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)
Beautiful? Is he saying he thinks I’m beautiful?
The outlines of the Prophet’s black eyes smolder an orangish-red, resembling the edges of burning paper, as he answers, “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld. I always knew you would be… even when you were a mere girl.”
I freeze, doing everything I can to keep from reacting to that statement. Not even allowing my brain to form whatever thought it wants to form about it.
“Who do you think sang to you to give you comfort on the day of your Judging?” he purrs, the smoldering parts of his eyes glowing brighter.
He was the one who sang the hymn? And he sang it for me?
I don’t believe it…
His fingers begin to dig painfully into my chin. “I recognized your presence immediately and held you in my arms to ease your fears. I know you felt me.”
I gasp in a mixture of pain and horror.
Jeffrey makes a strangled sound, as if he too is disturbed by what he’s hearing.
The Prophet’s head jerks to the side, and he pulls me closer to his chest as he snarls, “Did I not tell you to stay back?”
Jeffrey tries to say something else, but is instantly cut off. “But Your—”
“Enough!” the Prophet declares sharply. “I will not tolerate another act of disrespectful insubordination! Get on your knees and perform thirty lashes of repentance.”
Shocked that Jeffrey, the golden boy of the Order who always lorded his power and status over me, is being reprimanded for his actions, I dare to look at him to see his reaction.
Jeffrey’s head lowers and he falls down to his knees as if in defeat. Letting all his body weight drop down to the hardwood floor without a care for the pain it will cause.
I find myself wincing in sympathy out of reflex. Even after everything he’s done to me.
The Prophet’s hand suddenly strokes the top of my head, and I almost jump out of his lap in surprise.
“He was warned more than once,” the Prophet says in a gentle tone like he’s trying to reassure me. Then he gives a dismissive flick of his hand. Causing a whip to appear out of thin air in front of Jeffrey. “Begin.”
Head remaining bowed, Jeffrey doesn’t look up as he reaches out and grabs the whip.
With another flick of the Prophet’s hand, Jeffrey’s shirt turns to black ash and scatters around him.
When Jeffrey grips the handle of the whip tightly and lifts it in the air, I immediately turn away.
I convince myself it’s because I’m unable to stomach the sight of him hurting himself when the first crack breaks the silence. But then the sweetest scent I’ve ever smelled perfumes the air, causing my mouth to fill with saliva…
“Since the day you went missing, he’s been denied his sacrament,” the Prophet explains like it’s supposed to make sense to me.
“How long have I been gone?” I ask while avoiding looking at either of them.
Another crack resonates in the air as the Prophet uses his grip on my chin to force me to meet his gaze again. “Do you truly not know?”
Unable to avoid looking him in the eyes, I answer honestly, “No. I have absolutely no idea. To me, it only feels like a day or so.”
The Prophet stares at me for a long time, as if he’s searching my brain to be sure I’m not lying.
With all my thoughts open to him, even if I wanted to deceive him, I couldn’t.
“Only a day or so?” he presses. “Are you sure?”
Wanting the answer more than anything, I tune out the cracks that are coming faster now and furrow my brow. Trying to remember what happened after Father McCall asked me to help him.
But it’s as if that entire piece of my memory has been stolen from me.
The Prophet releases a heavy sigh that instantly makes me feel uneasy. “I’m afraid we’ll have to do this the hard way, after all. Forgive me.”
Wait… what? The Prophet is apologizing to me? Am I hallucinating?
I frown at him in confusion. “Do what the hard—”
Before I can finish my question, he presses his fingers against my temples and sends what feels like the equivalent of a thousand volts of electricity into my head.
The pain is so immediate and intense, I don’t have a chance to let out a scream.
And unlike the last time he did such a thing, I don’t pass out. I remain conscious and aware of every single second.
All my senses try to shut down to block out the torment. Everything in front of my eyes turns black, sound disappears, and I can’t feel what my body is doing.
But there’s no turning off the agony.
The wall I so carefully crafted over the years is blown to pieces. Unable to withstand the force blasted at it.
As the electricity from the Prophet’s fingers continues to flow into me, I swear my very cells catch on fire. Burning… sizzling…