"How find you her, warrior?"
"Resplendent." The word came out of his mouth from nowhere. Then he added, "Worth of the fairest tradition of the Chosen."
"Ah, now, that is the proper response. As acceptance has been made, I pronounce this female as the Primale's selection. Complete the incense bathing."
In his peripheral vision, Phury was aware of two Chosen coming out with staffs that had smoky white trails drifting from them. As they began to sing in high, crystal voices, he breathed in deep, sifting through a garden's bloom of female scents.
He found the intended's. Had to be hers, because it was the only one in the whole place that was spelling out pure terror-
"Stop the ceremony," V said in a hard voice.
The Scribe Virgin's head twisted over to him. "They shall finish it."
"The hell they will." The brother got up out of his throne and marched onto the stage, having obviously caught the scent as well. As he came forward, the Chosen let out squeaks of alarm and broke ranks. While the females scattered and their white robes whipped around, Phury thought of a stack of paper napkins at a picnic, blowing away all willy-nilly, skipping along the grass.
Except this was no Sunday in the park.
Vishous yanked the intended's jeweled robing back together, then tore free the binds. As she sagged, he caught her by the arm and held her up. "Phury, I'll meet you back home."
Wind began to rip around, emanating from the Scribe Virgin, but V held his own, facing off with his… well, his mother, apparently.
Mother, Christ, never saw that one coming.
V had a death grip on the poor female and a face full of hatred as he stared at the Scribe Virgin. "Phury, get the fuck out of here."
Even though Phury was a peacekeeper at heart, he knew better than to intercede in this kind of family squabble. The best he could to was pray his brother didn't come back in an urn.
Before he took off, he had one last look at the female's hooded form. V was now holding her with both hands, as she appeared to have passed out. Jesus Christ… What a mess.
Phury turned and beat feet back down the white silk runner toward the Scribe Virgin's Courtyard. First stop? Wrath's study. The king was going to have to know what went down. Even though clearly the biggest part of the story had yet to play out.
Chapter Thirty-five
When Cormia came to, she was stretched out flat on her back, the robing still on, the hood in place. She didn't think she was on that board she'd been strapped to, however. No… she wasn't on-
It all came back to her: The Primale stopping the ceremony and freeing her. A vast wind blowing through the amphitheater. The Brother and the Scribe Virgin starting to argue.
Cormia had passed out at that point, missing what ensued. What had happened to the Primale? Surely he had not survived, as no one defied the Scribe Virgin.
"You want any of that off?" a hard male voice said.
Fear shot up her spine. Merciful Virgin, he remained herein.
Instinctively she curled into a ball to protect herself.
"Relax. I'm not going to do anything to you."
Going by his harsh tone of voice, she could not trust the words: Anger marked the syllables he spoke, turning them into verbal blades, and though she could not see his form, she could sense the awesome power in him. He was indeed the warrior son of the Bloodletter.
"Look, I'm going to take the hood off so you can breathe, okay?"
She tried to get away from him, tried to crawl from wherever she lay, but the robing tangled and trapped her.
"Hold up, female. I'm just trying to give you a break here."
She went dead still as his hands fell upon her, sure she would be beaten. Instead he merely loosened the top two fastenings and lifted the hood.
Sweet, clean air swept onto her face through the thin veil, a luxury like food to the hungry, but she couldn't draw much in. She was tight all over, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth drawn in a grimace as she braced herself for only the Virgin knew what.
Except nothing happened. He was with her still… she could catch his fearsome scent… and yet he touched her not, spoke no other words.
She heard a rasping sound and an inhale. Then she smelled something tangy and smoky. Like incense.
"Open your eyes." His voice was all command as it came from behind her.
She lifted her lids and blinked a number of times. She was on the stage at the amphitheater, facing outward toward an empty golden throne and a white silk runner that led up the hilly rise.
Heavy footsteps came around.
And there he was. Towering over her, bigger than anything she'd seen that breathed, his pale eyes and hard face so cold she recoiled.
He brought a thin white roll to his lips and inhaled. As he spoke, smoke came out of his mouth. "Told you. I'm not going to hurt you. What's your name?"
Through a tight throat, she rasped, "Chosen."
"That's what you are," he snapped. "I want your name. I want to know your name."
Was he allowed to ask her that? Was he-What was she thinking? He could do anything he wanted. He was the Primale. "C-C-Cormia."
"Cormia." He inhaled on the white thing again, the orange tip flaring up brightly. "Listen to me. Don't be scared, Cormia, okay?"
"Are you-" Her voice cracked. She wasn't sure whether she could question him, but she had to know. "Are you a god?"
His black eyebrows came down low over his white eyes. "Hell, no."
"But then how did you-"
"Speak up. I can't hear you."
She tried to make her voice stronger. "How then did you intercede with the Scribe Virgin?" As he glowered, she rushed to apologize. "Please, I mean not to offend-"
"Whatever. Look, Cormia, you're not into this mating thing with me, are you?" When she said nothing, his mouth compressed with impatience. "Come on, talk to me."
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
"Oh, for the love of God." He pushed a gloved hand through his dark hair and started pacing.
Surely he was a deity of some kind. He looked so fierce she wouldn't have been surprised if he called lightning from the sky.
He stopped and loomed over her. "I told you, I'm not going to hurt you. Goddamn, what do you think I am? A monster?"
"I have never seen a male before," she blurted. "I know not what you are."
That stopped him cold.
Jane woke up only because she heard a garage door squeaking, the high-pitched whine coming from the condo to the left of hers. Rolling over, she looked at the clock. Five in the afternoon. She'd slept most of the day.
Well, kind of slept. For the most part, she'd been trapped in a bizarre dreamscape, one in which images that were half-formed and hazy tormented her. A man was involved somehow, a big man who felt at once a part of her and yet utterly alien. She'd been unable to see his face, but she knew his smelclass="underline" dark spices, up close, in her nose, all around her, all over her-
That bone crusher of a headache flared up, and she dropped what she was thinking of like it was a hot poker and she was holding the wrong end. Fortunately, the pain behind her eyes eased off.
At the sound of a car engine, she lifted her head off the pillow. Through the window next to the bed she saw a minivan back down the driveway beside hers. Someone had moved in next door, and God, she hoped it wasn't a family. The walls between units were not as thin as an apartment building's, but they weren't bank-safe solid by a long shot. And screaming kids she could do without.
Sitting up, she felt beyond wretched and into a whole new category of dreck. Her chest was aching something fierce, and she didn't think it was muscular. Shifting around from side to side, she had some inclination that she'd felt like this once before, but she couldn't place when or where.
Showering was an ordeal. Hell, just making it into the bathroom was a chore. The good news was that the soap-and-rinse routine revived her a little, and her stomach seemed open to the idea of some food. Leaving her hair to air-dry, she went downstairs and fired up some coffee. The plan was to get her head into first gear, then return some phone calls. Come hell or high water she was going to work tomorrow, so she wanted to clear the decks as best she could before she went into the hospital.