The prophet the cloister.., p.1
The Prophet (The Cloister Book 2), page 1
The Prophet
Celia Aaron
Celia Aaron
Copyright © 2018 Celia Aaron
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron.
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.
DIRE WARNING: If you pirate this book, your soul will rot in hell.
Cover art by Perfect Pear
Cover model Thom
Cover image by Wander Aguiar
Copy Editing by Spell Bound
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgments
Also by Celia Aaron
About the Author
Chapter 1
Delilah
Another drop of water. I wince.
Drip, drip, drip.
Voices. Distant human sounds, but none that make sense. Especially when I know they aren’t humans at all, but monsters.
Drip.
I know the water droplet is coming. I still flinch.
How long have I been here? There is no time in this place, none that I can measure. It has to have been at least a day, maybe two. I’ve pissed myself more times than I can count, but at least I haven’t done the other thing… yet.
My hands and legs are bound, my head strapped to a board, a gag in my mouth that’s connected to a taut chain. Or at least I think it is. I saw it before the light turned out and I was left in a blackness so complete that I wonder if I’ve been buried alive.
I can’t turn my head. Perfectly positioned for the dripping water. The back of my skull went numb a long time ago, and I wonder if it’ll be flat when I get out of here. If I get out of here.
Drip.
“Fuck!” I scream against my gag, but the sound goes nowhere. Just like me. The only movement here is the constant splashing against the center of my forehead, rolling down my temples, and filling up my ears before rolling into my sweaty hair.
I clench my eyes shut, but when I do, I see him. Adam. He caught me and brought me to this torture chamber. I don’t know what happened to the others who tried to escape, and I can’t stop thinking about what’s happening to me.
Drip.
Adam appears again, shoving me into the back of a white truck and holding me in an iron grip as some guy drove us through the property.
“They’re going to hurt you.” His whisper in my ear was surprisingly gentle even as he caged me with cruel ease. “But don’t break for them. Promise me you won’t. Don’t let them tear you down to nothing.” He sighed and pulled me even tighter. “I would have let you go, little lamb. If it were only me there in the woods. I would have let you go. Even though I would regret it, even though it would kill me with a million tiny cuts.”
I shivered as the truck eased me toward an even darker fate. My voice was frozen in my throat, and I could barely process his words, much less respond.
“I’ll be waiting.” He kissed my hair as we stopped at a nondescript cinderblock building without windows, and I later discovered, without hope. Adam stood at the doorway as someone grabbed me from behind and dragged me kicking and screaming into this fresh hell.
I’ve been here ever since. No food. No water, other than an errant splash every now and then from above that trickles past the ball gag—or maybe those are intentional. How long can a human go without water? Seems like something I should have learned in college. Maybe I did and then forgot.
I try to sleep, to let this nightmare place fade.
Drip.
Each cold splash jolts me awake.
Adam. I see his face. Different flashes each time consciousness slams back into me. When I first met him the night of the bonfire—the way his dark eyes drank me in and took far more of me than I ever intended to offer. The weight of him on top of me. The feeling of his lips against my skin. The hint of a man beneath the monster.
Drip.
But only a monster could have led me to this murky place. I was a fool to think he could be anything other than what he is—the Prophet’s son. I’m only a sacrificial lamb to him. Nothing more. “Where do you think you’re going, little lamb?” His voice slithers through my ears, and I strain to see into the blackness around me. But he’s not here.
A scream rips through the air, then dies. Sounds of torment come and go like summer flies, landing and biting, then flitting away.
My thoughts race and trip, then fall headlong into despair. Flashes of memory catch like kindling in my mind. Eve was grabbed before I was. Susannah was trapped at the top of the fence, the barbed wire digging into her as she struggled. But maybe Sarah got away. And Chastity too. She’d almost made it to the top when Adam found me and pulled me away from freedom. A flame of hope leaps to life until… Drip. The orange light sputters out under the crushing weight of water.
I drift on a never-ending sea, sleep just over the next wave. But I can’t get there. No matter how many times the languid ocean hushes me and promises me rest. It can’t give it to me. Not here in the suffocating darkness with the ever-present drops of water. Who knew that something so simple could drive a person mad? A dry laugh sticks in my throat as I consider writing a strongly worded letter to Heavenly Ministries about their torture tactics. The chuckle turns into a cry, but I can’t tell if the wetness in my eyes is tears or the drip, drip, drip.
Pulling against my bonds is useless, but I do it sometimes, just to wake up my limbs a little. My upper arm aches where I dug out the tracker. But it feels off, as if they stitched it up. I can’t remember what happened right after they dragged me in. I only remember this room, this empty black void.
