She takes my glass, setting it next to hers on the bookshelf.
“That’s how I know that won’t happen to you,” she says as she steps in close, wrapping her arms around me. Her warmth spreads like embers across my chest. She stands on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear, “You’re strong, Clay.”
My skin explodes in goose bumps. The feel of her breath on my skin only fans the flames.
She unzips her hoodie, letting it drop to the floor. I try not to look, but I can’t help it. She’s wearing a white, loose-fitting silk camisole. No bra. “Feel my heart, Clay.” She places my hand on her chest. Her heartbeat is like an arrow shooting straight through my palm—strong and steady. The room seems to be spinning around us.
“You must know I’ve been waiting for you all this time.”
Her fingers move down my chest and I swear I can see trails of sunlight and electricity sparking from her fingertips.
She pulls me over to the leather ottoman and lies back, stretching out her long tan legs.
I sit beside her on the edge, willing the room to stop moving. The nail studs securing the leather to the bottom of the bench feel good, like chips of ice against my feverish fingertips.
Ali pulls her rich brown hair over her shoulder. I fixate on the brand on the back of her neck.
When she catches my stare, she says, “In some cultures a woman is marked when she’s ready.”
“Ready for what?” I ask.
“Ready to become a woman … to receive his love.”
“Whose love?”
“Yours, Clay.” She wets her lips and pulls me down to lay beside her, kissing my ear, my neck. I try to lift my head and get up, but I can’t. It feels too good. I gaze up at the chandelier, hundreds of facets sparkling like our own universe.
And in the blink of an eye, she’s on top of me. I can’t stop staring at the strap of her camisole, teetering on the edge of her shoulder blade. One tiny move and it could slip right off. Or I could make it slip.
She follows my gaze and shrugs, letting the strap fall. “I think you’re ready, too.”
I try to keep my eyes focused on hers, but the pull of her bare breast is too strong to ignore. It reminds me of the vision I had when I saw her climbing out of the cow. I know I should feel disgusted by it, but I don’t. Instead, something primal rises inside of me. Sitting up, I grasp the back of her neck, kissing her deeply. That overwhelming feeling takes over every part of me. I run my hands down the curve of her waist, and she whispers, “Blessed is the seed.”
“What did you say?” A dark ripple of static rushes through me.
“I said, what more do you need.”
She starts kissing my neck again and I could so easily close my eyes and disappear into her skin, but that feeling of unease won’t leave me. I have the strangest sensation, like we’re being watched. My eyes settle on the photograph of our ancestors. I’m drawn to a girl around Jess’s age, holding a doll. “I know that doll,” I say as I untangle myself from Ali and make my way over to it. It looks like the same doll Noodle’s been dragging around since Dad’s funeral. I yank it off the wall to get a better look, accidentally dropping it to the hardwood floor.
As I’m leaning over trying to gather the shattered glass, I see a small tear in the photo, exposing something beneath … a glimpse of handwriting. I break out the rest of the glass, peeling back the photograph to reveal an old tattered document, with a torn edge, bearing the signatures of the founding families. It’s the missing page. The missing piece of the prophecy.
On this day, we form a covenant to protect, serve, and honor our lord. In exchange for these parcels of land we hereby pledge our sixth generation to usher in a new age. Once the seed has been selected, once the blood of the golden calf has been spilled, there will be ten sacrifices. Only the chosen one will be allowed to care for our lord.
“It’s true.” I inhale sharply. “All of it. They sold our souls for land,” I say to Ali, but it’s like she’s looking right through me. “Did you hear me?”
“We can talk about that later.” Ali kneels on the bench, her bare skin glistening in the candlelight. “Come back to me.”
Something’s off. Something’s very wrong … with her … with this place. “I … I need to get out of here.” I shove the piece of paper in my pocket and frantically start pressing on the paneled wall until the door pops open.
I can’t look back, I can’t hesitate, or I know I’ll never be able to leave this room. As I careen up the stairs, every cell in my body screams at me to go back, but I keep pressing forward.
As I stagger into the hallway, I hear whispering. I move toward the sound. It’s coming from Mr. Neely’s office. I place my hand on the doorknob, afraid to open it … afraid not to.