The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

A drip from above smashes against my forehead. And that’s when I feel myself shatter. I scream and strain and fight, but I go nowhere. She’s lying. I try to shake her tenterhooks free from my mind, but the barbs are in deep. I bite my gag and try to kick free. I barely move. The struggle ends quickly, when my last bit of energy fades. And suddenly, I know she’s right. She’s been right all along. I don’t belong here. I am filthy. I’ve failed Georgia and myself. I am not worthy of the Cloister, and certainly not of the Prophet or his son.

“The only way to free yourself from your prison of sin is to accept the Prophet.” She leans next to my ear. “You must be in perfect obedience to him. Offer everything you are to him. Beg for forgiveness.”

I can see it in my mind. Bending before the Prophet, offering him my body, my soul, my everything. And my heart finally seems to beat again.

Drip.

My fears fall away. This place is only temporary. A short stop on my way to salvation. The Prophet is the key.

I want to say yes, to beg to see him, but the gag prevents it.

Grace leaves, closing the door and entombing me in darkness.

The Prophet will save me. I thought that Adam cared about me. I was wrong. I thought I was here to find the truth about Georgia. Wrong again.

I’m here to serve the Prophet. Hot tears pour from my eyes as the truth settles inside me like a seed, sprouting and growing. The Prophet. He is my only love, my only light, and my salvation.

Chapter 4

Adam

After another night of barely sleeping, I wake early as I hear Noah’s footsteps echoing on the polished wood stairs. I sit up and rub my eyes, then glance at my alarm clock. Daybreak is in half an hour.

“Is Dad coming?” I ask as Noah walks in my bedroom door.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” I rise and stride to my bathroom, the polished marble reminding me of a crypt.

“Craig’s already in the back of my car with Gray and Zion.”

I stare at my haggard face in the mirror. “Does he know we’re going to the river?”

“No, but he’s shaking and stuttering. Probably thinks it’s the cross.”

“He might have preferred the cross when that cold water hits him.” I pick out some jeans and a t-shirt. “You got the waders?”

“In the trunk.” He sits on my bed and glances at the blanket on the floor. “You sleep?”

“Enough.”

“So, that’s a no.”

I pull my white t-shirt over my head and grab my belt. The one I’d used on her. I have an instinct to press the leather against my cheek, hoping for some sort of phantom warmth or her scent.

“You okay?” Noah rises.

I glance at him. “Better than you are. You buttoned your shirt crooked.”

He looks down and grins. “Well, shit.”

“Fix it in the car.” I walk past the door across from mine—the one I never open—and pound down the stairs, my hollow footsteps bouncing off the walls. The four bedroom house was meant for a family, the hardwood floors and luxurious furnishings perfect for one of my father’s favored Protectors. Instead, he gave the house to me, to keep me close, to keep an iron grip on every move I make. Classy and classic, the home is far nicer than the ones I grew up in. And though there are no bars on the beveled windows, it’s a prison all the same.

The brisk morning air hits me full force as I walk down the brick front steps, Noah at my side. White exhaust puffs from the black sedan waiting in my driveway.

“I’ll drive. You fix your shirt.” I slide into the driver’s seat and cast a glance at the rearview. A ghostly-white Craig doesn’t meet my gaze.

I would like to say I don’t enjoy this. But Craig is a vicious son-of-a-bitch, and he deserves every bit of what’s coming to him. More, if I’m being honest. I find myself hurrying through the Compound, speeding toward Craig’s chilly punishment. When we pass the clearing where three crosses are set deep in the Alabama clay, Craig lets out a low sigh of relief. I smile and gas it, almost getting some air over the next rise. Noah shoots me a worried look, but doesn’t say anything.

We veer away from the main buildings and pass the guarded road that leads to the Cathedral, then head deeper into the woods. When the dark river emerges ahead of us, Craig makes a noise low in his throat. Fear permeates the air, and I flex my fingers. I’m ready.

I pull up to a gravel area at the water’s edge. Boulders and mossy rocks appear along the edges of a wide pool with overhanging trees. In the day, the water is almost clear. But now, when the sun hasn’t risen, it’s gloomy and bottomless.