Deep Redemption (Hades Hangmen Book 4) (17 page)

Making sure I breathed steadily, I stepped forward until the path turned to green grass under my feet. The guard placed his hand on my back and steered me until I knew I faced the congregation. A collective gasp sounded amongst the people, and in that moment, I was glad my orders were to keep my eyes downcast. I would not be able to move if I had to look my people in the eyes . . . people that detested me as much as they believed they needed me to save their mortal souls.

“Walk,” the guard behind me said quietly, too quietly for anyone else to hear. “The prophet waits at the end of the aisle.”

I slowly made my way down the aisle. The people were sitting on the ground, dressed in white. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see some of their faces. The few I caught actually looked me in the eye, and their mouths dropped in shock. “
A Cursed
,” they whispered, confirmation traveling through the congregation at lightning speed.

I heard people crying, rejoicing for the salvation they believed me to be. Worse, I heard them praising the prophet, speaking in tongues and wailing in delight.

The atmosphere became electric as I approached the altar. I stopped and turned to face Prophet Cain. He reached out and took my hand in his, and I felt as though I was going to be sick. He was not gentle like Rider; he had taken my hand aggressively, arrogantly.

“Proceed,” he barked at Brother Luke, the Prophet’s Hand. I flinched at the harshness in his voice and tried my hardest not to shake.

The ceremony began. I listened as Brother Luke read from the scriptures and spoke of the prophecy of the Cursed Sisters. I listened as he read Prophet David’s words about a devil-tainted woman’s soul merging with the prophet of The Order to save all those that followed The Order’s path. I did not hear much else; the people had grown louder in their excitement. I heard snatches of Prophet Cain responding to something that Brother Luke asked. Then the prophet pulled on my hand and I knew it was my turn to speak.

“Do you, Harmony, Cursed Sister of Eve, take your lord prophet and savior to be your wedded husband? Allowing him to be the king of both your heart and soul? To rule over you as your master and spiritual leader? To obey his every command and welcome him to chase the evil from your tainted soul?”

“I do,” I whispered, feeling my heart fall in sadness.

The crowd roared as Brother Luke held up his hands and shouted, “The union of the Cursed and the prophet has been sealed!”

I saw Prophet Cain’s feet inch closer to mine. He tugged me closer to him. I cried out as my body collided with his, and before I knew it, Prophet Cain had pulled on the back of my hair to raise my mouth toward his. With no warning, he crashed his lips to mine in a rough, unyielding kiss. I whimpered as his tongue plunged into my mouth. My hands balled into fists, instinctively preparing to fight him off. But I dropped my hands down by my side and let him take my mouth. This was just the beginning of what he would take without permission.

I had no choice but to obey.

I kept my eyes cast down as the prophet released me and moved to address his people. “I will now take my bride to the wedding bed and begin the long and heavy process of ridding evil from her soul. Of chasing the devil from her soul with my seed.”

The crowd roared in happiness. Prophet Cain turned us away from the crowd and toward an elevated platform. I risked a glance up at the stage, and my stomach rolled in trepidation. In the center was a large, high mattress draped in a shroud of gossamer-white gauze curtains.

Prophet Cain’s hand tightened on mine. He led us up the staircase to the bed. With every step, my fear intensified. By the time we had reached the bed, I was terrified that I would pass out from that fear.

The prophet came to a stop. I saw Brother Luke’s feet before us. “Prophet,” Brother Luke said. “The joining bed is ready.”

“Thank you, brother,” the prophet replied, releasing my hand to part the curtains. I stood, waiting for my command, my legs wobbling so hard that I did not think I would be able to move.

I gasped as someone moved behind me and drew the garment off my shoulders. It fell to the floor, pooling at my feet. I screwed my eyes shut in shame as my naked body was bared to our people. I trembled with humiliation, and it took everything I had not to break down in tears.

