The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

“The wine.” I tap Sarah on the shoulder. She looks up at me with big brown eyes that swirl and sparkle.

When she smiles, her effervescent soul shimmers between her lips. “I want more.”

“I think it’s been laced with—”

“Delilah, my child. Come.” The Prophet crooks his finger at me, the wide smile back in place and dazzling like a toothpaste commercial.

I stand on wobbly feet and walk to him, then plop down at his side. He pulls me close.

“You are chosen. Better than every other female in the world. Truly special and blessed. When the world ends, and I ascend to the heavenly throne, you will be at my side, for you are the most precious of all my Maidens, holy in the light of your Prophet.”

I close my eyes as his words sink into me like his fingertips into the flesh of my waist. Or does he have claws? Tilting my head back, I open my eyes and stare at the golden cross above me, upside down and pointing toward me. Damnation hangs over my head. Isn’t that what this is?

“Your whole life, people have scorned you for this.” He strokes down my cheek, then runs my long hair between his fingers. “Isn’t that true, Delilah?”

I refocus on him, his dark eyes swallowing me like a bottomless void. “Yes. They used to call me Casper, or Powder, or ask me if I was late for the Queen of Heart’s party.”

He strokes my cheek gently with a warmth that coats my senses. “They were jealous of you. They could see the heavenly spark that lives here.” He strokes my left breast only once then returns his fingertips to my face, his voice hypnotic. “And they wanted it for themselves. But you saved yourself for the Prophet. Isn’t that right?”

“For the Prophet.” I nod, my brain sloshing through my skull.

“Here, you are cherished, loved, and protected. The filthy men out there who want to hurt you, to take your spark, to abuse your purity, they can’t touch you here. I will keep all your enemies at bay and force them to grovel at your feet. For you are my beloved.” He kisses my forehead. “Now go forth in the knowledge that you have been chosen by your Prophet, and you are holy in his sight.”

I rise and manage to return to my cushion as Sarah takes my spot on the crimson throne. But the crimson dais is no longer static. It pulses. Like a beating heart. And tendrils of light flow from it to each Maiden, touching her chest. One tickles against my left breast, reaching into my body and wrapping around my heart in a gentle embrace.

I am chosen. I am loved. I am made whole through the will of the Prophet.

Georgia flits in and out of my vision, her golden hair flowing out behind her like a river of heaven. She’s dancing, floating, spinning. I want to follow her, to tell her how much I miss her. She moves farther away, her light fading but her connection to me still shining brightly. We will always be connected, always be there for each other. My eyelids grow heavy, but something pulls my gaze to the gloom that rings the circle of light created by the Prophet.

A man watches me. I know him. Adam. He waits in the outer darkness, his teeth bared, his soul corrupted, and his heart crying out for my blood.

Chapter 11

Adam

The look on her face chills me to the fucking bone, which is saying something.

She’s in the grips of the LSD, her pupils huge as she watches me. I wonder what she sees, what picture my father painted for her as she sat by his side, his lecherous hands caressing her fair skin.

I know the litany, the lies, the promises of being the chosen one. But why does she look at me as if I’m a threat when it’s obviously the snake who was only moments ago whispering in her ear?

Noah snickers. “Do you see mine?”

His Maiden seems to be chasing invisible butterflies, her body swaying as she swirls and dives for whatever she sees. But I can’t take my eyes off Delilah for long. She’s beyond stunning, like a princess from some fairytale that normal children heard at bedtime. Every movement, every glance from her, sets me on alert. My palms sweat from the need to touch her, to drag her away from the drugged indulgence. But this is just the first of many visits to the Temple, and I’m rooted to the spot, frozen like always.

She relaxes on her pillows, her wide eyes taking everything in, but whenever she looks in my direction, her delicate brows draw together.

My father finishes with the last Maiden, sending her off to collapse onto her sister Maidens in a peal of giggles.