The Maiden (The Cloister Book 1)

by Celia Aaron

  “Sit down!” His voice thunders around the room. “I will do what I must to keep this ministry alive. To keep my oaths to God and the Father of Fire. You will obey me, damn you!”

  He’s left no room, no way to stop whatever horror he intends to visit on our mother. Noah and I are supposed to accept it as an appropriate punishment for whatever slight my father feels—whether real or imagined. Just as with the women, he expects perfect obedience from his sons. I bow my head and pretend to give it.

  What he doesn’t know is that I’ll kill him for this. For all of it.

  Chapter 29

  Delilah

  First thing the next morning, we all settle into the TV room for more edification from the Prophet. My mind still has a thin film coating it from the drugs. I try to remember everything that happened the previous night, but all I can see is sparks of light, neon travelling from me to the other Maidens, and a straight line of white-hot energy shooting across the crimson floor and binding me to Adam. I’d never done drugs before the Cloister, and I already wanted to stop. But if the starving us on Tuesday was any indication, we would be forced to partake in the weekly ritual.

  Abigail flips on the projector, and we’re greeted with Miriam Roberts in a white skirt suit with red-bottomed heels and a too-white smile. “Maidens, it is so lovely to be able to speak with you today. The Prophet was kind enough to ask me to share a few words about my wonderful experience at the Cloister.” A woman in black maid’s attire sets an iced tea on the small table to Miriam’s right, then hurries away. “Now, I realize the first few weeks are the hardest. You feel like you’re in the wrong place, or perhaps that the Prophet has forsaken you. But I can assure you that this couldn’t be further from the truth.” Another poised smile. She blathers on, and I cast a glance at Sarah’s empty chair.

  Where is she? I try to recall last night. Was she with us on the bus back to the Cloister? Try as I might, I can’t remember.

  “…your education is preparing you to be in perfect obedience to your husband. This is the way to please the Prophet and God. The world is a terrifying place. The Prophet is the only one who can keep you safe, so give thanks to him at every opportunity.” She sips her drink. “Now that you’ve fully invested in what we do here at the Cloister, it’s time to talk about your future.”

  I perk up at this.

  She smiles again and folds her hands in her lap. “Being a Maiden is more than just learning how to be in perfect obedience to your future husband. That is important, of course.” She leans forward, looking directly into the camera. “But your relationship to the Prophet is far more important than any other in your life. Pleasing the Prophet is your reason for being here, and he’s the reason you are chosen above all other women.” She nods, agreeing with herself. “There are many ways you can serve the Prophet. The Prophet will decide the correct one for you when the time comes. But, no matter where you go, you must always remember that the Prophet is the head of your life, the head of your household, and the head of your heart. Whatever information you learn from the people around you—even if you find it trivial—must be reported back to the Prophet. And this is doubly important for Maidens such as myself. Powerful men hold even more powerful secrets. The Prophet needs to know these secrets in order to keep you safe.”

  Ideas begin to click into place as she continues her propaganda. I already knew that some of the Maidens went on to marry politicians and rich businessmen, but I didn’t realize the Prophet was using these connections as a clandestine spy network.

  I lean back, digesting this information and trying to decipher what it might mean about Georgia’s fate. Did she cross the wrong man in a quest for information? I’d originally suspected the Prophet of her murder, especially given the ritual desecration of her body, but could it have been a smokescreen to hide an even more insidious plot?

  We sit through her smooth propaganda for an hour or so—the cogs in my mind clanking and spinning the entire time—then break for the training room. It’s my day on the table, so I assume the position as Abigail applies the enema. I don’t even feel the humiliation anymore. I just accept it. Maybe all the brainwashing is working on me.

  “Hey,” Susannah whispers from beside me.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you know where Sarah is?”

  I glance back at Abigail who is busy at the sink. “No. Haven’t seen her.” And I’m ashamed to admit that I was too preoccupied with thoughts of Georgia to focus on Sarah’s absence.

