“Stay back!” he snapped, and she stilled. His tension momentarily unraveled, replaced with concern and worries that quickly overwhelmed him. “Where have you been? Does Silus know that you are back? Your mother? Everyone has been worried.”
“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?” She ignored his warning and yanked on the locked door. She glared at the bishop. “Eleazar, let him out this instant.”
“Larissa,” Jonas hissed, shocked by the disrespectful way she addressed their bishop. “You must go home to Silus—”
Ignoring his command, she shook the bars. “Let him out!”
“Larissa,” Bishop King warned. “This does not concern you.”
She glared at the bishop, then set her tear-filled gaze on Jonas. “Is it true, Father? Have you been called?”
His throat constricted with the truth, and he looked away.
Her delicate hands closed over his fingers, still gripping the bars. “Are we to lose you?”
His heart shuddered. “It will all be over soon.”
“Who is she?”
“It’s irrelevant.” Unable to bear her empathy, he withdrew his hand from her touch, eyes pleading. “Will you go to your mother? Will you see that she has everything she needs?”
“Of course—”
“She will not.”
He glared at the bishop, tired of his overbearing intrusions. “This is a family matter.”
“I’m aware.” The bishop’s hand curled around Larissa’s bicep, drawing her away from the bars and closer to his side. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a key.
The bars swung open and Jonas shuffled back, unwilling to leave. Those bars protected others from the beast he would eventually become—the monster that was already forming within his bones.
In a deceptively low voice, Bishop King, still holding Larissa close, growled, “Get out of my home. Leave this farm before nightfall, and do not return until you have answered your call and bonded with your true mate.”
His arm curled protectively around Larissa’s shoulders, and Jonas frowned in confusion. Though his mind had become a scrambled labyrinth of disjointed thoughts and desires, something struck him as amiss.
Bishop King’s thumb brushed ever so slightly over Larissa’s shoulder. Jonas’s stare moved to her eyes. Her restraint went beyond simple obedience. There was something else keeping her by the bishop’s side, something strong and unquivering.
Loyalty.
Jonas’s head cocked. “Where is Silus?”
“Silus is an issue that does not concern you. You have enough on your plate. Do as I command.”
“I will not leave until I have my daughter’s word that she will go to my wife.”
“You will do as I say!” The bishop stormed, the force of his roar ramming Jonas’s body into the wall.
Larissa gasped. “Don’t! He’s my father!”
“Then he should behave as such.” Turning his glare back on Jonas, the bishop seethed. “Do not assume to put your wife’s safety before that of my mate’s.”
Through the clouded puzzle of his exhausted mind, Jonas struggled to make sense of the bishop’s words. “Mate?”
“Yes,” he growled through clenched fangs. “Now you understand my refusal for your request. I will put her first in every decision I make, even if it means others will suffer. As her father, you should feel the same.”
“Then you should understand my loyalty to Abilene—”
“She is not your mate! This is nonsense, Jonas! Enough is enough. If you want to save your family from any more pain, follow your calling. Or so help me, I will punish you in ways you’ve never imagined.”
Larissa’s eyes closed and the bishop gripped her shoulders, pulling her face to his chest. She appeared to go willingly, and Jonas felt his paternal hold over her feather and fray.
It was starting. They were all turning their backs on him.
Head hanging low, he shuffled out of the cell, utterly alone and rejected. There was no mercy for him here.
Glancing back, he noted the protective way the bishop clenched his hand around his daughter’s shaking shoulders. The bishop’s refusal to execute Jonas had nothing to do with right and wrong or mercy and duty, but everything to do with a male not willing to hurt his mate unnecessarily. And there was no greater force than a male’s need to protect his mate from harm.
There was no hope left for him where the bishop was concerned. No hope left that his children might aid him. Perhaps, no hope left within the farm.
No one stopped him as he exited the long hall. Nor did anyone interfere with his departure from the building. This was his end, his solitary farewell. It was a dark and lonesome exodus.
As he stepped into the light, he hissed with renewed agony. The afternoon sun burned through his clothing and flesh, heating his skin so hot that the steaming pores scorched the fibers of his shirt.
He stumbled and lurched for shade. But the longer he searched, the worse his vision became. Crawling toward the shadows of a nearby barn, his eyes wept reflexively from the blinding pain.
He was a disgrace. Weakened by his resistance, he’d soon be helpless to protect himself from the consequences of his condition. If he didn’t feed soon, find nourishment that might actually sustain him, he was going to fall victim to the powerful sun and find himself stranded in the open to burn alive. Perhaps that was exactly the fate he deserved.