Page 173 of Immortal Bastard

When her gaze met Christian’s, she allowed herself to blink. Her eyes burned from staring so long, and if she’d had the ability to make tears in that moment, she would have cried.

Breathe, pintura.

His soft command filled her mind, traveling straight to her lungs as air whooshed into her.

It will all be over soon.

His love surrounded her, and she returned the comfort by sending him a burst of her own. I love you.

“Sit.” David pointed to the simple wooden chair placed in the center of the floor.

She lowered into the seat, her back to the men in the audience and her eyes locked on Christian. David then moved to the marshal’s seat on the far right and waited. The silence stretched for several agonizing seconds until the bishop rose.

“We call Brother Christian Schrock to the floor.”

Christian stood and walked from the bench. When he reached the floor, he faced the elders and the bishop said, “Christian Schrock, you are being sentenced, by proxy, for the crimes of your mate, Sister Delilah Starling, who has violated The Order’s holy laws by exposing our species in the presence of four mortals. For this crime, you will receive one hundred lashings for each mortal witness. What say you?”

Christian stood stoically before the bench and lifted his chin. “I accept my sentence.”

“Kneel.”

He glanced at Delilah. I love you. Be brave.

Her body tensed the moment he severed their mental link and dropped to his knees. Christian? Christian! She hadn’t expected him to remove that connection, which she’d come to rely on in times of worry. Her eyes blinked rapidly as fear sizzled through every nerve.

“Brother Abraham,” the bishop called and another elder stood, this one holding a long leather whip that coiled around his fist.

This was Christian’s uncle, Abigail’s father, yet he looked as young and fiercely beautiful as the rest of them. The golden tan of his skin complimented his wheat-blond hair. But when he spoke in that thick Germanic accent, his sharp blue eyes remained flat and lifeless, his voice shooting a chill up Delilah’s spine.

“Nephew,” he greeted Christian, as the whip unraveled from his fist to drag along the floor. “Remove your shirt.”

He carried himself with an almost Aryan arrogance that chilled her to the bone. His flawless, athletically toned body was underscored by a lethal air that needed no explanation. No wonder Abigail was so obedient and meek. Her father was terrifying.

“Let us begin.”

Delilah swallowed as Christian stripped off his jacket, vest, and shirt folding them neatly and setting them aside.

Abraham loosened his wrists, wagging the whip back and forth, finding the proper hold. Christian, although kneeling on the hard floor, kept his spine straight and his head bowed. Delilah’s hands wrung nervously in her lap.

The first strike came fast. She hadn’t been ready, and she gasped as the leather struck down, leaving an angry stripe across Christian’s flawless skin. The deep red lash darkened, but the flesh remained intact.

“One,” the entire gallery of immortals counted aloud and the whip came down again.

Delilah tensed, her mind instinctively reaching for Christian’s, only to hit a wall.

“Two.”

Abraham moved quickly, making the ordeal difficult to witness and process at the same time. The males at her back counted off each stroke in monotone observance of their brother’s debt, marking each sentencing slash as payment for her crime.

“Nine.” Her shoulders tensed. The terrible snap of leather biting into Christian’s flesh took on a wet percussion as his body began to sweat.

“Ten.” The first trickle of blood appeared, his skin breaking open under the aggravated welts. Every lash after this would do more damage than the last.

For the next ten, she closed her eyes, flinching at every snap and whisk as the leather moved heedlessly through the air. When she opened her eyes again, the breath in her lungs clattered past her lips.

Christian’s back was a mosaic of welts and blisters. The angry red markings embossed his flesh, stretching his skin like an overworked canvas as the leather strap came down again and again.

“Thirty-two.”

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