65. Leandra
“What, what is this?” I gasp, staring at the two men, the two strangers in my bedroom, Lazarus’s bedroom technically.
One of them is in a wheelchair. He’s a black man, huge, despite his obvious disability.
And the other, the other is albino, the literal whitest skinned person I think I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
I know who they are. I recognise their faces from the photographs Isaac made me study all those years ago.
Zayn and Gabriel. Guardians.
My stomach twists as that word repeats in my head. My family used to be Guardians, years ago, hundreds of years ago. And then we fucked up, we committed offences too great to be forgotten, to be pardoned. It’s why we became Esau.
“You’re to come with us.” Gabriel repeats.
“Why?”
He holds his hand out as if I’d be stupid enough to take it.
“Leandra,” Zayn says, his voice deep and gravelly. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Gabriel steps forward, closing the distance between us, his movements unnervingly smooth. “You must be tested,” he says, his tone calm but firm. “Your soul must be inspected, must be purged of its sins.”
My stomach twists. “What are you talking about? La…” I only just manage to stop myself from saying his true name. “Konstantine said…” I continue.
“Konstantine is Grand Master,” Zayn interrupts. “And as his wife, you must be worthy. The Brethren will not accept you otherwise.”
I shake my head, panic rising in my chest. “No. I’m not going anywhere. Konstantine said I’d be safe here. He…”
Gabriel moves before I can finish, and his hand closes around my wrist like a wrench. His grip is surprisingly strong, his fingers digging into my skin. “You don’t have a choice,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.
I yank my arm back, but he doesn’t let go. “Let me go.” I shout, my voice cracking. “Konstantine. Konstantine…”
It doesn’t escape my notice, the irony that I’m screaming out the name of the very man who tortured and raped me, that I have to pretend that he’s my salvation, my rescuer.
Zayn wheels closer, his expression unreadable. “He’s not here,” he says simply. “And you’re coming with us.”
I kick out, my foot connecting with Gabriel’s shin. He grunts but doesn’t release me. Instead, he drags me further towards the door, and my legs tangle in the rug as I struggle.
“Stop fighting,” Zayn growls. “You’re only making this harder on yourself.”
“Fuck you!” I scream, thrashing against Gabriel’s grip.
Gabriel drags me toward the door, his grip unrelenting. I claw at his hand, my nails digging into his skin, but he doesn’t flinch. My heart races, my mind spinning with fear and confusion.
Where is Lazarus? Why isn’t he here? He said he’d protect me. He promised.
“Let me go!” I scream again, my voice raw. “You can’t do this!”
Gabriel doesn’t respond. He just keeps dragging me, his grip like iron. Zayn follows behind, his wheelchair creaking ominously.
The hallway is dark, the walls closing in around me. I kick and thrash, but it’s no use. Gabriel is too strong.
“Konstantine.” I cry out again, my voice breaking.
Zayn’s voice cuts through the chaos, cold and unfeeling. “He’s not coming, Leandra. This is your test. Your burden to bear.”
Tears stream down my face as I’m dragged down the hallway, my mind racing. What are they going to do to me? What does this ritual even entail?
The fear is overwhelming, suffocating. I feel like I’m drowning, like the walls are closing in around me.
Gabriel stops in front of a heavy wooden door, his grip tightening on my wrist. “This is your last chance,” he says, his voice low. “Will you come willingly, or will we have to force you?”
I glare at him, my chest heaving. “Go to hell.”
He sighs, his expression almost pitying. “Very well.”
He pushes the door open, revealing a dimly lit room. The air is thick with the scent of incense, the walls lined with strange symbols and tapestries. In the centre of the room is a stone altar, its surface stained with what looks like dried blood.
My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat. “No,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “No, no, no.”
Gabriel drags me toward the altar, his grip unrelenting. I fight with everything I have, kicking and screaming, but it’s no use.
Zayn wheels into the room, his expression unreadable. “This is necessary, Leandra,” he says, his voice cold. “You must be purified. You must be tested and made worthy.”
“I’m not going through with this!” I shout, my voice cracking. “You can’t make me!”
Gabriel forces me face first onto the altar, his hands pinning me down. I thrash against him, but it’s no use. His grip is like iron, his strength overwhelming.
Zayn wheels closer, his dark eyes fixed on me. “This is your test,” he says, his voice low and menacing. “Your soul must be inspected, must be purged of its sins.”
Tears stream down my face as I struggle against Gabriel’s grip while he rips away all my clothing, while he strips me naked.
“No!” I scream again.
I don’t want this. I don’t want any of this.
Zayn starts moving, wheeling around, tying my wrists, binding them to metal bars that come up out of the stone like spears.
Gabriel begins to chant a haunting tune. The words are unfamiliar, ancient, and his hot breath on my skin sends a shiver down my spine.
I kick out, I try to pull my limbs back, but it’s two against one and I don’t stand a chance.
Once I am bound, stretched, and entirely unable to move, Zayn rocks back on his wheels. Gabriel gets up and stands beside him, staring at me.
“B’?elmeh d’mārān neth?azzē, w’b’?ebyonēh nethdakkē.
” Zayn says, and those words put the literal fear of God into me.
He’s speaking Aramaic, the language of God, the language of our ancestors.
I’m not meant to know it, to understand it, but I do.
My mother taught us, taught me and my sisters and made sure we’d never tell a soul about it.
In the image of our Lord, we are remade, and by his will, we are purified.
No. No. I will not do this, I will not…
Zayn reaches for something on the altar, and my eyes fix on the movement as his hands close around a long, curved blade.
My heart stops. My body locks up.
“No,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Please, no.”
Zayn raises the blade, staring right back at me. “This is your test,” he says, his voice just as calm, just as assured as he was back in the bedroom. “Your soul must be purified.”
Gabriel is suddenly holding a torch, and he angles it out so that the flames lick at the edge of the weapon. I stare in horror as the metal starts to glow.
Then the blade descends, and I can feel the awful heat of it before it even touches my flesh.
I scream. I scream and I scream and I scream.
The pain is sharp, searing, and my body feels like it convulses. My limbs fight against the rope holding me down, and I feel my skin tear.
My vision blurs, and the room spins around me.
The last thing I see is Zayn’s cold, unfeeling eyes as he leans over me. Then, everything goes black.