Page 95 of Spark of Madness

Her silence continues, and my brothers close in, Killian dropping down to one knee at her side. He snatches her chin viciously in his hand, jerking her head up until she’s forced to look at him. “I’ll ask you one more time, sinner. Finish the prayer.Malo moriquam foedari.”

I know it’s about to happen before it does—she’s done it to me twice before. My heart kicks up in a flurry, punching adrenaline through my veins as I lunge for her, reaching out in hopes that I can cover her mouth before her furious boldness takes hold of her.

But I don’t reach her in time.

She spits in Killian’s face, and hell descends.

The circle closes around her as voices raise in a chorus of righteous indignation. Though I wish I could drag Mercy away and protect her, I know I can’t.

Watching the rapidly shrinking circle, my concern shifts to Delle, the tiny thing who’s just been knocked sideways by Ryker trying to slip around her to Mercy, blocking Theo along the way. I take my urge to protect and give it to Delle, because Mercy is beyond my help. I charge forward and pluck Delle from the floor, placing her on her feet just as Theo darts between Owen and Park to arrive at her side.

I lower my voice, though none of my brothers are listening anyway—they’ve busied themselves in taunting Mercy. “Take her, bind her, suspend her. Don’t delay, it will draw questions.” I look back at the group surrounding Mercy and nausea cuts through my stomach. “I’ll encourage them to use Mercy as much as I can.”

Mercy has served for four years.

She’s older, stronger, braver.

And though Delle may have grown to become those things, right now, she’s young and naïve, fragile, in need of care. Mercy is prepared to take this trial, and though I’m feeling oddly sick about what’s happening to her right now, I know she will endure.

I’ll make certain of it.

Theo nods and drags Delle away, back through the door from which they came, and closes it behind him.

I take a deep breath and turn to face the center of the foyer. My eyes behold a sight as reverent and terrifying as flickering firelight. In the center of the sun stands Mercy, naked, her shoes and undergarments already violently stripped from her body. Her fists are clenched at her sides and her head is bowed slightly as she fumes, dragging heavy breaths through her nose like a dragon preparing to breathe fire.

Sweet sin.

While my brothers look to me expectantly—ready for me to bind her and suspend her for them to use—I look directly at her.

“Mercy,” I say sharply to gather her attention. I wait until she lifts her chin and meets my gaze, dark storms swirling through her gray-blue eyes. “Stay out of your mind…” I remind her of what I said earlier, to stay out of her mind and fixed on her senses.

It’s a reminder that she can release her rage and try to find pleasure in this. But I can see she’s already gone, lost to her anger.

And I don’t know if I’ll be able to bring her back.

chapter thirty-one

Mercy

STAY OUT OFyour mind…

He dared to say it as if I could simply switch off this rage and allow this to happen to me. As if I could simply come out of fear and find some pleasure in this twisted rite. The men tower above me, surround me, cage me like an animal, and it’s how I feel.

I’m ready to hiss and growl; ready to bare my teeth, show my claws, and scratch anyone who comes too close.

Malo mori quam foedari.

Death before dishonor. Though the men of Ember Glen speak it, it’s not meant for them. It’s meant forus—the servants. These vile creatures who call themselves men dishonor themselves and the humanity they claim to have more often than any woman in this village does. But we sacrificial servants are expected to seek death with pride, rather than sin in dishonor.

They live by the Impulse. As though women have none—as if servants have no purpose in this life but to meet their filthy needs. I desire, I rage, I feel intensely, just as men do. Yet I’m expected to repress it all for the sake of serving their uncontrollable needs.

It’s disgraceful…dishonorable.

They should stand naked on this sun instead of me, be bound and hung, defiled and humiliated for enforcing the tenants of the vicious god they serve.

If they want to reduce the quality of their existence to being ruled by impulses, they can go right ahead. But I will not. I am more than an urge to act violently. I am more than a man ruled by his sexual needs in moments of weakness.

I am more thanthey want me to be.

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