Page 210 of Nightshade

Farryn

On a raised slab of circular-shaped cement, I lay stretched over a carved sigil, one I’d recognized as that which identified the archangels. The ridges of its surface pressed into my back, and all four of my limbs had been strapped.

After securing me, Drystan had dragged Remy’s growling, demonic form out of the room, leaving me at the mercy of the priest, and the three robed men who stood around the room, as if to stand guard. Against what, I didn’t know, but the likelihood that any one of them would suddenly get a chivalrous hair up his ass and set me free seemed slim.

As I lay there, my thoughts drifted to Jericho. How badly he wanted to protect me. How much I wished I were back in the safety and security of Blackwater Cathedral. How completely alone I felt, as the trembles wracked my body. Cold numbing shock still had me breathing unsteadily, terrified for what would happen to me.

“Where did you take Remy? What will you do with him?” I asked.

“His loyalty will be tested in a way that can only be accomplished through excruciating circumstances.” No sooner had Father Bane said the words, and a roar of agonizing pain echoed down the hallway, steeling my muscles.

“You’re torturing him? More than slicing off his wings?”

“It is not torture, but a test of faith. Should he pass, he’ll be permitted to join our army. To be a part of our cause.”

“What cause? What the hell is so important that you would torture someone?”

“Not someone. Something. An infernal creature who feeds off the very sin which created him! Evil is everywhere in this world, child. Without us, there is no one to defend His holy name.”

Another cry of pain bled through the door. I wanted to cover my ears, to shield them from the sound of Remy’s misery, but my bound hands wouldn’t allow it. My heart pounded like a stampede of rhinos was trapped behind my ribs. Palms sweating. Nausea curling in my stomach. A panic attack. “Please, Father. Let me go. I’m begging you. Please let me go.”

“Shhhh.” Father Bane ran his finger over my exposed skin, where the robe I’d worn earlier had slipped off my shoulder. “Do not fear,” he rasped. “The ravishing is our most beautiful gift to The Holy Father.”

“Call me crazy, but I don’t think the Holy fucking Father appreciates cult porn.”

A hard crack against my cheek kicked my head to the side, the sting smarting my skin. “Blasphemous little harlot! You should have your tongue removed for such disrespectful words.”

“So you can add it to your little scrap-pile of body parts?” On a humorless burst of laughter, I shook my head. “Do you even know what Hines is?”

“He is a loyal disciple. A long-standing member of the Pentacrux.”

“Spoiler alert--he’s a fucking demon! Did you think you were pasting feathers on a goddamn piñata? The guy has a forked tongue, for crying out loud!”

“You are a wicked child. Cursed!” He rested his cold and wrinkled hand against my stomach, and I twitched. “But fear not, for when your soul is given over, the curse will be broken. The beast who covets you will fall to slumber once more.”

“The beast wouldn’t have given a damn about you, had you left me alone. He hasn’t bothered with you assholes in centuries. You’re fulfilling Hines’s vengeance and nothing more.”

“This is more than vengeance, girl. The Holy Father has entrusted our kind with banishing the evil which seeks to corrupt the purest of souls. He does not allow for reincarnation--that is the work of witches and demons. The evil inside of you must be banished.”

As he spoke, a shadow lurked behind him, and I lifted my head, wondering if I’d actually seen something there. Wouldn’t have been Drystan, the way it moved as if not wanting to be seen. I craned my neck to look behind me, and my eyes shot to where the Pentacrux soldiers had stood guard only moments before. Two of the three lay on the ground in pools of what I guessed was blood.

A beat of panic stirred in my gut. Where had the third one gone? And assuming he killed the other two, was it Father Bane, or me, next on his hit list?

“And so ... what if I don’t get pregnant, huh?” The question was supposed to serve as a distraction, to keep from alerting Father Bane to whatever the hell was going on in the background. Although, both of us had totally snoozed on two guards getting killed, so whatever heightened senses the priest had acquired from being blind, he sure as hell wasn’t in tune to them. The shadowed figure appeared again.

Jericho?

It couldn’t be. Much as I really needed to see Jericho right then, I knew he wouldn’t have risked coming to this side. Not if he thought my life would be at stake by doing so. Perhaps my perception was skewed, but the shadow seemed smaller than what I remembered of Jericho’s size, anyway.

“You will. It is written in the prophecies,” Father Bane prattled on, seemingly unaware of the approaching attacker--whether his, or mine, had yet to be determined.

“Yeah, well, good luck. I can’t even get a box of muffin mix to bake right.”

The figure stalked closer, and I could see that it definitely wasn’t Jericho, but a strange man with scars on his face and obsidian black eyes. Terrifying eyes. He lifted a godawful flail weapon, and the panic from before turned to full-blown hysteria.

My muscles locked.

Pulse hastened.