73. Briella
Briella
“I LOOK FORWARD TO brEAKING YOU, LITTLE brI.”
Citizen Soldier Playlist
“Just Be Happy”
“Therapy”
“Still Breathing”
THE MORNING
Iwake to the feeling of a warm mouth capturing mine, opening my lips, and probing his tongue inside.
I freeze, spine locking up, hands bracing into fists. Raw pain still burns my ass from how hard he took me last night.
I don’t get one swing off before Alden pins them above my head, taking what he wants from me. I jerk my chin, trying to move my head, but he holds me here with the strength of his jaw alone.
Then, I feel him. His naked erection rubbing me. Terror jolts through me. He wouldn’t. Not before the ritual.
Despite the revulsion in my mind, my body still responds. It’s what I hate most. What I fear most is how it could come true. I know I’ll last longer than most, but all his brides end up one way or another. Brainwashed or hollow. No in between.
I can’t pretend I’ll be able to defy him forever. Especially if I end up carrying his child for any reason, though that seems unlikely given how sterile he is. He’s had only a few hits during all his years of trying to knock up women, but no real successes. Stillbirths. Miscarriages.
Those ones ended up hollow. Like my girlfriend.
The mind can only take so much. And the body.
I try not to respond. Give him nothing when he kisses his way down my body, gripping my jaw with his other hand to anchor me.
I clench my eyes shut, hissing when he sucks my breast, circling his tongue around one erect nipple.
Refuse to look at him, to fall sway to his magnetism and hypnotic handsomeness.
He’s a predator. But not like Raphael.
“So beautiful, my Bri,” he murmurs at my breast, flicking the nipple. “It’s almost dawn. By nightfall, you will be mine in every sense of the word.” He kisses each nipple with reverence.
“Never,” I rasp, biting back a whimper.
With a dark laugh, he lowers his hand from my jaw to knead my breast hard, twisting my nipple until I choke on a sharp breath.
Now, he mashes my hands against my stomach so he can make his way to my pussy.
I try to close my legs, lock them up tight, but he jabs his knee between them, forcing them apart.
When I buck, he pinches my nipple, hard and punishing.
“Ungh!” I cry out from the pain, but the pleasure spreads through me like liquid gold when he puts his mouth on me.
Just like the previous night, he drinks from me, lapping his tongue along my pubic lips, sinking it lower to taste my fluids. At the same time, he rubs his thumb around my nipple.
And just as he injects two fingers in me, pumping until my inner muscles flutter, he pulls out before I can climax.
“Naughty girl,” he croons, cupping my jaw again. I glower, hating his beauty, the magnetism he uses to seduce everyone. “So wet for her future husband.”
I lurch, launching my spit in his face.
He squeezes, digging his fingers into my jaw, no doubt leaving bruises as he growls against my mouth. “You are mine, Gabriella. I’ve waited five years for you, little girl. You will soon accept your lot and the honor to be my bride and bear my child.”
“You’ll choke on your ‘honor’ before I ever call you husband,” I spit. “And you will spend every night having to sleep with one eye open. Because every moment of every day, I’ll be plotting your demise, Alden.”
He huffs, shoving me back while rising. “I look forward to breaking you, little Bri.”
I avoid the sight of him naked, the ridges of muscle he’s built over the years. It would be easier if he were old, gray, crinkly, ugly. But Alden has the stamina on every level to claim me. He won’t stop until he owns every part of me.
“My other wives will prepare you now.” He implies, sinister.
A wave of chills overwhelms me at the subtle tone in that statement. As he unashamedly goes to the bedroom door and opens it, welcoming several women into the room—all clothed in ceremonial royal blue like twisted priestesses—I gather the sheets around myself, wrapping them tighter and tighter.
They fawn over Alden first, their hands touching him, worshiping him. I wrinkle my nose and ignore the heat swelling between my thighs as he kisses each of them, then throws on his robe, and nods to me. “Enjoy your time, Gabriella.”
Once he’s left, all the women turn to me, eager as hungry lionesses. Shit. Seven of them. Only one of me. No escape. And I know how they intend to “prepare” me.
It doesn’t stop me from thrashing and struggling as much as possible until my body aches, my chest heaves, and my scar screams. It’s no use.
All I manage to do is wear myself out. In the end, they’ve torn the sheets from my body, and two hold my arms while two others sit on my legs.
