She sank down and worked her hips, rolling them, riding him hard, and when Lucas’s eyes rolled toward the back of his head, she released Bubba and allowed Lucas to let go of the headboard. In one smooth motion, he had her on her back, her knees draped over his shoulders, ankles around her ears as he pounded into her, in revenge or punishment, she didn’t know, didn’t care, it felt so damn good she could barely gather the breath to cry out as he battered her pussy, shouting as he came and came and came.
His heated seed flooded her, and in symbiotic response her body convulsed, pussy clenching in continuous contraction, greedily consuming him as the rolling orgasm left her too weak to do anything but sink into the mattress. Lucas collapsed beside her, unconscious.
That was amazing, Stormy thought and closed her eyes, ready to follow Lucas into sleep. The buzzing vibrator forced her to sit up and ease the device from Lucas’s body.
With the last vestiges of her energy, she went to the bathroom, cleaned up their toy, wet a towel and went back into the bedroom to take care of Lucas before taking another shower. Stormy took two Motrin, turned out the lights and slipped beneath the covers, pulling them over a still-unresponsive Lucas. She kissed his temple.
This had been a crazy day, but it ended better than she ever could have imagined.
She closed her eyes, but thoughts of Lucas confronting his family in a few hours snapped them back open. She had no doubt of the violence and suffering he’d endure. She prayed for his protection. He’d given her his trust tonight and she had no intention of betraying it, not when he needed her most.
Cornelius woke violently, for no apparent reason. He hadn’t had a nightmare. It was quiet inside his room, equally as quiet outside. The Lord’s light hadn’t broken the oppressive darkness of night, yet it soon would; he knew it would.
Rising from his bed, he walked past the rows of empty cots to the window on the far wall and looked up. There were no stars shining down from above; if there were, he couldn’t see them through the trees. The dark heavens offered no relief from the confusion residing in his soul. He had no place to turn, no means to draw clarity as he struggled with so many conflicting thoughts and experiences.
The men and women on this mountain had not visited upon him the levels of physical punishment the Shepherd and his warriors had subjected Cornelius to—in the name of discipline and obedience. The people here had not shamed him for being weak. Outside the singular incident of violence from the hands of the dark-haired fallen, he was treated with kindness, with some measure of respect. Even the ones he believed to be possessed remained watchful, but they kept their distance. The power of God’s grace surely surrounded him, but it didn’t make his purpose here clearer.
The older woman, Mama, kept him filled with food that satisfied the depths of his soul. The Native American man spoke with him long into the night, fascinated by Cornelius’ stories of his home, his life, the spiritual teachings of the Shepherd.
Wouldn’t it be a boon if he could convert Terry, train him to understand the Shepherd’s teachings of God, transform a heathen into a soldier of the Lord? Did he have the power to persuade a man of intelligence into becoming a member of the shepherd’s flock? Terry seemed as wise as the Shepherd, he even displayed some measure of control over the possessed ones, and most importantly, he helped Cornelius to not feel as afraid or judged as Cornelius always had been at the Keep.
Lynx—what a strange name, but he was Asian after all—Lynx was very kind. He made Cornelius laugh, brought a lightness and joy to his heart. He also supplied Cornelius with DVDs depicting various stories of faith and devotion, but none quite encompassed the beliefs and rituals of the Shepherd’s order. Cornelius had not realized how small his worldview had been until coming here.
Delivered to the Shepherd’s Order at a young age, Cornelius had strategically erased the feelings of terror and grief he’d felt when separated from his family. He’d buried the memories of his parent’s house in upstate New York, buried the love, the happiness; it all had to be stripped away in order to survive at the Shepherd’s Keep.
The longer he was here on this mountain, the more his childhood memories returned, making him want a life without the Shepherd, without the order. The memories made him feel so vulnerable, so confused over his path. If he hadn’t had them, he wouldn’t be so conflicted, but he was remembering a happier time, a different life, and yes, without question, there was darkness here, but there was also life and light. Spirit was alive here—he couldfeelit—and a part of him wanted to stay, wanted to live among them. In time, perhaps he could even expel the demons influencing the fallen ones, help them see that they could be far more powerful in the light of the Lord than in the shadows of evil.
Cornelius was giddy with all the possibilities this new life could bring. Yes, the Shepherd would seek to return him to the order, but Mama and Terry would defend his right to be here, and if the Shepherd would not see reason—for he was not often a reasonable man—the fallen could be used to fight on his behalf.
Kneeling onto the hard floor, Cornelius laced his fingers together and closed his eyes. He had to be clear that this path was not of his ego’s making, that it wasn’t a decision built on cowardice and fear as many of his past decisions had been.
Though God was often silent when Cornelius sought his guidance, the Shepherd taught that one must always pray for direction;for without prayer the act will not be based on the will of God, but on the will of man.
Cornelius prayed for God to show him the way. Prayed that he bestow upon him the clarity to recognize the truth of all things and the courage to do what he must.
“I know I have been unworthy of your favor, my Lord, but this time I pray that—”
There was a whisper of movement across the room and Cornelius was immobilized by fear. He was loath to open his eyes, he wouldn’t, he didn’t like seeing what came for him in the dark hours, it was never good, and prayers had never saved him.
But this was a new life, could be a new beginning.
Courage,he admonished himself,you walk in God’s love, courage is all that is required of you.
He opened his eyes and he felt a moment of embarrassment. There were no monsters ready to drag him from his cot and tear his flesh apart. This was Mama’s House, not the Shepherd’s Keep.
Courage.
But he would not look left or right, could not look across the room where the sound originated. Instead he raised his arms up toward the heavens and began to pray in earnest.
“…be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil—”
“For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places.Ephesians 6:10-12,” an angelic voice called out, speaking with a conviction and clarity stronger than his own.
Was she mocking him, revealing to God and the darkness his weaknesses, his unworthiness?
Soft orange light sprung to life.
A diminutive figure crouched in the corner near the door, her back to the wall, her feet planted wide apart. Between her thighs she gripped the neck of a half-empty bottle of brown liquor. The flickering flame of the lighter made the tattoos on her body appear to shift, as if coming to life, and still she remained a vision of beauty, one who watched him silently as she slid up the wall, her resentment striking him as if it were a physical force.
