The Beginning of Everything by Kristen Ashley Page 0,2
our work is done. We meet again in a month. And it’s,” his gaze fell on the impatient accomplice, “your turn to find the candidate.”
His least-liked brethren gave the priest a look that said he wished to open his mouth and share something.
Wisely, he did not.
With ease borne of practice, the sacrifice was wrapped in a sheet, loaded on a horse, and with cursory farewells, three of the four men were away.
Leaving the priest with his favorite.
“Are you certain we should wait an entire month?” his chosen one asked as the priest drew close to him. “That growl seemed—”
“Open your robes,” the priest ordered quietly.
Looking up, he saw his brother’s eyes fire.
Gratifyingly, he then opened his robes and bared himself.
It was gratifying as it was so soon after he spent himself inside the vessel.
And it was gratifying because it was so beautiful to look at.
The priest dropped to his knees and took the shaft deep into his mouth.
And more gratification at the rumbling groan.
He tasted her for a but few strokes.
After that, he tasted only man.
Later, his snowy robes cast aside, naked on all fours in the moonlight, taking hard, thick cock through his arse, hands and knees in the blood-soaked earth, the priest’s head jerked back, and he called his pleasure into the moonlit night as he spent his seed into the dirt.
His chosen one milked him dry before his thrusts grew in violence and he shot deep inside.
Finished, he ground there, murmuring, “Gods, but your arse is tight and hot.”
“You really must remember to bring oil, Rupert,” the priest muttered.
He felt his lover curl over him, still hard inside.
“You like the pain,” he whispered in the priest’s ear.
Indeed.
“Pull out. Needs be we’re away.”
Knowing precisely how he liked it, the end of the penetration was rough, making the priest moan.
“Oh yes, he likes the pain,” was whispered above him.
The priest ignored that as he took a moment to rub his seed into the dirt.
There was no growl at that.
Just a hum.
And having done this, just like this (though with different partners), for over a decade, the priest knew he was the only one who felt the hum.
So he knew who the Beast’s true master would be.
2
The Standing Stones
The Great Coven
Silbury Henge, Argyll Forest
AIREN
In the clearing of the forest, the first flash of light came before the first of the five standing stones.
It was marine blue.
As the woman stepped forward out of the flash, immediately, the stone next to her lit with red light.
And that woman stepped forward.
The next, the light was green.
And after that woman stepped forward, a flash of bright white.
That woman joined the others at the slab at the center of the circle.
A slab that in ancient times had known the blood of humans, then the blood of animals.
But for millennia, it had known no offering but the wind that shorn its edges curved and smooth, the rain that beat its height into the dirt, the sun that bleached its color.
Just as the standing stones around it. Once standing tall and proud over two stories toward the sky, now, they stood just over one, the edges dulled, one having taken a strike of lightning, weakening it, so a fragment broke off and plummeted, bedding itself in the earth by its sister’s side.
The four women turned.
The fifth light flashed coral and through it came Ophelia, Queen of the Nadirii Sisterhood.
“Sister.”
“Sister.”
“Sister.”
“Sister.”
“My sisters,” Ophelia murmured in greeting, taking her place amongst her sistren at the slab.
“Fare thee well?” Rebecca of the Dellish asked, her gaze sharp on the queen.
“Not tonight. The disturbance has occurred again, right on cue,” Ophelia replied.
That was not the answer to Rebecca’s question and Ophelia knew it.
Rebecca did not prompt.
“We have work to do,” Lena of the Mar-el noted, moving closer to the altar.
The rest followed suit.
Lena began.
Touching the stone with her fingertips, she stated clearly, “The moon.”
Nandra of the Firenz touched the stone. “The blood.”
Fern of the Airenzian touched it. “The star.”
Rebecca followed suit. “The dirt.”
Ophelia went last. “The sisterhood.”
A frisson of energy slithered up their arms, singing under their feet, vibrating in the stones, and the simple ritual complete, the circle united, the coven present, they took their hands away.
“They rouse the Beast,” Rebecca told them what they all already knew and had, for some years now.
“They are cloaked. At the power of the last rousing, I spent the fortnight trying to find them and naught else. No sleep, no food, deep in meditation, casting spells that have not been attempted in centuries. And