Page 37 of Wanted

He peers down at me with a scowl, trying to figure out how to touch me without hurting me. No doubt, it goes against everything in his nature.

Finally, he decides to move behind me and gets to his own knees.

I gag, unable to stop myself. The scent of his blood clings to him like a thick, cloying perfume of death and decay.

Ignoring my heaving, he nudges me forward by pushing his knees into the back of my thighs.

“Yes,” the Prophet says with approval. “Hold your charge and help her receive the blessing.”

I sense Jeffrey stiffen behind me in more surprise.

But a breath later, he’s wrapping his arm around my middle and holding me upright.

Placing his palm over the goblet, the Prophet murmurs something in Latin.

When he’s done, everyone in the room, besides me, murmurs, “Amen.”

Bending down, the Prophet extends the goblet towards me. “Drink, child. Drink and receive God’s mercy.”

The smell… the awful smell that made me gag is… gone. Replaced by a smell of milk and honey.

Milk and honey?!

It has to be some kind of trick. There’s no way Jeffrey’s blood really smells like that. Not when the body pressing against mine still reeks of festering meat.

And there’s no way I’m drinking it.

I turn my face away from the goblet and hold my breath.

The Prophet lets out a heavy sigh. “Help her, Jeffrey. The child doesn’t know what is good for her.”

His arm around my middle tightening, Jeffrey grabs my chin and forces my head to turn back.

But as the Prophet presses the goblet to my lips, I clench my teeth together, refusing to let the foul liquid pass.

Jeffrey’s dark red blood pours down my chin, dripping wasted onto the floor.

“Pry her jaw open if you have to,” the Prophet growls now, losing his patience.

Thumb and forefinger digging in and doing just that, Jeffrey forces my mouth open, allowing the Prophet to spill some of the blood onto my tongue.

The blood is overly thick. Thicker than any blood I’ve ever tasted from my own tongue or cheek, and it tastes sweet.

Sickly sweet.

Gagging again out of pure reflex, I spit the blood back out, spraying the Prophet.

“Damn it all!” the Prophet curses, his voice cracking like thunder. “You will drink! You will obey! I demand it!”

I try to recoil in fear, but Jeffrey is holding me too tight.

The Prophet tries once again to pour blood past my lips and down my throat, clinking the goblet against my teeth.

But as soon as the foul liquid hits my tongue, my body protests for me. My stomach cramps hard, not allowing a single drop to go down.

Even if I wanted to, I can’t swallow.

I can’t obey.

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