  “Shit.” She props her head on her hand. “Something’s happened.”

  The same gut-churning worry I felt when she didn’t show up for TV time reappears. “Do you remember last night? I can’t.”

  Her cheeks flame. “Yeah. You don’t remember anything?”

  “Just light.”

  “You don’t remember kissing me?”

  My jaw drops. “We kissed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why aren’t we in trouble?”

  “The Prophet made us do it. All of us were—” She falls silent as Abigail putters around behind us, then returns to the sink. “Doing stuff together. Like, forbidden stuff. But it was all okay. Because—” She shrugs “—he told us to do it.”

  “Sarah?” I clench my teeth together as Abigail pushes the warm liquid inside me.

  “Squeeze, dear. Just keep it in for as long as you can.” She pats my ass, which isn’t helpful, then moves on to the Maiden on my left.

  “Her, too. But when we left, she stayed behind.”

  My stomach drops. “That’s bad.”

  “I know.” She clams up as another Spinner walks over and eyes us.

  I try to plot a way to see Chastity. She’ll know what happened to Sarah, and maybe she can finally tell me what she knows about Georgia. Maybe if I can sneak out of my room during afternoon prayers—

  The double doors swing open and Grace strides in. Sarah follows, her usual white dress now embroidered with a red cross over her heart. What the?

  “Sisters, rejoice for Sarah who has received the Prophet’s gift.”

  “We rejoice for you and your blessing.” The Spinners say it as one, and chills race down my spine.

  Sarah doesn’t look up, her usual spark gone, as she shuffles in and sheds her dress.

  “Okay, let it go.” Abigail pats my backside.

  I release and sag from the relief, but my gaze returns to Sarah. She kneels on the floor next to one of the Spinners who’s instructing a Maiden on breath play, her hands wrapped around the girl’s throat.

  Abigail uses baby wipes on me, and once I’m clean, she points to the training floor and motions another Maiden to take her turn.

  I walk over to Sarah and sit next to her. I can’t say anything, not with a Spinner right there, but I reach out with my fingers and brush her thigh. She flinches away from me, her eyes huge.

  “You two, let’s practice.” The Spinner releases her grip on the Maiden and lets her roll out of the way. “Delilah, you get on your back. Sarah, you will play the man.”

  I obey and remain still as Sarah straddles me. The faraway look in her eye is something so different than her usual fire that I want to reach out to her again. But I don’t. She’s shaken, fearful, and somehow vacant.

  “Now, apply light pressure.” The Spinner takes Sarah’s palms and presses them to my throat.

  Sarah squeezes lightly.

  “You need to stop her breath. Control her.” The Spinner leans over me. “Don’t press on the front, use the sides of your hands. That also stops blood flow, which leads her to the edge of passing out. That’s what we want.”

  She doesn’t change her grip.

  “Sarah!” The Spinner’s cross bark cuts through the room. “Do as instructed.”

  I reach up and pat her waist to let her know it’s okay. As soon as my fingers brush her skin, she grips tighter, leaning forward and using her weight on my windpipe. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me again.”

  “Sarah,” I
try to say, but I can’t get the word out.

  “Too much.” The Spinner furrows her brow. “Sarah.” She grabs her forearm, but Sarah shoves her off and returns her hand to my throat.

  “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.” Her eyes are wild, and she isn’t seeing me.

  I grip her wrists as my lungs begin to burn.

  “Sarah!” Susannah yells and runs up behind her, wrapping her arms around her torso. “Let her go. It’s Delilah!” She yanks as the Spinner finds her feet and draws her baton.

  Sarah won’t let go, and my world fades.

  The familiar thunk of a baton hitting flesh adds little sparks to the black dots flooding my vision. Another thunk, and Sarah falls beside me. I drag in some ragged breaths and struggle to sit up.

  “Sarah.” I reach for her but stop.

