to play with fire? You want to burn?”
Then, I hear it. The sound of him undoing his belt, sweeping it off. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his fist clenched around the leather, folded twice for layered impact.
It’s useless to struggle, to fight, but I still try.
I get one moment of battle before he grips the nape of my neck, fisting my hair before dragging me onto his lap.
No.
I murmur a weak protest as he holds me down just like he used to when I disobeyed. He yanks my pants down to my lower thighs.
He pauses. His chest expands. I know what he’s doing, what he’s seeing. The silver marks on my ass and my thighs from Rory’s whip. I tremble as he slowly lifts the sweater to bare more. He traces the brand, and I hiss. I know what he’s feeling, too. Because I feel it.
His cock throbs below me. No one’s as large as Rory or Jude, but Alden is still sizable. And thick.
“Hmm, so they dared to put scars on what is mine. Don’t worry, beautiful Bri. Soon, I will give you new scars.” He brushes his fingers along them. “I will make you bleed so pretty. Pretty scars that know my name. But not until your trial.”
“What trial?” I mutter.
“No year of cleansings this time, my fiery girl.” He lowers his head, his hot breath drifting across my cheek. I flinch when he tosses my hair over my head and peels back layers to find the mark. He freezes. I feel his rage. “What the hell did you do?”
“Ooh, someone needs to pay the swear jar.”
He grabs the back of the sweater and rips my tether to Vincent. With every shred of fabric he rips and throws into the fire, pieces of my heart break off.
“You’ll be brought to the Circle.”
He yanks my leggings down to my knees.
“You will be bound. Naked, to a cross. A holy baptism of fire, lightning, and blood.”
Fire. A new brand.
Lightning. The cattle prod.
Blood. He will share our blood in this sick, twisted ritual.
“And then…” He drags down the leggings, but they snag on the compression sleeve.
With a frustrated growl, he rips them both off.
My soul itself freezes when he tosses my leggings carelessly over my head so they slide beneath the bed, then throws the compression sleeve into the fire. Jude’s tether. My last tether.
I lurch, but it’s too late. The sleeve burns, along with the hat.
When the firelight reflects off something out of the corner of my eye, I turn to the twinkle. My heart skips a beat. He didn’t notice. I forgot. How could I forget? The arrowhead.
It’s just a few arm’s lengths away. If I could—
—pain attacks my leg.
I scream and writhe as Alden digs his fingers into the raw scars of my calf. “Stop! Oh, God, stop!” The words leave my mouth in a savage shriek.
And Alden does.
“You believe it hurts, don’t you?” he speaks like a silk-wrapped nightmare. “You will know the meaning of true pain tonight. But first…”
The next sound causes my whole body to lock up—and then quake.
“No!” I swing my fist as wildly, knocking it into his jaw.
One swing is all I get before he chains my hands to the base of my spine, twisting ruthlessly.
With his other hand, he grips my jaw, turning my face to the side. For a moment, I don’t see him as a man. Biblical wrath consumes him, his bared teeth gleam like fangs, and his muscles are harder than thunder.
Especially the one between his legs.
When he releases my jaw to retrieve something from his robe, my chest caves in. I thought he might take my mouth. But no…
“I remember how well you used to take me, Gabriella.” Lust in his stare. Self-righteous fire in his filthy soul.
I squirm and struggle, but it’s no use. He lathers the oil all over his shaft, then uses two slick fingers, injecting them into my anus. The pressure burns. But when he slides inside? It blinds me.
White blurs my vision. Bursts of short whimpers and desperate gasps leave my throat.
“God, I missed this!” he exclaims, pushing in one smooth thrust.
It’s vicious and cruel. He violates me. Brutalizes me.
No meaty hand covered in tattoos for me to bite. No Seth murmuring sweet praises before tonguing me, giving me pleasure. No green eyes holding me through it all like the strongest chain.
My hands go slack. My body is boneless. Because the more I fight, the more my anus will tighten and hurt more. And…I’d give him just what he wants. Pain. The fight.
“This ass, my favorite one. Such a filthy, gorgeous ass.” He sinks his fingers into the flesh, digging in like claws.
“You always pleased me, honored me this way as I gift you with my very seed.” He combs back my curls from my face, exposing my cheeks, wet with my tears.
“Yes, God, yes! Your silent tears, those are mine.”
I don’t make a sound. I’m just a hole to him.
The tears I gave Rory that night, the night he said ‘I love you’, may have been silent. But everything else inside me was moaning from the pleasure. His hands on my ass, massaging there and my back, my shoulders.
I hold onto that memory as the Prophet defiles me. Rory’s fingers tracing my scars. And how he held me, chest to chest. Blue eyes catching the firelight, wild with unhinged emotions I didn’t know but felt with my whole being. Coarse beard against my cheek. Lips parting. “I love you.”
