Page 43 of The Preacher's Pet

He laughs again, though there’s only bitterness in the sound, then he grabs his phone and stalks out the door, slamming it after him.

I ought to go after him and find out exactly what the fuck happened between her and him. I ought to make sure he’sall right, because he’s acting crazy. Deep down, I should have known Roman wouldn’t have her sucking his cock. He’s right; I do know better. I know he’s not really into sex because of his childhood, but also because he believes it involves handing over your energy to another person. He thinks it weakens us, and maybe he’s right.

There are so many damn things I ought to do at this moment. I don’t move, though, and barely breathe.

My brain is stuck on one thing. Those words that Roman uttered.Share her. It’s so wrong, in so many ways, but I find myself hopelessly hard at the thought of it. It has me that revved up, I might come in my pants. The image of her between the three of us as we worship her pushes its way to the front of my mind.

Isn’t that what we’re meant to be about? Worshipping what is greater than us? Nature? Our history and ancestors? The gods? Well, we could worship her. Ophelia.

I imagine her in one of her loose, pale dresses, as sunlight strikes it just so, and we get to see the outline of her body.

It hits me then what she reminded me of that first night when she’d run from us in the forest. A wood nymph. My father had a collection of antique erotica. He didn’t know I’d seen it. He kept it in the top drawer of his desk, but I’d discovered it as a teenager. It had been innocent by today’s standards, but for the Victorian period would have been scandalous. They were playing cards mostly, but with naked women on them. One of the cards, one of my favorites to look at, had been a wood nymph. She’d been bending a tree branch toward her, to smell the blossom flowers. Her skin was pale, she’d worn no clothes, and her blonde hair was twisted up around her head.

I moan and press my palm against my aching cock. Ophelia would look so good naked, with her hair braided and wrapped up on top of her head. I can picture her standing between the threeof us, as we walk around her, the moonlight kissing her skin. Would she spread her legs and let us take a peek at her most private place? Maybe she’d lift her arms and twirl around for us. She has the body of a dancer, slender, and light.

The three of us would be prowling around her, hungry, impatient. I realize with a heavy jolt that I’m not jealous of the thought of my brothers being there. I don’t like them with her alone, but the three of us? With her? It doesn’t seem like a bad thing.

Society deems such things wrong, but it doesn’t seem so wrong; it just seems right.

So, very right.

23

OPHELIA

I wake with a soft cry.

I’m hot and sweaty, and between my legs is damp with my arousal.

I let out a groan and cover my face with my hands. Not again. I’ve dreamed of the men, the Preachers, once more. All three of them and me. It’s always the same, but different settings. Cain and Malachi touch me. I never really touch them, but they play with me. Roman watches.

I didn’t come this time, waking before my body could reach completion. I want to touch myself so badly, but it’s such a sin.

Do it, sinner girl. Whore. You already transgressed, so why not go the whole way? You’re headed for hell, my girl.

No, no, no. I can’t bear another moment of his voice in my head. I want to scream at the top of my lungs to drown him out. I’m going to go crazy.He’salways been there, but ever since I saw Cain again, and ran from the Preachers in their masks, he’s been insistent, growing louder and louder in direct correlation with my desires.

I’m supposed to be here to become normal and learn how to be out in the world once more. If he keeps talking to me this way, I’ll never do that.

The Preachers practice a form of magic. I asked Camile straight out. I called her and just asked, and she said yes, they practice magic of a kind. She said it wasn’t that bad, not anything dark, but she’s wrong. All magic is bad. Or so I was told.

I’m torn between committing a dreadful sin by asking for their help or going completely insane due to his voice in my head, never leaving me alone. Not for one second. No matter where I am, or how much I run, I can never escape him.

I’m so exhausted and wrung out from anxiety, lack of sleep, and worry, that the idea of being punished in the afterlife fades into insignificance in comparison to this daily torture. I can’t even eat much because I’m constantly on edge, scared, and I have this endless sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I’m being haunted, and I can’t bear it for another moment.

Cain will help me; I know it. The other two men might be reluctant—especially Roman— but Cain can persuade them. All I need to do is find the courage to ask him if he and his friends will do a cleansing ritual for me. I’ve read a little about the kinds of things Camile and I discussed when I called her, and she said they’re into Viking-style gods, and old magic ways. From what I saw when I was there, I know they’re serious about it. Can they rid me of my ghost?

There’s only one way to find out. My fingers hover over the screen of my phone. I’m aware I’m going against what Roman asked of me. Am I being selfish? Or is Roman the selfish one? He said they have some kind of generational curse that needs breaking, but I’m not trying to stop that.

I have my own curse I need help defeating.

Maybe we could help each other? Before I can change my mind, I fire off a message to Cain.

Then I wait.

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