  Tears pool in her eyes and leak down to the mat, and now she seems to see me. “Delilah? I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I tentatively stroke her hair away from her face. “I’m getting used to chokings these days.” I do my best attempt at a smile.

  Sarah doesn’t return it. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

  “It’s okay. Really.” I touch my neck. The damage isn’t nearly as bad as it was with Newell. “I’ll heal right up. Are you all right?” I don’t know where the Spinner hit her.

  “No touching, Maiden.” The Spinner sticks the baton in my face, and I drop my hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah whispers again.

  “I promise I’m fine.”

  The baton knocks me on the temple, but not hard enough to really hurt. “No talking either.”

  I sit back as Sarah’s tears continue to fall.

  “Get back to training. Susannah, on your back. Delilah, you are in control of her breath.” The Spinner doesn’t bother Sarah, just leaves her where she fell. The Cloister is full of little blessings.

  Adam bursts into my room like a tornado. I jump and slide to the floor, pulling my dress off as I go. He strides to me, yanks me up, and throws me on the bed, then crawls on top of me. Burying his face in my hair, he inhales and wraps his arms around my back.

  I can barely breathe, but I’m afraid to move. “Rough day at the office?” I eek out.

  He laughs low in his throat. “You could say that.” He nuzzles my neck. “How about you? Any good training today?”

  “I almost got choked out again, so yeah.”

  He pulls back and peers at my throat. The spots where Sarah pressed too hard are swollen, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

  “She didn’t do it right.” He draws his tongue along one of the sensitive areas.

  “I know. I think…” I gasp as he fastens his lips to the tender spot just beneath my ear. “I think something happened to her. And she’s, I don’t know, not thinking straight.”

  “Sarah?” He nibbles my ear.

  “How did you know?”

  “Wild guess.”

  “Why does she have the red cross on her dress now?”

  “Didn’t we already discuss that questions aren’t allowed?” He kisses down my chest.

  “I just thought—”

  “Don’t think. Not right now.”

  “Hey.” I grab his shoulders. The starvation and the drugs and the utter desolation of this place well up inside me, blotting out my mission and my reason and forcing a raw scream from my throat. “Hey! You can’t just come in here and treat me like a fuck toy.” I try to wriggle out from under him, but he grabs a handful of my hair.

  “Do we need to go over who’s in charge here again?” He leans down and bites my nipple until I cry out. “Because I’m more than happy to teach that lesson as many times as needed for you to get it. You are my fuck toy, and I’ll use you whenever I want you.”

  “Stop!” I grip his hair and yank.

  He growls and snatches my hand away, some of his hair still in my palm. Crawling up my body, he pins my hands over my head.

  His dark eyes are cold waters, a monster lurking in their depths. “Why do you beg for punishment?”

  “I don’t. I want answers.”

  “What you want doesn’t matter and never will.”

  I seethe and try to free my wrists, but his grip is as sure as iron manacles, and just as harsh. “Fuck you!” I yell in his face, knowing that I’m making a mistake. But I can’t stop myself, not after what happened to Sarah, not after what happened to Georgia. I’ve gotten nowhere since I signed on for this madness. Any fleeting clue about Georgia disappears before I can even touch it, and now Sarah is being victimized right before my eyes, and there’s nothing I can do about it. But I can scream. “Get off me, you sick fuck!” I rage and buck, using every bit of strength I have to fight him. “I hate you!”

  He curses, but keeps me locked down, his body too much for me, his strength far too enduring for me to overcome. When I’m spent and go still, he lets go of my wrists and sits at the edge of the bed, his back to me.

  I’m breathing hard and my body is shaking from the exertion. What little food they gave me at dinner is already long gone. And beneath the physical, I’m tired. My heart and my mind are already fracturing. I came here to destroy this place, but it’s breaking me instead. Tears well, and I can’t stop them this time.