“Go to your prophet,” a low, stern voice ordered into my ear. I opened my eyes. Brother Luke was holding apart the curtains around the bed. The prophet lay in the center, still fully clothed.

“Go,” Brother Luke ordered when I made no move. With leaden feet, I forced myself to walk. I did not breathe as I made my way to the bed. When I raised my knee and crawled to the center beside the prophet, I was sure I would never breathe again.

As I had been instructed by the sisters this morning, I lay flat on my back, keeping my eyes downcast, never meeting the prophet’s gaze. I placed my hands over my stomach, frustrated with myself as I failed to stop their intense, incessant shaking.

The curtains were closed around us. The crowd began praying for salvation, their murmurs penetrating through the gauze. I looked at the curtains, trying to see how see-through they truly were. I could see Brother Luke and the other elders through the material, but their features were blurred.

I took some comfort in that. Although this joining would be public, only our movements would be seen. My tears would not betray my fear to the people. I could not stand for them to see me break.

You must do this.

Tinny prayer music began pouring through the speakers surrounding the commune, and my heart matched its pace to the beat. I felt the prophet shift and remove his pants, but not his top. He lay back down next to me.

Stray tears escaped from the corners of my eyes as he climbed above me. I closed my eyes as I felt his warm breath ghost over my face. I expected him to speak. I expected him to be rough and cruel, so I was startled when he delicately pushed a strand of hair from my forehead.

His hand fell to mine on my stomach. I stiffened as he laced his fingers through mine. I sucked in a shocked breath when I realized his hand was trembling.

I froze, completely still, as I fought over whether or not to open my eyes. I counted to three, then blinked up through my long painted lashes . . . and straight into the kindest set of dark eyes I had ever seen . . . a pair of eyes I would know from anyone else’s . . .

He moved our joined hands up to his lips. And that was when I saw it. I saw what his subtle movement was showing me—his heavily inked skin, the demonic forms peeking out from beneath the tunic’s sleeves. My heart swelled to an impossible fullness, and astounded relief flooded though me.

“
Rider
,” I mouthed, expelling the breath that I had kept so tightly caged. Rider’s dark eyes closed in relief too. He placed a kiss on our clasped fingers and opened his eyes.

His fear of this moment reflected my own.

Rider stared into my eyes, and we both tensed as the crowd’s prayers grew louder, urging the joining to be complete. Brother Luke coughed from beside the bed. “Prophet Cain? Is everything well?”

“Get away from this bed! Now!” he snarled. My skin crawled; Rider sounded just like his twin. Brother Luke scurried to the farthest side of the platform. But I could see him watching from where he had stopped.

“I’m so sorry,” Rider whispered. I looked at his face and saw the regret and sorrow etched onto his every beautiful feature.

“How?” I whispered back. “I do not understand? How are you here?”

Rider shook his head, silently telling me that now was not the time to ask. I had played this role of the prophet’s betrothed for many days. I could do it for a short time more. His eyes closed. The people outside were becoming restless. I subtly moved my hand to lie over his chest, and he opened his eyes.

The pain that shone back at me cut down my heart. “Rider,” I said almost inaudibly. “We must do this. Judah . . . he would not have hesitated.”

He winced. “I know. But . . . ” A shade of scarlet washed over his olive skin.

“What?” I asked, moving my body closer to his, trying to urge him to lie directly above me. Rider’s already shocked eyes widened further, but he moved over me, his naked lower body meeting my own. His pupils grew as our bare skins brushed.

He sucked in a breath, and I lifted my hand to his cheek. “Rider—”

“I don’t know what to do,” he said, cutting me off. Sorrow infused my heart seeing such a formidable man so scared. Rider’s face reddened further, but this time it was in anger. “Harmony,” he rasped. “I’m so fucking sorry. This shouldn’t be happening . . . not like this.”

I almost broke at the sincerity in his voice. As I watched Rider’s face become alive with disgust and uncertainty, with the heavy conflict he felt at taking me right here and right now, I knew I had to take charge.