The one in the royal blue dress with a white sash leans over me, her knuckles brushing my cheek. I flinch, glaring.
I recognize her. Huldah. Alden’s head wife. She’s been with him for twenty years, but she looks like she hasn’t aged a day. She’s disgustingly beautiful. The kind of woman with curves in all the right places, long rippling blonde hair, blemish-free skin, and big breasts, which he loves.
“Don’t worry, love,” Hulda says, touching my forehead. “We will take good care of you. We always take care of our own.”
“Get the fuck away from me,” I fume through my nostrils.
“We serve the Prophet,” she patronizes me. “Today, we serve you as we prepare you for your new life. Phoebe,” she directs to a woman on my right.
“Such pretty hair,” the brunette remarks, combing her fingers through my curls. “I will be honored to adorn your glory.”
“And what luscious fruits!” another swoons, cupping my left breast, rubbing my nipple with her thumb. I hiss, feeling hot tears burning my throat from the invasion that is even worse in some ways than Alden. “Lovely fruit for our Prophet.”
“These petals…”
I buck at the fingers sweeping along my labia, sinking into the heated wetness. Another peels back my outer lips to expose my clit.
“A pretty, plump pearl,” she gushes, bringing two wet fingers down to rub it.
“Oh, god!” A sob breaks from my throat.
Two women descend on each side of me, closing their lips around my nipples, sucking strong and flicking the stiff peaks.
I’m too distracted by them, I don’t see Hulda until her mouth is on mine, kissing me hard, forcing my lips open. She grips my cheeks, fingers burrowing to prevent me from biting.
And then…a hot tongue starts stroking my pussy. I startle, moaning into Hulda’s mouth. One part pleasure. One part agony. All parts shame. And mortification.
Long hair falls upon my chest.
The more I writhe, the more they squeal.
It’s too much. The feeling of all my smoldering heat as another wife laps at my entrance, dragging the flat of her tongue along my entrance.
Hot fingers fill me, and I feel my juices trickling out against my will.
The one at my clit flicks the nub, working it back and forth until the arousal surges through me in a powerful wave.
I go over the edge, the orgasm soaking me with liquid heat, my center pulsing around the woman’s three fingers. Humiliation floods my face with a red, hot blush.
The pleasure is nothing but hollow.
I sob into Hulda’s mouth as the delicate violation continues, each of the women taking turns. My breasts throb from the constant attention. They never tire. They never stop. A fever erupts through me, my vision dazed at the never-ending pleasure they force on me.
And I know why.
Breaking me down, love bombing me, building me up. Most of all, they’re wearing me out, so I can’t struggle or fight back when my ‘trial by fire’ comes. I also can’t fight back when they bring me to the large hot tub in the nearby bathroom where they wash me, bathing me in perfumes and oils.
They don’t stop tormenting me.
After I’m bathed, they bring me back to the bed with towels below me.
More tears stream down my cheeks as they massage oil into every part of my skin like they’re anointing me.
I gasp in pain when they slip oil into my inflamed pussy and my anus, stimulating the tender ring.
All the mouths, the tongues, the hands…they seem to fuse into a great, feminine beast, determined to make me a part of them.
After more orgasms, they finally clothe me in a white transparent dress.
Phoebe does my hair as she promised. I can barely stand, so they lift me.
But as they begin to carry me past the bed, I notice my leggings peeking out.
I remember the arrowhead. With all the strength I can gather, I struggle and thrash, rejoicing when they lose their hold.
I brace myself for the fall. Not wasting any time, I pretend to crawl under the bed for escape.
Instead, I grab the arrowhead pin, grateful for the intricate braids where I manage to stash it right before they drag me out.
Now, I don’t struggle.
Whatever Alden does to me in this trial by fire—the electric shock, the brand, the blood—none of it matters. I have my weapon. And when he least expects it, I will plunge the arrowhead like a harpoon right into his neck.
I’ll soak in his blood.
And dance on his corpse.
I’m carried into the Circle.
I haven’t been here in years, but not much has changed. It’s still a stone amphitheater, filled to the brim with spectators. Most are male. The cross Alden referenced stands behind the altar for the maximum display.
I swallow hard, clinging to the cold kiss of the arrowhead in my hair. My last tether to my kings, my damned gods and monsters. I don’t lose hope. Even if it’s in vain, I can’t lose hope that I will see them again.
If they are truly dead…I have nothing to live for.