The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

“Why won’t you answer me? Will they kill you?” I struggle in his hold. “This can’t be the only choice. There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t, little lamb. Do you trust me?” He kisses me again, his tongue asserting ownership.

When he lets up, I breathe out a yes. “But I don’t want you to—”

“I’m sorry.” He slaps a hand over my mouth and thrusts hard, seating himself deep inside me without warning.

His palm catches my cry, and he thrusts hard again. Searing heat cuts through me, and I know he’s drawn blood. Rough and hard, he makes me his. No one could miss what’s going on, could mistake what we’re doing for anything other than what it is—a brutal claiming.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again and releases his hold on my mouth.

I kiss him through my tears and wrap my arms around his neck. He slows his harsh pace, loving me instead of fucking me. I relax, the pain fading as he moves in and out, hypnotic like the ocean. My hips surge up to his rhythm, meeting him stroke for stroke.

Even now, he can twist me until I’m drawn tight, my body needing a release that only he can give. He picks up his pace as someone starts beating on the door.

Grace yells his name.

“Ignore that. Look at me. Only me.” He slides his hand between us and strokes my clit.

I hold eye contact, our communion deeper than it ever has been. Two souls entwined around each other as we leap over the edge.

More voices add to Grace’s, men this time, and someone starts pounding against the door so hard the light overhead flickers.

“Only me, Delilah.” He kisses me again. “Only me.”

“Emily.” I stroke a hand down his cheek as my body begins to let go. “Call me Emily.”

“My Emily.” He strokes me faster, and I fall, my body clenching around him as I call out his name. He thrusts deep and grunts, masculine and perfect as his cock kicks inside me, coating me with him. My orgasm rolls over and over, and he kisses me again.

“I love you, Emily,” he whispers against my lips. “Please remember that I love you, no matter what happens.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to say it back, just takes my lips in a searing kiss, and keeps kissing me until the door splinters and the Protectors rush in.

We only break contact when they yank him off me and drag him away. I scream and try to reach for him, but a Protector throws me on the bed and backhands me. The pain shocks me, and I get my last glimpse of Adam through watery eyes.

“Don’t move, slut.” The Protector glowers at me with cruel eyes as the rest of them follow Adam into the main hall.

He doesn’t yell, even when I hear impacts of skin on skin. They’re hurting him, maybe killing him.

“Stop!” I try to dart past the Protector again, but he grabs me by the hair and shoves me face first onto the bed.

“I may as well have a go since you’re already ruined.” His hot breath burns my neck and I struggle, fighting against his hold on my hair.

“Get off me!”

A pained groan sounds from the hall, and I know in my bones that it’s Adam.

“Stay still, whore.” The Protector shoves me down harder and tries to push my knees apart.

“That’s enough!” Chastity’s voice breaks through the noise.

“Bitch, you don’t tell me when it’s enough.” The Protector lets me go and grabs Chastity, slamming her against the wall. “Or do you want the same treatment as this whore over here?”

“Zion!” The Prophet’s voice booms through the room, and Zion releases Chastity.

“Sir?”

“Bring the girl to the house.” He points at me.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do not touch her, understand? There may still be some value in her.” He grimaces at me, then turns to the beating in the hall. “Take him to the Rectory.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chastity darts away from the wall and picks up my dress, then helps me get it on. Zion eyes us, but waits outside the room.

“What’s going to happen?” My voice is small and shaky, and I try to get a glimpse of what’s going on in the hall. There’s too many bodies blocking my view.

Chastity’s fingers tremble as she tucks my hair behind my ears. “I don’t know.”

“Will he kill Adam?” I can’t stop the sob that bursts out on his name.

“Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.” She kisses my forehead. “We’re on the verge of something. I can feel it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have friends, Delilah. Remember that.” She turns me and guides me into the hall toward Zion. “She’s ready.”

I cover my mouth when I see the blood on the floor, and the marks showing where they dragged him away.

“Come on.” Zion grabs my elbow and hauls me to the rear door.