Page 25 of Bloodmoon Ritual

“When his Congregation falls?” I cried, as Rhyder threw a leg over the motorcycle, hopping on behind me, pulling me back so my ass hit his thighs. “I didn’t hear anything about that.”

He kicked at the stand with one enormous black boot.

“He will fall,” my brother said confidently, his big arms on the motorcycle bars, trapping me between them.

Just like he had always wanted.

“Why do you think that?” I asked.

“The Allfather is on our side,” Rhyder said as he turned the bike around. “Holy War is coming. Soon.”

Fuck, I thought.

The only thing more dangerous than my Congregation would be my Congregation under the protective power of Holy War, which meant even more death and destruction could be wreaked on those viewed as in the way.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

The citywouldbe in danger during a Holy War. Everyone knew the Unsaved were only a shadow government. Congregations ran the whole damn country, and Ronan’s had run the northwest for decades.

Unless Ronan fell fast, this Holy War could devastate the entire countryside.

“He’s a False Prophet, anApostate,” Rhyder said. “Our Prophet has been impressed by the Allfather that Ronan is outside Holy Writ.”

I suppressed a gasp.Apostatemeant even the minimal rules of engagement in the Congregations no longer applied. An immoral Apostate could be killed on sight. And any Holy Warrior like my brother had the moral obligation to kill Ronan the moment they saw him.

“We have been doing holy prayer and fasting in preparation for raids,” Rhyder said, his voice a hum of pleasure against my back. “The Allfather has guided me to you so I can protect you.The Allfather is good.All the time.”

His big hand gripped my thigh, keeping my dress bunched lasciviously around my hips. But I didn’t make the expected response.

The wordsAll the time, the Allfather is goodstuck deep in my throat.

It was so strange to be between my brother’s legs on a motorcycle again, the feel of his protection achingly familiar despite not having seen him for six years.

And if there was holy prayer and fasting, Rhyder would have prayed the hardest, fastest the longest.

He had always been the most zealous in the service of our Congregation, our Prophet, the Allfather.

My mother had been killed, and my father had been harshly punished for it, but no one had ever accused Rhyder of disloyalty. From the very earliest age it was possible, he had been a holy warrior, first to fight and best and strongest on raids. I remembered that feeling of nerves when he went out on them at first, frightened by the knives he wielded.

But Rhyder was so good he was rarely even touched in battle.

“I need to go to my apartment,” I said. “I don’t even have shoes.”

My feet were dirty, bare, looking ridiculously tiny compared to Rhyder’s enormous boots.

“All right,” he said. “Give me the directions.”

His hand moved further up my leg, squeezing the skin, the big fingers splayed out to cover my whole thigh.

I tried to shake his hand off, but he only clamped on tighter.

“Mine,” he said, and I gasped as his fingers curved into my pussy, my panties stretched tight against flesh that seemed far too wet, and there was a grunt of something between pleasure and pain as he pressed me again his broad chest.

“As soon as my blood covers you, sweet little sister, I own you.”

“Little?” I shot back at him, trying to wriggle out of his grip, writhe away from the fingers that were sending pulses of heat through me. “You’re literally nine fucking seconds older than me.”

“That’s right,” he said. “And those nine fucking seconds mean I own you and I always will.”

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