I wonder if there’s a brand new tracker in my arm now. Not that they need it. I’m in the Rectory, and I’ll never get out.
More noises. Maybe footsteps? I strain toward the sound, hoping for a reprieve. Maybe Adam’s finally come to get me!
Something creaks and light filters in.
I blink over and over, my eyes stinging as they adjust to the not-so-total darkness.
“Bring her.” A woman’s voice.
Rough hands grip my wrists, and I sigh as the restraints loosen. My muscles ache as someone drags me into a sitting position. The Head Spinner, Grace, her face in shadow, unbinds my legs while someone else removes the gag. I lick my lips, my tongue like sandpaper. I wipe the water from my temples and ears, then suck it off my fingers. Nothing has ever tasted this sweet, I’m certain of it.
With a yank, I’m pulled from the table and dragged into a hallway, the cement floor cold and wet beneath my bare feet. Grace grabs my other arm, and the two Spinners march me past other rooms, the doors closed, mysteries behind them that I can’t investigate. I can barely keep my head up, and my feet seem to have forgotten their job.
The Spinners don’t mind, dragging me when I falter until we reach an open door at the end of the hall. They carry me inside and drop me in a heap at the feet of the Prophet. A threadbare rug separates me from the cold concrete floor, and the Prophet sits in a cushy chair, the fabric a deep crimson. I squint up at him. He gives me a benevolent smile and waves the Spinners away. They close the door when they exit.
“My dear child.” He reaches down and tenderly pulls my chin up so that I have to look him in the eye. “What have they done to you?” He inspects my face, then lets his gaze fall lower. A frown creeps into the creases by his mouth. “Grace!” His yell makes me jump.
The door opens behind me. “Yes, Prophet?”
“Did I not tell you to treat this tender child of God as a sacred female?” he barks.
“Yes, Prophet.”
“Bring her water and food this instant!”
It’s theater. It has to be. He’s well aware of what’s happening to me in this place. He put me here. He could free me if he wanted.
“Yes, Prophet.” Only a few seconds pass before Grace sets a tray next to me on the worn rug. Fruit, water, little sandwiches cut into triangles—all of it there to tempt me. And it works. I can’t stop myself from reaching for it, even though I know it’s poisoned.
“You are blessed among my Maidens, Delilah. Chosen. Precious. Favored above all others.” He strokes my hair as I take the glass of water and drink deeply. “Not too much.” He places his hand at the base of t
I take one. Knowing it’s laced. Knowing this is all some big trick. But I’m so hungry that I don’t care. My body won’t let me care. I devour a handful of grapes, then drink more water, the Prophet petting my hair all the while.
“I know your heart, precious one. I know you would never have tried to leave the safety of the Cloister if it weren’t for the snake leading you astray.”
I drink more and eat a sandwich. I feel like the sandwich has a rainbow inside it, but I can’t see it, only feel its energy. With each bite, I’m filling up with color.
“She will be punished and cleansed until a serpent no longer dwells in her heart.” He smiles down at me, and I can’t help but return it.
“You’re safe, Delilah. I will keep you from all harm. The Lord has given you to me as a holy gift, one I will cherish.”
I nod, because what he’s saying is true. The light that suffuses his fingertips tells me he is a true Prophet. And the food gives me light, too. And it’s all because of him.
“Thank you, Prophet.” I lay my head in his lap as he pets down my back.
“You are on the right path.” He presses another grape into my mouth, his fingers lingering against my cracked lips. “The Lord is pleased with you.”
“It’s all because of you.” The grapes seem to dance on the plate, vibrating from positive energy. I grab another handful, jealous of how they sway and glisten.
“I must go, my darling one.” He stands, and I grab his hand. “But I’ll return to check on you.” Leaning down, he kisses my crown.
“Stay,” I beg and try to grab his pants leg.
“Soon, my child. I’ll see you again very soon.” He walks out, taking the searing energy with him.
The light seems to dim once he’s gone, and I want to follow him, but I’m rooted to the spot. I don’t know how long I stay there, thinking of him, before the door opens.
Grace is there with another Spinner, their batons raised.
My screams seem to come from someone else’s mouth as I’m dragged back to the never-ending dark.
Chapter 2
Adam
Three days. She’s been in there for three whole days, and no one will tell me a goddamn thing.
“Are you listening to me, son?” My father snaps his lighter closed and takes a hard drag from his cigarette.
“Yes.” I try to relax my shoulders and appear nonchalant. “The Maidens are getting back in line.”
