The sound of running feet came toward me, no doubt the guards coming to punish me. Prophet Cain held out his free hand, and they stopped.
I stayed still, my hand paralyzed on his. With his free hand, he grasped hold of my wrist. When I met his eyes they were filled with challenge and anger. I opened my mouth to apologize, but my heart would not let me utter the words.
Prophet Cain squeezed my wrist until the pain became an inferno on my skin, my bone under pressure from his vise-like grip. His head tipped to the side as he slowly rose from the floor.
His chest scraped against my breasts, his fingers tightening around my wrist until I released my clutch on his hand on my thigh. He pulled me flush against him, his cheek brushing past mine, his mouth landing next to my ear.
I froze.
The prophet’s hand on my thigh began moving upward to my most private place. I closed my eyes. He was too strong to fight off. I did not even try. He was the prophet. No one went against the leader of our faith.
I had to let him do as he wished.
Prophet Cain’s warm breath circled my ear as he exhaled. “A whore that likes to fight before she is celestially cleansed?” I felt him smile against the shell of my ear. “My favorite kind of sinner. One that needs to be broken, then made pure by my hands.” His warm breath brought out cold goosebumps on my neck. “It is the evil resisting my exorcising touch. That evil will never overcome me, whore. You should learn that lesson now.”
On his final word, Prophet Cain cupped me harshly between my legs. I cried out. My wrist, still in his grip, was trapped between our chests, preventing me from moving. The fingers between my thighs began slipping through my folds, slowly. My skin crawled with disgust. Tears of frustration built in my eyes, but I did not let the drops fall. I would not give him that satisfaction. I could not give any of these men that satisfaction.
The prophet ran his explorative fingers over my core, back and forth, back and forth. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to end. “Bare,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. I felt his hardness pressing against my hip, bile rising in my throat. “You have been prepared well. Ready for your prophet.”
I did not respond. He was not looking for me to say anything anyway. The men in my faith did not care for the feelings of the women.
I breathed deeply, long soothing inhales and exhales. Prophet Cain released me and pushed me backward. I cried out as searing pain radiated in my wrist, the blocked blood rushing to occupy my empty veins. I cradled it to my chest.
When I looked up, Prophet Cain was staring at me. There was challenge and excitement his eyes. At that moment I did not care how handsome the new prophet was, for his dark soul rendered him utterly unattractive to my eyes.
The prophet walked back to his seat, acting as though nothing had transpired between us. My dress remained up at one side, caught in my fallen headdress. I pushed the hem to my feet and clutched my veil and headdress to my chest.
I looked up as a young girl walked from the right-hand side of the room to stand next to the prophet. She was a pretty blonde with blue eyes. My stomach dropped. She looked no older than fourteen. She was just a child.
My stomach dropped further when she placed her hand on Prophet Cain’s shoulder and he covered her hand with his own. He looked up at her, and I could see the affection he held for her in his gaze. She was admiring him with the same, if not a greater, passion.
She was his consort.
I met the young girl’s eyes and was startled at the jealousy and envy shining from their bright depths. She was glaring at me with naked hatred. The prophet did not seem to notice, or care. He brought his lips to the back of her hand, then faced me once more.
“The Rapture is imminent, Cursed. I am sure you are aware of that fact. You will also know our scriptures prophesize that to save our people the prophet must wed a Cursed Sister of Eve.” He leaned forward. “For the longest time we feared all hope had been lost. No Cursed resided in New Zion . . . but now there is you.” Our eyes locked. “Just when I fear our Lord has abandoned us, he restores my faith tenfold.” I never broke his stare. I straightened my back and held my head high. Many seconds passed, then Prophet Cain’s upper lip hooked into a smirk.
I kept my face from showing any expression. I appeared stoic on the outside, but inside, I was trembling like a leaf in a storm.
Prophet Cain sat back, taking the girl’s hand in his own. It was obvious he loved the young girl, whatever his brand of love may be. It was even more clear that she was infatuated with him.
“We will wed soon, Cursed,” Prophet Cain declared. “Our people do not even know you exist. Their hope of being saved before the Second Coming is waning.” He pointed at me. “You will renew their spirit. When the time comes for them to take up arms against the devil’s men, you will help them gain the courage to fight.”
I looked at the girl again. The prophet must have seen my curiosity, for he said, “This is Sarai, Cursed. She is my head consort.” He kissed her hand. “She is my only consort at the moment. She is my heart.”
Gripping the material of my headdress tighter, I whispered, “Harmony.” I shook my head, unable to stop the anger bubbling under my skin. Unable to hold back my words.
“What?” the prophet asked, turning his attention away from his consort. I raised my head. My lips trembled when I saw his furious glare.
Swallowing, I cast a nervous look around the room. The guards were all staring at me in shock. I saw Solomon and Samson clenching their jaws in frustration. They were disappointed by my inability to be submissive.
“I said, what?” he repeated, his voice harder.