Fear the Wicked (Illusions Series Book 2)(67)
My head shook before I could utter the word “No.”
Elijah’s lips twisted into a wicked smile, his eyes blazing with the need to punish, to teach a lesson, to dominate. I’ve seen that fire behind his stare so many times, and each time only led to a lesson more horrifying than the last. Instinctively, I moved to avoid him when he lunged toward me, but the haze of sleep slowed me down, the weakness in my body from having been sick for what felt like weeks. Wrapping a strong hand over my wrist, he pulled me from the mattress, ignoring the cry of pain that shot from my lips when my hip impacted the floor.
“Get up,” he demanded, the frigid temperature of those words freezing me in place.
Shaking my head again, I did so with the knowledge that my refusal would only anger him more. There was no denying Elijah – especially when he was like this. I was going wherever he wanted me to go and seeing whatever he wanted me to see. Refusing only made the journey more painful. But yet, there I was, crying and shaking my head, silently begging him to let me go. Why couldn’t I just get up and do as I was told? What remnant still existed of the girl I once had been before he transformed me that night in the cabin? I wanted to find that piece inside me and shake it free. Wanted to become the wife he needed, the one he promised me I could be.
Jerked from the floor, I was planted on my feet, turned toward the door and shoved forward. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where he was leading me. Quickly he led me down the same halls and around the same turns toward the sanctuary that I had traveled earlier. Without speaking a word, he stopped me before the large double doors that led inside the room where I’d earlier watched Elijah and two other men punish the man who had attacked me on the side of the road so many months ago. Hadn’t the beating he’d endured that night been enough? Why did Elijah feel the need to hunt him down, drag him to the compound and punish him all over again?
Was it because for the original sin the man had committed against me? Or was it because I’d taken what happened that night and held on to it as a sinful fantasy?
I wasn’t sure that killing the man would free me of the memory, would vanquish the lustful thoughts I had about another man forcing himself inside me. Even now, I shivered at the memory, both the fear that I’d felt and the heat of his skin pressed against my body.
“Are you ready to face your demon again, beautiful girl? Are you ready to vanquish him from your body entirely? To chase the fantasy until it dissipates into the ether, disappearing into Hell where it belongs?” Elijah’s chest pressed to my back, his hand reaching around to splay over my stomach. “Are you excited to know that I’ll give you this one final moment with him so that you can finally say goodbye?”
I shook against him, both mortified and anxious, trembling with my own dark needs and anticipation for a release. It had been so long, so lonely with him gone, and despite knowing what horror awaited me in the room beyond those large double doors, I found myself enjoying his closeness, his touch, the whispered threat against my ear. I loved this man, fiercely and without question, and I’d come to understand that if I couldn’t have his tenderness in return, I was willing to enjoy the abuse he offered.
It didn’t matter to me either way, just as long as it was his hands against my body, his breath brushing my ear, his power pumping between my legs each time he reminded me what it meant to be his wife.
Reaching around me, Elijah’s breath was hot against the side of my face, his heart a thumping drum against my back. Slowly he turned the knob and pushed the door open, the sanctuary coming into view with low lighting and the flicker of a thousand candles. Only once had I seen it so beautiful, so mesmerizing that it trapped the breath in my lungs making it impossible for me to breath in the scent of incense that was a haze of swirling smoke through the room.
The stygian silence reached out to embrace me, drawing me into the room as Elijah led me from behind. They worked in tandem, the two threats, the anticipation and fear, the cavernous space and the cold man standing at my back. Before I could look over to where I knew the two crosses stood, Elijah’s hand came up to cover my eyes.
“No peeking,” he whispered, “I want this to be a surprise.”
Walking me farther into the room, he led me around the benches, chairs and pews, guiding me without so much as letting my knee bump against any of the furniture. It was just like Elijah, so angry that he felt compelled to punish me, yet still watching out not to damage me by mistake. Every bruise, every lash, every mark he left on me was with intention, it was an art to a man like him, the type of branding that screamed to any person who saw it that I was owned by a powerful being, that he had left his calling card as a means to keep the demons at bay.
Except for one man, that was, the one I knew he was leading me to see. He hadn’t noticed the mark of God left on my skin, he hadn’t cared that I was an angel born on this Earth to chase the darkness away and help lead humanity to the light. He’d been blinded by what he thought was my innocent faith without realizing that the power I carried inside me came from the right hand of the Almighty – the new chosen one – the new savior – Elijah.
We stopped finally, Elijah once against pressing his body to mine. Without removing his right hand from my eyes, he used his left to tilt my chin, position my face where I would see the sight he’d created for me, where I would flutter open my eyes to be embraced by the truth of his ultimate power.