I never said it.
Love you back, Red.
“Tomorrow, at dawn,” he continues, thrusting harder, quicker because he’s close, “Once your trial is done, once you have survived, you will be taken to the medical wing for the procedure.”
Procedure? No, God, no.
Raphael, please. Raphael, I scream in the solace of my mind when Alden refers to a reverse ligation, to restore my womb, to resurrect me.
Then, his hips slam against my ass, and he shoots his load into me.
“Bri…” He hovers over me, his lips rubbing my cheek.
When I don’t move, don’t respond, he grips my throat, shaking me. When I realize he’s are in perfect alignment to catch sight of the arrowhead, I turn, my gaze burning.
It’s inhuman. A violation for him to look the way he does. Because any woman would kneel and beg him to ruin them. Many have.
He sighs heavily, then picks my worn body up. I can’t stop shaking. My ass hurts. Worse than Rory ever could.
And then, Alden takes my mouth.
I forgot the way he could kiss. Gripping the back of my neck and the base of my spine to hold me in place, he crushes my mouth with his. It’s worse because of how controlled he is, how commanding. His tongue laves mine, heating my blood. He steals a moan from my lungs.
My body was groomed, trained for him. It still remembers him, because the heat spreads until my inner muscles tighten. He triggers my greatest shame, vowing to hurt me, to cage me in this kiss.
His groan resonates down my throat and sends little echoes of thunder to ignite all my nerve endings, every pleasure zone in my body.
It would have been better if he’d left me here, broken, bruised, but my heart beating.
Instead, he forces the pleasure on me. He doesn’t taste, explore, or worship. Alden doesn’t even dominate. Because it’s not about me. It’s all about him. A narcissist’s seduction is love bombing. The pleasure after the pain, to reward me for taking him.
He’s building me up, just so he can break me down.
He will do it as many times as it takes until he owns me, body, mind, and soul.
Waves of primal heat grow between my thighs, betraying me. My skin and flesh, my very blood, respond.
Alden touches me. Two fingers sweeping my labia, collecting my fluids. I shudder down to my core.
As the shameful heat spreads, Alden chuckles into my mouth. Fear sharpens in me.
“I’ve learned quite a few things in the five years of your absence, my beautiful Bri.” He kisses my brow and sinks his fingers in. “Would it please you to know how I’ve prepared for you?”
Those fingers trace my rim. My hips rise against my will.
I don’t let the words get inside me.
I’m too focused on ignoring him, trying to defy my body—I don’t see the handcuffs until he’s chained me to the bed.
Nothing I can do. He lathers his palms with oil, then cups my neck, coating me in it, working his way down. My nipples harden as he kneads my breasts and rubs his thumbs along the erect buds.
He closes his mouth around one, and I hiss, my back arching.
“This is my anointing of you,” he tells me before circling his tongue around my other nipple.
“I’d rather drown you with it.”
Low amusement ripples from his throat. He pinches my nipples, twists, turns, savoring, conquering.
“Mother of God, you’re soaked.” He stabs his fingers inside me.
I whimper because I’m still sore after Rory earlier, Raphael before him.
“Such a hot channel, so tight. You will please me greatly as I prepare you during the ritual.”
He’s going to fuck me first. Then, the procedure.
I clench my fists and try to focus on the wall as he strokes his way down my body until he spreads me wider.
“Look at me, Gabriella.”
If I don’t, he will just punish me. So I obey even as more wetness trickles out of me to slick his fingers.
“That’s my beautiful Bri. Good girl. Don’t look away while I bring the Rapture to you.”
I save my strength. Because I’ll need it. I just have to get the arrowhead. Then, I will stab him in the throat just like I did his nephew.
He presses his mouth to my pussy, trailing kisses along my lips. His mouth sinks in, and I buck, gasping. Tears flow, but his gaze doesn’t leave mine. A predator who doesn’t know how to hunt. Only kill.
Nothing like Raphael.
I see through Alden. Even as he drags his tongue along my clit, flicking it, circling, and stimulating, I replace his brown eyes with green ones, as deep and dark as the forest where I ran, where I found them.
A fever washes over me. More arousal coils my pussy tighter.
The Prophet fucks me with his fingers, pumping them in and out while tonguing my swollen clit into oblivion until I snap.
I try to bite back the shriek, but it’s impossible to hide it. The Rapture comes. He licks me through the climax that surges molten pleasure through my body.
I’m still gasping when he undoes the handcuffs and gathers my body into his arms. Weak. Weeping. Undone.
“Sleep, my whore of Babylon,” he murmurs in my ear, rubbing salt in the wound with the degradation. “Tomorrow I make you a bride.”
My body will heal. But my heart will be destroyed.
And my soul…will never breathe again.
With silent tears, I cry myself to sleep as the image of the arrowhead plays in my dreams.