I don’t get one swing off before Alden pins them above my head, taking what he wants from me. I jerk my chin, trying to move my head, but he holds me here with the strength of his jaw alone.
Then, I feel him. His naked erection rubbing me. Terror jolts through me. He wouldn’t. Not before the ritual.
Despite the revulsion in my mind, my body still responds. It’s what I hate most. What I fear most is how it could come true. I know I’ll last longer than most, but all his brides end up one way or another. Brainwashed or hollow. No in between.
I can’t pretend I’ll be able to defy him forever. Especially if I end up carrying his child for any reason, though that seems unlikely given how sterile he is. He’s had only a few hits duringall his years of trying to knock up women, but no real successes. Stillbirths. Miscarriages.
Those ones ended up hollow. Like my girlfriend.
The mind can only take so much. And the body.
I try not to respond. Give him nothing when he kisses his way down my body, gripping my jaw with his other hand to anchor me. I clench my eyes shut, hissing when he sucks my breast, circling his tongue around one erect nipple. Refuse to look at him, to fall sway to his magnetism and hypnotic handsomeness.
He’s a predator. But not like Raphael.
“So beautiful, my Bri,” he murmurs at my breast, flicking the nipple. “It’s almost dawn. By nightfall, you will be mine in every sense of the word.” He kisses each nipple with reverence.
“Never,” I rasp, biting back a whimper.
With a dark laugh, he lowers his hand from my jaw to knead my breast hard, twisting my nipple until I choke on a sharp breath. Now, he mashes my hands against my stomach so he can make his way to my pussy. I try to close my legs, lock them up tight, but he jabs his knee between them, forcing them apart. When I buck, he pinches my nipple, hard and punishing.
“Ungh!” I cry out from the pain, but the pleasure spreads through me like liquid gold when he puts his mouth on me.
Just like the previous night, he drinks from me, lapping his tongue along my pubic lips, sinking it lower to taste my fluids. At the same time, he rubs his thumb around my nipple.
And just as he injects two fingers in me, pumping until my inner muscles flutter, he pulls out before I can climax.
“Naughty girl,” he croons, cupping my jaw again. I glower, hating his beauty, the magnetism he uses to seduce everyone. “So wet for her future husband.”
I lurch, launching my spit in his face.
He squeezes, digging his fingers into my jaw, no doubt leaving bruises as he growls against my mouth. “You are mine,Gabriella. I’ve waited five years for you, little girl. You will soon accept your lot and the honor to be my bride and bear my child.”
“You’ll choke on your ‘honor’ before I ever call you husband,” I spit. “And you will spend every night having to sleep with one eye open. Because every moment of every day, I’ll be plotting your demise, Alden.”
He huffs, shoving me back while rising. “I look forward to breaking you, little Bri.”
I avoid the sight of him naked, the ridges of muscle he’s built over the years. It would be easier if he were old, gray, crinkly, ugly. But Alden has the stamina on every level to claim me. He won’t stop until he owns every part of me.
“My other wives will prepare you now.” He implies, sinister.
A wave of chills overwhelms me at the subtle tone in that statement. As he unashamedly goes to the bedroom door and opens it, welcoming several women into the room—all clothed in ceremonial royal blue like twisted priestesses—I gather the sheets around myself, wrapping them tighter and tighter.
They fawn over Alden first, their hands touching him, worshiping him. I wrinkle my nose and ignore the heat swelling between my thighs as he kisses each of them, then throws on his robe, and nods to me. “Enjoy your time, Gabriella.”
Once he’s left, all the women turn to me, eager as hungry lionesses. Shit. Seven of them. Only one of me. No escape. And I know how they intend to “prepare” me.
It doesn’t stop me from thrashing and struggling as much as possible until my body aches, my chest heaves, and my scar screams. It’s no use. All I manage to do is wear myself out. In the end, they’ve torn the sheets from my body, and two hold my arms while two others sit on my legs. The one in the royal blue dress with a white sash leans over me, her knuckles brushing my cheek. I flinch, glaring.
I recognize her. Huldah. Alden’s head wife. She’s been with him for twenty years, but she looks like she hasn’t aged a day. She’s disgustingly beautiful. The kind of woman with curves in all the right places, long rippling blonde hair, blemish-free skin, and big breasts, which he loves.
“Don’t worry, love,” Hulda says, touching my forehead. “We will take good care of you. We always take care of our own.”
“Get the fuck away from me,” I fume through my nostrils.
“We serve the Prophet,” she patronizes me. “Today, we serve you as we prepare you for your new life. Phoebe,” she directs to a woman on my right.
“Such pretty hair,” the brunette remarks, combing her fingers through my curls. “I will be honored to adorn your glory.”
