Page 16 of Immortal Bastard

That much was made clear the day Abby missed service. Dane had gone to visit her that evening, only to find her suffering, her immortal flesh struggling to recover from several lashes her father had given her that morning after finding a small hand-sewn favor Abby planned to give Dane at service.

They were friends. That was all.

“I have to get going.”

Her fingers twisted in her apron. “Of course. Don’t forget to stop by later. I’ll leave the bread and honey on the bricks for you.”

“Thanks.”

Pocketing what remained of the wrapped treat, he raced down the hill toward the Safe House. Like many of the old homes on the farm, the bishop’s house had undergone additions over time, the biggest being the extension of the hall where the elders met.

Compared to the other homes, the Safe House was a fortress. Behind the large, white colonial, a long stone antechamber extended tunneling into what could best be described as a courtroom.

On the other end, offices and medical testing facilities were situated. The offices were frequently occupied by elders, but the labs had little function. Once in a while the bishop would compel a mortal doctor to the site and order tests performed. That was how they discovered Dane’s bloodline, but once the tests concluded, the modernized rooms were cleaned and closed off, not to be discussed or visited again unless ordered by The Council.

None of that was of interest to him. Dane only cared about the laws imposed by The Council and what lie beneath Council Hall.

As he approached, a droning hymn sung by the males of The Order seeped from the open windows. A stone-carved sign, crumbling at the corners and faded by time, marked the entrance to the Safe House with an illegible script. The eroded Germanic text included a psalm and the identifying numbers of the biblical verse.

Dane took the porch steps two at a time and rushed inside. Black hats littered the corridor, occupying every peg on the wall and taking up every inch of surface space on the empty tables and benches. As expected, Adriel sat quietly on the bench outside of Council Hall, dutifully stitching her needlework.

He smirked at her clever conformity. Females were not permitted to wear patterns or fancy embroidery, but they were often encouraged to busy their idle hands stitching Bible verses, one of the few permitted decorations allowed in Amish homes. Whenever there was a council meeting, Adriel’s hands worked tirelessly on a new verse. And, as she worked, she listened.

He sat beside her on the bench and she gave him a disapproving glance for his tardy entrance. “Unabbeditlich, you stink of bread and sex.”

“Sorry.”

She twisted the embroidery hoop and pulled the needle slowly through the fabric. “I recognize Magdalene’s scent, but who else do I smell?”

“Abigail. She gave me some bread.”

“Is that all?”

He shot her a warning glance. “Yes. We’re friends.”

“Best to keep it that way. Abraham’s quite possessive of her time.”

“I know.”

The dull hum of masculine voices ceased and the meeting began. Through the wall, he could make out their words, thanks to his improved diet of Magdalene’s blood. His senses had never been sharper, but they would never be what Adriel’s or the full-bred immortals’ were.

He squinted and cocked his head as he focused on the muffled words coming from the other side of the wall. “What did he say?”

She waved a hand. “They’re still in the tiresome stage of complimenting each other and boasting their great contributions.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “However, would they make it more than a day without having their fragile egos stroked?”

Dane chuckled, appreciating Adriel’s disdain and dry wit. Unlike the other females, she wore her fiery red hair short under her bonnet.

According to the Amish, a female’s hair was her glory and to be covered at all times outside of the house. When he’d first caught sight of Adriel’s hair, he’d been shocked. Cain later told him her shorn locks were a sign of rebellion, a slap in the face of the elders who wrote the laws.

Immortal bodies maintained a natural standard of optimal health and beauty. Regardless of age, they all looked to be around their mid to late twenties and in the prime of their lives. While the hair on their heads seemed to grow past their shoulders, other hair never appeared. He assumed it had to do with evolution and a gift for self-regulating body temperature.

When he’d first slept with Maggie, she told him the others did not have hair between their legs or under their arms. It was why, unlike other Amish orders, their sect did not grow beards. Maggie only had hair on her private parts because she was a half-breed like him.

For Adriel to keep her hair short, she needed to cut it regularly. That sort of ongoing defiance did not go unnoticed and probably would have been punished if not for her son’s seat on The Council and her close friendship with the bishop. Despite the covering, he still glimpsed wisps of red sneaking out from below the trim of her bonnet.

She bounced her leg impatiently, one bare foot peeking out from below her dress. He wasn’t sure if the shoeless trend was an Amish thing or an immortal thing, but the females tended to go barefoot during most of the warm months.

“You seem tense,” He said, sensing something was bothering her.

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