I had to lead the way.

I slowly moved my legs apart. Rider’s body, hovering over mine, fell into the space between. “Harmony,” he whispered nervously.

“Shh,” I soothed, nodding my head. “We must do this.”

His head turned away. “I feel like a rapist. I feel like I am here, just like my brother would have been, forcing you against your will. It’s not who I am.”

And I knew. I knew then that he was absolutely nothing like his brother. Because he was so incredibly torn over this joining. He felt sick at the thought of forcing himself upon me.

It was exactly why I wanted this.

Why I would welcome it. I had never known such kindness.

“I want it,” I blurted out. Rider froze.

He looked back at me. “You cannot be serious. It’s wrong . . . it’s so fucking wrong.”

Brushing my hand through his long hair, I said, “Although it is not ideal, I am not refusing this. You . . . and me . . . together in this way . . . it will not be by force. Never by force, but instead with open eyes and willing hearts.”

“Harmony,” Rider whispered and leaned down to take my lips with his own. As his kiss engulfed me, I reached my hand down between us and took hold of his manhood. Rider jumped as I nervously took him in my hand, but I did not stop. The people would know something was wrong if he did not act . . . if there was not evidence of our joining on the linen after this was over.

I broke away from the kiss, leaving my lips brushing against his. “I want this, Rider. I could only ever want this with you.”

“Harmony,” he murmured. I placed him at my entrance and urged him inside, my legs on the back of his thighs guiding him forward. And this time Rider did as I asked him to, the fluid Sarai had placed within me helping him enter me with ease.

I tensed my jaw as he filled me, slowly, inch by inch, stretching me wide. My hands reached to hold on to his arms as he filled me so impossibly full. I opened my eyes and met Rider’s gaze.

His cheeks were flushed as he kept pushing forward, his face betraying how he felt—conflicted, yet wrapped up in such incredible pleasure. “Harmony,” he whispered as he pushed all the way in. Rider froze, leaning his head back to close his eyes and simply breathe. And I was struck speechless. Struck speechless at having him above me. He had looked into my eyes. He had his arms braced protectively over my head. He had only unbridled affection and need in his stare. No hatred. No pride.

It made me feel . . . It made me
feel
.

Until then, I had never felt anything during joinings. I always made myself go elsewhere, dreaming of a world away from the act taking place. But right then, with Rider, I felt it all. I felt the warm breeze slipping through the gauze curtains. I felt Rider’s hot skin brushing against mine, causing me to shiver in pleasure. But most of all I felt every second of this in my soul. I felt happiness in my heart . . . I felt
free
.

“Harmony,” Rider murmured. He was looking down at me in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I replied softly. “I am more than okay.”

My words seemed to soothe something in Rider’s stare and he began to move, gently pulling himself back, only to push back in, the feeling of his gentle strokes like nothing I had ever experienced.

The faster he moved, the gentler he became. Rider’s skin glistened with the heat as he rocked within me. And when he lowered his head to press his forehead against mine, I almost cried.

I did not know joinings could be like this. This pure and true . . . this tender. My breath hitched as a strange sensation began stirring inside me. My eyes flew open and Rider reared his head back.

“Rider.” I met Rider’s eyes as they locked beautifully on mine. “Rider,” I repeated, seeing the same awed expression on his face that I knew I wore on my own.

“Harmony,” he said, guttural, low and raw, as his hips moved faster. My breath raced to catch up with his. Then, taking me by surprise, my back arched as a rush of red-hot heat pulsed through my body, lifting me to a great height from within. A loud cry tore from my lips as I felt a bright light splinter me apart, only to fuse me back together with an impossible feeling of pleasure.

My hands held onto Rider as I tried to contain the brightness exploding within. I opened my eyes, just in time to see Rider’s neck tense and the same pleasure I was feeling possess his face. But unlike me, Rider never took his eyes from mine. He stayed with me, locked both within my stare and heart as he roared out his release and filled me with his warmth.