Page 87 of Bloodmoon Ritual

“My righteousness covers her,” Rhyder said harshly, and I darted a glance over at him, noticing the way the muscles in his jaw stood out. “Do you doubt my devotion to the Allfather?”

There was another brief silence.

The Prophet said nothing.

“I claim the right to a testing with the Enforcer,” Rhyder said again, striding over to where the short, heavy cudgels laid outside the circle, always in readiness.

“Perhaps you are right, Brother Rhyder,” Eli said. “The whore punishments are taking up too much work time. They will be curtailed in future.”

There was silence. I heard the distant cawing of a crow, solitary and harsh.

Rhyder said nothing. Merely looked fixedly at Eli, a cudgel in each hand.

“I claim the right to a Testing,” he repeated.

I tasted blood and violence on my tongue.

Again, the Prophet said nothing.

My cheek and lip ached, the blood dripping down my chin and into the hollow of my neck.

“Keep your house in order,” Rhyder said harshly. “Temperance did nothing wrong. She doesn’t look at anyone with pride in her eyes. She is sweet and mild.”

I saw Eli dart a glance over at the Prophet.

“You heard the Holy Warrior,” the Prophet said. “Take up your cudgels.”

Generosity looked at me, and I saw a flash of white teeth as she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth.

But I didn’t look back at her.

I tried to warn you,I screamed internally as Rhyder and Eli began to circle each other.

I tried to warn her what would happen if Rhyder got pissed off.

If they didn’t realize how he felt about me, they did now.

It took all of two seconds for Rhyder’s powerful arm to shoot out, blasting past Eli’s defenses.

And the Enforcer’s rib broke with a sharp, unmistakable crack.

Rhyder was not fucking around.

This wasn’t a ceremonial scrap.

Rhyder was trying to hurt him.

Eli wasn’t a small man either, he was at least six feet tall and had a wide, muscular body. But my brother towered over him, both in height and the broad width of his shoulders and legs.

He wasn’t going quickly, either. Each blow came with slow, overpowering precision, the two men circling each other until Rhyder would strike.

I marveled at the way he was keeping his rage in check enough to injure Eli so methodically. Shattering his kneecap in a splintering crack that resounded through the dry clearing.

Moving to dislocate his shoulder.

Eli tried to block, strike back.

But it didn’t work.

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