Series: The Un Series by Izzy Sweet
Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Slowly, painfully, I focus my strength on peeling my eyes open. To see the face of the man who would speak against the Order in such a way.
When my gaze falls upon Father McCall’s face, I find I’m not the least bit surprised. Though, I should be.
He’s a priest of the Order. He knows such words are heresy and worthy of death. Yet he’s not afraid to speak them. Unless this is some kind of test…
But no, staring into his tortured eyes, I see that what he says pains him. Pains him on a spiritual level.
Removing his hand from my shoulder, Father McCall holds it out in offer. “I know it hurts, lass, but you must be strong now.”
I stare down at his offered hand. I can’t even remember the last time a hand was held out to me in aid. It’s been so long, everything inside me screams this a trick.
But what do I have to lose?
Consciousness again?
Willing my arm to move, I groan in pain. My very bones ache, as if I was run over by a truck a few dozen times.
What did they do to me?
I roll my eyes down to my body. I’m still naked, unfortunately. Naked and spread out on a metal table like I’m a corpse. There are cuffs where my wrists and ankles are, but thankfully they’re undone.
There are also grooves and drains in the table. Grooves and drains caked with dried blood. I know that blood is mine. Know by the way it looks… or perhaps the way it smells… Yet I can see no visible injuries on my skin.
Rolling my eyes back up to Father McCall, I ask, “What happened?”
Closing the distance between our hands for me, Father McCall grabs mine and starts to pull me up. “A sacrament usually reserved for girls who already bear the mark.”
I want to ask why they performed it on me when I don’t have the mark, but so much excruciating agony flows through me all the air flees my lungs in a rush.
Black flashes in front of my eyes and I’m on the verge of passing out again.
“I’m sorry, Alena,” Father McCall says sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, but I need you to be strong now. Our survival depends on it.”
Grinding my teeth together, I fight the nausea and pain back as I get into a sitting position.
Father McCall only gives me a couple of minutes to get myself together before he’s urging, “Please, we must move before someone comes to fetch you.”
I’d nod my head in understanding but I’m pretty sure it would only make me more sick. So, I focus all of my energy on standing instead.
Father McCall moves closer, offering me the support of his arm around my waist, and purposely looks away, ignoring my nakedness.
“I have a robe for you,” he says once I get my feet under me. “Can you stand on your own?”
Two minutes ago, the answer would have been a strong no.
But now that I’m upright, I’m feeling much better. I can practically feel the blood in my head rushing down my body and flushing the pain out.
And I definitely don’t want to know why…
“Yes,” I tell him as I reach out and grab on to the table I was lying on.
Father McCall slowly removes his arm and watches me cautiously, as if he’s afraid I’ll topple over at any second. When I remain on my own two feet, he hurries over to a bench and snatches up a robe.
I look around the room as he walks back. I have no clue where we are in the cathedral. This room looks like no other room I’ve ever been in before, but it reminds me of an old locker room that’s been converted for a new purpose.
The dark walls bear no paintings or adornments, only the faded outlines of where showers and tiles once were. There are several drains in the tile floor, crusted with what could be mistaken as rust at first glance.
But the smell of blood hangs heavy in the air, old and new, twisting my weak stomach.
For whatever reason, the Order bleeds people here.
“You will have to keep your face down and we must move quick,” Father McCall says as he helps me get the robe over my head. “Your disappearance will not go unnoticed.”
While I shove my arms through the sleeves, he works on adjusting the hood around my face. His touch gentle but efficient.
“God willing,” he says as he tucks my hair in, “we’ll make it to my car before anyone catches us.”
Again, I’m tempted to ask him why he’s doing this. Why he’s willing to take on such a risk? He doesn’t know anything about me besides what he’s just witnessed. We’ve never spoken or interacted with each other until today.
But I get the feeling his answer will be the same as before.