Page 31 of A Harmony of Procellarum

I shrug my shoulders and nudge her to turn around and drop to her knees. For her cooperation and preparation, I will make this quick. I pull the knife from my pocket and flick the switchblade open, the metal illuminated from the moonlight shining in through the patio door. She begins to tremble but holds her head up high, her bravery giving me pause. She’s stronger than most of the men who’ve pissed themselves in her position.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” I say out loud, then slash the knife across her throat, sending the blood spraying across the pristine floors.

The demon inside of me crows in victory, urging me to rip open her chest and coat myself in her blood, but as I watch her twitch with death, I realize I don’t want to. No longer am I interested in bathing in another’s blood, especially for an institution I refuse to respect.

I wipe my blade off onto Christie’s sweater and give her unruly copper head a pat. One more sacrifice and I’ll be free from everything holding me down. The demon inside me preens at the thought of complete freedom and I can’t help but grin in return.

The front door shuts behind me and I release the breath I’ve been holding. I always wait to see if I’ll be struck down after a sacrifice. It’s the last vestiges of the teachings of the Bible from long ago, clinging to me and making me fearful for a split second afterward.

I whistle as I walk to the sedan and open the door, nodding to the driver in the front. “To the hotel. I need something to eat.”

“No red eye home tonight?” he asks, giving me a sharp look.

“No.” I shake my head and look into the side-view mirror. The red car follows close behind, the outline of Squall’s irritable face visible.

“Will he be staying with you?” he asks as the car turns into the hotel parking lot.

“Yes.”

SQUALL

He holds the elevator door open for me, his long, tattooed fingers flexing against the metal and the tips coated in dried blood. I’m thankful we’re the only two in the car as the doors slide close.

“How did Christie take it?” I ask him, my eye on the blinking numbers above the door.

“Surprisingly well,” he says as he slips those hands into his pockets. “She knew I was coming. She had accepted her fate.”

There was a time, many, many years ago when I first joined this Order, that hearing about a sacrifice would set my blood brimming with excitement. It would rush through every muscle in my body, igniting me with anticipation, but that’s changed. This isn’t the life I care for anymore … if it ever was. The only reason I joined the Order was so I could be with my brothers and with Torrent. I could never imagine living a life without him. I’d rather be dead.

“Luciphia put me in the penthouse.” I look up to find him side-eyeing me, that dimple on the side of his cheek prominent with his grin. “Maybe she knew you’d be tagging along.”

“She seems to be a step ahead of us each time.” I nod and chew on the inside of my cheek. “It would seem her plans coincide with our lives a little too well. Don’t you think so?”

“She’s the Luciphia,” Torrent says dismissively with a quick shrug of his shoulders. “Of course she’s a step ahead.”

It’s hard to tell if there was ever a time in which Torrent doubted what we were doing, if anything ever gave him pause. The blood, the sacrifices, the Order itself. Was he ever wary of the things he was doing? It never showed.

The elevator opens and Torrent types in a passcode to open the interior doors. It does indeed seem like Shereen spared no expenses. Maybe this was her way of giving us one last night and it knots up my stomach with fear, because I don’t know what that means. Who’s surviving, who’s not? I can only pray that the two I love get out of this unscathed.

“I need to take a shower.” Torrent holds up his bloodied hands and gives me a wink. “There should be a second bathroom in here somewhere.” His eyes slowly cast over me with a heated look. I guess we’re not sharing a shower. He heads toward what I assume is the master bedroom in the suite and I roam around, passing the small kitchen, then the large sitting room in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I find the second bedroom, which thankfully has a connected ensuite. I didn’t bring a change of clothes, but coincidentally, the hotel has a robe.

I step into the hot spray, letting it coat over my sore muscles and hoping the warmth will chase away the lingering cold I feel deep in my bones. I’m here to be with the man who’s owned me since we were children, but my mind can’t stop picturing the blonde-headed woman with sad, hazel eyes. I don’t know how I got here, loving two separate people, but feeling loyal to only one. It’s always been Torrent and I know if I was forced to choose, my mind would immediately settle on him, but my cold, black heart would ache for Tiny.

Once I feel some of the shame wash away with two days worth of filth, I step out and wrap my body in a robe. I brush my shoulder length, white-blond hair and tie it up into a bun on top of my head. I look at myself in the mirror, scrutinizing the dark circles under my eyes, the wrinkles around my mouth from constantly frowning, and decide that this life wasn’t a great one for me. At nearly fifty years old, I don’t see it getting any better. I could blame my mother for deserting me and I could blame the orphanage for their abuse, but ultimately it’s me who’s to blame. I could have walked away at any point, could have turned my back and forced myself to live a life I would enjoy, but none of that matters now.

I walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The moon shining full and bright through the window makes me pause. I haven’t spent nearly enough of my life appreciating the things that are beautiful. I can’t remember the last time I looked up to the sky and felt mortal and small.

“Squall!” Torrent calls out. “If your sack isn’t clean by now, it’s never going to be.”

My mouth curls upward and I immediately feel lighter. I’ve always felt like he was just beyond my reach, and I never really had the chance to gather him in close, to hold him the way I’ve always craved. Torrent is hard on himself. He feels unworthy of love and has always closed himself off for fear of what he thinks dwells inside of him.

I find him sitting on the couch holding a glass filled with amber liquid and two cubes of ice. His tastes run as extravagant as his brother’s, but where one likes it warm, the other prefers it ice cold. He’s also in a robe, the white terry cloth sitting luxurious against his dark sepia skin. He downs all the liquid in the glass and stands, placing it on the table in front of the couch. I still haven’t moved from the spot as he strides toward me, his eyes filled with mischief.

“Why did you follow me here?” he asks as he stops less than a few inches in front of me. Both of us are looking eye-to-eye and I feel my cock stir just from the scent of him alone.

“Because you asked me to.” I reach out and run my finger along the beard on his chin. “When have I ever denied you?”

His fingers wrap around mine, forcing my hand down. “The night you stopped me from killing Tiny.”

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