Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
All twelve men pound their canes, and I not only hear the terrible sound but feel the reverberations of it through the floor.
“As it should be. As it should be. As it should be.” Their chants come louder. Angrier. And the knowledge that I am trapped here between them, this room full of men and me the only woman.
Between all their cloaked figures I glimpse the portraits against the walls, the women’s faces blurry, among them, my mother.
When Roberston moves his hand from my head to my shoulder, I flinch, try to jerk it off. Callum tugs on my chain, forcing my head backward.
“Stay, little lamb,” he taunts.
“The little lamb is frightened,” Robertson says. “Fear not, young one. You shall be blessed twelve times over this night.”
Someone laughs.
Somewhere in my brain, I understand his meaning, my mother’s diary entries making sense. Undeniable now.
But it’s too terrible to acknowledge. To truly know something so heinous.
When Robertson begins again, I look up at his face to see him tilt his head upward and close his eyes. I think he’s speaking Latin, a warped prayer of sorts making this that much more frightening.
When he snaps his eyes open, he turns his gaze to Callum. “Kneel,” he orders, looking at Callum like he’s filled with the holy spirit. More like Satan.
Callum kneels beside me.
Robertson sets his other hand on Callum’s head.
“On this day and by the laws of our Society, I bind you in marriage—”
“No!” I cry out, shaking off his hand. The instant I do, Callum grips the back of my head and smashes my forehead against the stone floor.
For an instant, there is nothing. For a millisecond, the world stops as my vision goes black.
He jerks me back and I blink to stop the room from spinning. I watch all those men standing there watching from behind their creepy masks. The shards of the collar slice painfully into the flesh at my throat and I reach up to touch my forehead where I feel the warmth of blood.
“Remember, it is not your tongue we need, lamb,” Callum tells me and I recall Jameson’s warning and I have no doubt they would cut it out.
But I can’t give in. I can’t not fight.
And maybe I’m going mad, maybe him smashing my face into the stone caused more damage than I think but it’s not fear I feel at his words. Because I swear I hear something. Something impossible.
The barking of a dog.
But no one else seems to hear it as they begin their monstrous chanting, that organ an accompaniment as Robertson strings together words that sound like a twisted version of wedding vows and Callum grips my left hand with his to fit his ring on it. I fight him though. I claw with my nails scratching the backs of his hands refusing to allow this. Refusing.
The organ music grows louder. The circle of men closes in around me, their chants terrible, and I snatch the mask off Callum, my nails breaking skin.
His eyes grow furious, and I ready myself for retaliation. He raises his hand to strike me but before he does, the chapel doors crash open, the sudden burst of wind blowing out at least half the candles in the place.
A dog hurls itself inside slipping on the stone floor, stopping, growling.
And behind her, filling the doorway, is a form tall and dark and impossible.
Impossible because he’s dead. Because they killed him.
Lightning crashes behind him, illuminating him. His clothes are soaked, he’s holding a gun in one hand, a bloody hunting knife in another.
My warrior husband.
My furious, raging Devil.
And when he raises his head to look at me and forest green eyes collide with mine, the world stops.
Because it’s him. He’s real. He’s here. Jet’s alive and he’s come for me.
40
JET
The rain is a godsend. A blessing. Finally. Fucking finally. That and the organ’s eerie, funeral notes mask the sounds of our attack as we take the soldiers standing just outside.
Candlelight spills through the slits of windows. It continues even as the last of the soldiers lies dead at our feet.
Cassian and Sev assess, taking a minute to form a plan.
Me?
I can’t.
Because all I need to know is that she’s in there with them. At their mercy.
I crash through the door, Cotton growling. Waiting for my order. I take in this strange scene from a fucking horror movie.
Masked men, a dozen of them. Maybe more. Soldiers everywhere. I don’t count them. Because I see her. In the midst of the chaos, I see her.
Amal kneeling in the middle of them chained to the floor.
She’s wearing that terrible dress. It’s filthy now drenched from the storm and splattered with mud. Blood smears her face, her neck, her hands.
They’ve hurt her. They’ve chained her and they’ve hurt her.
But when her eyes find mine, the world stops, the chaos around me in a freeze frame. Her mouth falls open like she can’t believe it.