Page 68 of Bloodmoon Ritual

But then Rhyder spoke again.

“When the purification process is done,” he said, “I intend for Temperance to be my wife.”

“Wife?” the Prophet asked, clearly startled. “Whores cannot be Helpmeets.”

“She is pure of heart,” Rhyder insisted. “The Allfather will recognize her goodness.”

“We will speak about this later,” the Prophet said after a tense moment. “For now you may keep her in your home.”

Rhyder nodded, seeming pleased with this.

But the Prophet flicked another glance at me, and this one was longer, more measuring.

Assessing.

Like he was assessing a threat.

Me.

Slivers of fear shot through my body at the venom in his eyes.

Was he that angry at Rhyder for finding me?

Or would he have been very happy if I had never been found?

After dismissal, I started almost automatically heading toward the small wooden house I had shared with my brother, but he put a rough hand on my waist.

“Up here,” he said, pointing to a well-worn pathway. “To our old spot.”

There was a peak right outside the camp that we had often walked up together, taking bread and cheese and our after-supper work, which was often sharpening knives for Rhyder and mending our clothes for me.

I followed my brother.

Once we got to the top, Rhyder gestured out, where we could see a long distance, the endless rolling green hills and mountains of Ronan’s Congregation, the rocky jagged harshness of ours, and way off in the distance clouds that covered even greater peaks.

“All this land will be ours, sister,” he said, moving behind me and taking my chin in his hand. “Can you imagine it? All the land as far as you can see for hunting? The best lands for your gardens? The paradise promised by the Allfather.”

When I didn’t respond he growled angrily.

“What do you want, Temperance?” he asked, his fingers biting into my scalp, sliding under my head covering in a show of such intimacy that it took my breath away.

I said nothing still, the words feeling choked in my throat.

My brother, my captor, my tormentor, my protector

What could I say?

Rhyder suddenly dropped his hands and stepped closer to the jagged edge of the cliff, then whirled around, spreading his arms wide so the wind tore through his golden hair, making it spin around his face.

Each golden lock whipped his well-formed cheekbones, strong jawline, his blue eyes blazing at me with fanatical devotion.

“Do you want me to throw myself off this cliff, sister? Will that show you how deeply I need and love you?”

I felt a stab of fear go through me.

“I will do it,” Rhyder grated out.

He stepped back so that the heels of his huge boots hung over the edge and my heart clutched, my instincts betraying me as I leaped forward, my throat dry, the begging cry spilling from my lips.

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