“They are.” He lets the last word hang in the air. “But.” It sounds like a shot. “We need to discuss Craig. As Sarah’s Protector, he’s the one to blame for this entire episode. The Maidens are being punished, but it’s time for him to face the consequences.”
Finally, my father and I agree on something. Craig is a fucking animal and deserves to be put down like one.
“What did you have in mind?” I have plenty of ideas.
“The whip isn’t enough, but the cross is too severe.” He raps his knuckles on the desk.
“The river?” Noah asks, his voice tentative as he suggests torture.
My father smiles. “I think that’ll do just fine.” He turns to me. “We also need to discuss your punishment, Adam.”
I don’t react. I assumed I’d be up for some more lashings. If a Maiden disobeys, and especially if she goes to the length of trying to escape, her Protector is punished. In my father’s eyes, we aren’t doing our jobs. The girls should be broken by now, with no spirit except one of service to the Prophet.
“Will I get the drowning treatment, too?” I hold his icy glare.
“At first, I thought the lashes would be the best thing for you.” He takes another draw. “But then I realized you need a bit more.”
“Bamboo under the nails? Maybe let rats gnaw at my fingers and toes?” I hope one of these is correct. Whatever he intends to do, I want it done to me. But the glint in his eye tells me that’s not how this is going to go.
“Bring her!” His voice slices the air.
Castro pushes through the office doors, shoving my mother inside. Noah and I jump to our feet.
Noah starts, “Dad, you can’t—”
“Sit the fuck down, Noah!” His bellow cows my brother, but not me.
I stare him down. “This doesn’t concern her.”
“Everything to do with you concerns her.” My father snaps his fingers and my mother limps over to him, but gives me a pleading look as she goes. She doesn’t want me to interfere. Just as always, she’s trying to shield me. One broken leg and multiple bruises and scars have never stopped her from trying to keep Noah and me safe.
“Don’t.” I curl my fingers into fists and step toward the desk.
Steel presses into the base of my skull.
My father smirks. “If he moves, pull the trigger.”
“Yes, sir.” Castro pushes the muzzle harder against me and grabs my shoulder with his free hand, shoving me into the chair.
My fingernails dig into the skin of my palm. “Castro, I promise you. One day, I’m going to have your warm blood on my hands. And I can’t fucking wait.”
“We’ll see.” He’s still cocky. But soon, I’ll make sure he never takes another breath.
“Rachel, my love.” My father grabs her hands and pulls her to him.
Noah squirms in his seat, and Castro kicks the leg of his chair. “Move and I’ll pop you.”
“Prophet.” She doesn’t meet his gaze.
“Have you missed me?”
“I miss my husband, yes.” Her words are strong, even though he’s tried so many times to break her spirit.
“Would you like to prove it?” He takes another drag and blows the smoke in her face.
“How?”
“If you are telling the truth then you won’t be harmed. But if you aren’t in perfect obedience, I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” He grabs her arm and slides up the sleeve of her white shirt.
She doesn’t move. When he presses the burning cigarette to the flesh on the underside of her arm, she makes a small sound, but swallows it.
Castro’s grip tightens on my shoulder. Of all the things my father has done in his presence, this is what bothers him?
“Oh, Rachel.” He pulls the cigarette away and tsks. “You were lying after all. You didn’t miss me. You aren’t in perfect obedience. That’s why this hurts. But my darling—” he tries for a frown but can’t quite get there, his glee at the thought of human carnage too great “—you know it hurts me far more than you.”
Can I grab Castro’s gun before he pulls the trigger? Would I be able to kill him, then my father without drawing any other Protectors? My mind works and works, desperate to solve the equation as my mother flinches. The smell of her scorching skin taints the air as my father marks her again and again. Noah white-knuckles the arms of his chair, and I can do nothing but watch.
I’ve known for years that I’d kill my father. But I didn’t know how close that time was. The last time he tortured my mother, I was too young, too shocked to do anything about it. She still bears the limp from an untreated break. And when he destroyed Faith, I was too lost in grief to turn my rage outward. But this time is different. Now I know what I have to do—for my mother, for Noah, for Faith, and for Delilah.
And I will do it soon.
The Rectory is dark, and there’s a guard stationed outside with an assault rifle. I prowl around in the nearby trees, all my senses attuned to that one dark building where Delilah suffers. Three days and nights of torment. Fuck.
I lean against an old pine as something skitters through the underbrush about ten yards away. The moon peeks from behind fast-moving clouds, then disappears again, taking its light with it.
