like rubies amidst all the white. As one, they bowed to him.
Holy shit… He'd gone and done it.
All of a sudden Z leaped up on stage and grabbed his arm. What the-Oh, right. He was listing
to the side. Probably would have keeled over. And wouldn't that have looked bad.
The Scribe Virgin's voice echoed, rebounding with her power. «And so it is done.» Her ghostly
hand lifted, and she pointed to a temple up on the hill. «Proceed now to the chamber and take the
first among the whole, as a male does.»
Zsadist's hand bit into his arm. «Christ… my brother-«
«Stop it,» Phury hissed. «It's going to be fine.»
He disengaged from his twin, bowed to the Scribe Virgin and Wrath, then wobbled down the
stairs and began the walk up the hill. The grass was soft beneath his feet, and the odd, ambient
light of the Other Side surrounding him. He wasn't soothed by either. He could feel the eyes of
the Chosen on his back, and their hunger made him go cold even through his red-smoke haze.
The temple on top of the hill had Roman lines, with white columns and a loft to its height. On its
grand double doors there were two gold knots for knobs. He turned the right one, pushed, and
went inside.
His body instantly hardened from the scent in the air, the heady mix of jasmine and sweet,
smoky incense enticing him, sexing him up. As it was supposed to. Up ahead there was a white
curtain hanging, and fulminating illumination bled through the fold, the flickering glow coming
from what must be hundreds of candles.
He pulled the curtain aside. And recoiled, losing some of his erection.
The Chosen he was to mate with was stretched out on a marble platform with a bedding cushion
on it, a curtain falling from the ceiling and pooling at her throat, obstructing her face from view.
Her legs were spread and tied down with white satin ribbons, her arms the same. A gossamer-
thin sheath covered her naked body.
The basis of the ritual was self-evident. She was the sacrificial vessel, an anonymous
representative of the others. He was the holder of the wine, the one who would fill her body. And
though it was absolutely unforgivable of him, for a split second all he could think of was taking
her.
Mine, he thought. By law and custom and all that was manifest, she was his, as much as his
daggers were, as much as the hair growing out of his head was. And he wanted to get inside of
her. Wanted to come inside of her.
Except that wasn't going to happen. The decent part of him overrode his instincts, just plowed
them down: She was utterly terrified, crying quietly, as if she were trying to hide the sound by
biting her lip, shaking such that her limbs were horrid metronomes of fear.
«Be at ease,» he said in a soft voice.
She jerked. Then the shaking came back worse than before.
All at once he got pissed off. It was appalling that this poor female was put up for his use like an
animal, and though he was being used in a similar way, it was his free choice to put himself here:
He had serious doubts whether that was true for her, given how she'd been restrained both times.
Phury reached up, grabbed the curtain that hid her face, and ripped it down-
Holy shit. The female's sobs weren't held in by her biting her lip; she was gagged and bound by
the forehead to the bed. Tears streaked her blotchy, red face, and the muscles in her neck stood
out in rigid relief-and she was screaming, though unable to make a sound, her eyes bulging
with terror.
He went for what was in her mouth, loosening the tie, removing it. «Be of ease…»
She panted, seemingly incapable of speech, and going on the theory that actions spoke louder
than words, he worked off the binding on her forehead and untangled it from her long blond hair.
When he freed her thin arms she covered her breasts and the juncture of her thighs, and on
impulse he took the curtain he'd ripped down and covered her before taking off the ties at her
feet. Then he stepped back from her, going all the way across the temple and leaning against the
far wall. He figured she might feel safer that way.
Dropping his eyes to the floor, he saw only her: The Chosen was pale and blond, her eyes jade
green. Her features were fine, the kind that made him think of porcelain dolls, and her scent very
much like jasmine. God, she was too delicate to be tortured like
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