The Beginning of Everything Read online Kristen Ashley (The Rising #1)

Categories Genre: Fantasy/Sci-fi, Paranormal, Romance Tags Authors: Series: The Rising Series by Kristen Ashley
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Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 137958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 690(@200wpm)___ 552(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
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They left the room and the warrior flicked at Drey’s bounds, releasing him, then offhandedly slid the baton from his arse and threw it on the bed beside him.

“We’ll call for you when you’re again required, mio buco,” the warrior muttered. “Now you may leave.”

He waited for the warrior to do the same before Drey tore the leather strap from his head, yanked out the scarf, and rushed to his robes.

These were not the ones of the Go’Doan. He did not wear those when moving through the city at night for these fetid (but titillating, and damnably fulfilling) assignations. He wore darker ones that were similar to the ones the priests and priestesses of Firenze wore.

He pulled them on, attempting (but not succeeding) in ignoring just how much he liked the feel of his used arse, his drained balls, his replete cock, and he felt the fire boil inside him.

They would all feel his wrath.

All of them.

Indeed, they would.

Eventually.

He wasted no time, stole into the night, keeping to the shadows as he moved through the quiet streets, returning to the Go’Doan temple, which, really, was an insult.

The city-state of Go’Doan was resplendent. The white stone. The blinding beacons of the profuse gilding of the doomed roofs. The snowy cobbles of the narrow roads that wound through the city. The glass of the windows blinking in the sun, perfectly clean under the constant ministration of their acolytes, the Go’Ella.

It was a place of inspiration, of great beauty, every corner affording an awe-inspiring vista.

Here, the Go’Doan temple was made of rusty stone with only one gold dome to say it was of the Go’Doan, a few spires, and the only good thing about it were its deep catacombs that went down five layers.

And as he snuck in, he was glad it was late at night and the royal celebrations that would span three countries and three months would start the next day, for everyone would be abed.

This was what he thought before, but two steps in, his head was knocked into the wall and stars exploded in his eyes.

Before he knew what was happening, or he could get his thoughts together, his head to stop pounding, the stars to recede, or his feet under him, he felt many hands on him and he was taken down, down, down.

And down.

Then in a room he’d never entered, not even after his extensive tour upon arriving several weeks before, a room lit only with candles and smelling profoundly of patchouli, his robe was stripped from him and he was forced to kneel on the stone floor. He was then bent over and tied bodily from neck to hips on a stone slab, his arms wrapped around its bottom and tied at the wrists, his legs bound to the legs of the slab.

And his arse was used again.

To take a lash.

His cries of pain had quieted to whimpers of agony and exhaustion when he felt the blood start to run down his thighs.

Only then was his hair seized and his head yanked back, and in a haze of pain and confusion, he noticed priests all around, their robes not white, but black, their hoods drawn up, their faces obscured, but he knew them…

He knew his brethren was around him.

And he could see right in front of him, Seph’s face surrounded by his hood in the candlelight.

“You risk much to have your arse fucked,” he bit out.

“My brother—” Drey tried.

Another lash across his arse and Drey’s neck tensed, his teeth clenched, and they stayed that way for three more.

The whip stopped and Seph, who had not let go of his hair, started speaking again.

“Were you not, this very morn, in a meeting to finalize the plot?” he demanded to know.

“I was,” Drey whispered weakly. “But, sir—”

More blows landed, and more blood started slinking down his thighs.

When they stopped, Seph carried on.

“The last attempt, our brother was forced into the pits.” Drey’s head was jerked back farther by his hair. “Everyone needs to stay sharp. There will be a time when these men will be at our command and you can get yourself fucked as often as you like by as many as you like. We will have Firenze. We will have Wodell. And once we do, Airen will have no choice but to fall. We’ll burn The Enchantments and enslave the Nadirii and their magic to our will and Triton will be ours. But now, you have but one focus. You do…your duty…to…The Rising,” he bit, slammed Drey’s face into the slab and released his hair.

G’Drey was blinking away stars again when he felt Seph’s presence had left him, but it didn’t go far.

He knew this when Seph spoke to the others in the room.

“Leave him until morning in order that he can ruminate on his transgressions. Then have a recruit tend him. No Go’Ella see this,” he ordered. “And do not allow Jell or Liam anywhere near. Both of them are of the old guard and will be on a horse to Go’Doan to report this faster than you can say ‘Go’Doan Rising.’”


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