  He sighs, the sound heavy. “She has the cross because she’s been claimed by the Prophet.” He shakes his head. “Fucked by the Prophet, in common terms. Now her Protector will be allowed to partake of her body in all ways. The cross on her dress simply signifies that she’s fair game, set apart, already sampled, no longer a virgin.”

  Stunned silence. It’s like the Prophet read The Scarlet Letter and decided to put that puritanical bullshit into action.

  I swallow hard. “Will that happen to me?”

  “Yes.” He scrubs a hand down his face, and I realize he looks haggard. Days of unshaven growth, tousled hair even before I grabbed it. His shoulders are still broad and strong, but they slump slightly.

  “When?”

  “I don’t know. If he takes a Maiden this early, it’s for a punishment. Sarah—”

  “Wouldn’t eat the poisoned food.” Her moment of defiance comes back to me with crystal clarity.

  “Exactly.”

  “But he’ll eventually—”

  “Yes. The Prophet will take each Maiden’s virginity in due time.”

  “Including mine.” I say it calmly, though everything inside me is twisting into a vicious knot.

  “Including yours.” His voice is low and almost thin, too worn and stretched.

  I sit up and dry heave, but nothing comes up. I’m empty on all levels, hollowed out by how sick the Prophet is, how debased every single part of Heavenly Ministries has become. Was it ever a righteous place?

  My thoughts run, each one stumbling over the last. There is no escape. I knew that when I started this, but I didn’t know the cost. None of the Maidens did. The abuse, the brainwashing, the drugs—would I be here if I’d known? A flash of Georgia’s blonde curls crosses the path of my thoughts. And I know the answer. Yes. I owe it to her to find the truth, to punish who hurt her.

  I stare at Adam, and I’m looking into the broken mirror. He’s on the other side, the jagged shards piercing his image just as they do mine. The Prophet is crushing him, maybe in different ways, but annihilating him all the same.

  I let out a long breath. “I want it to be you.”

  “What?” He glances at me, his brows furrowed.

  “I want you to take my virginity.”

  Fire ignites in him, the one that burns just beneath his veneer. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  I scoot over to him. “I do.”

  “No, you don’t. The consequences are unimaginable. For both of us.”

  I slowly drop to the floor and wedge myself between his knees. “I won’t let your father take it from me.”

  He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing over my lips. “It’s no longer yours to give. When you joined the Cloister, you gave up th
e right to yourself.”

  “That’s not true.” I shake my head. “I’m still me. It doesn’t have to be this way between us.”

  “We can’t be together. I’m your Protector. I’m here to prepare you for the Prophet and, after that, for whatever man chooses you during the trials.”

  “Trials?”

  He tenses even more. “No more questions.”

  “So, I get ‘chosen’ or I wind up at the Chapel? Is that it?” I can’t keep the bitterness from my tone.

  “There or worse.”

  Ice trickles through my veins. “There’s worse than the Chapel?”

  “Things can always be worse, little lamb. You should know that by now.” He sighs and pulls me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. “Why do you fight me?”

  “I can’t help it.” Honesty is the only thing my heart can give.

  “You have to stop.”

  “You like it.” I peer into his dark eyes, trying to see a glimpse of soul.

  He smiles, a little lopsided, a lot perfect. “Maybe, but I can assure you the Prophet won’t appreciate it.”

  I lean closer and whisper my lips across his. “Take me, please.”

  His hands slide up my thighs and around to my ass. He squeezes, pulling me closer until my bare breasts press against his dress shirt. “No.”

  I capture his bottom lip between my teeth and bear down.

  He groans and kneads my ass. “You’re going down a dark road.” The warning in his voice comes out ragged.

  “Are you waiting there to catch me?” I wrap my arms around his neck, and spread my legs until I feel his thick cock against me.

  “Fuck.” He claims my lips, rough and hungry. His scruff scratches along my smooth skin, and I breathe him in. His hands rove my back then settle low again, gripping hard and pulling me down on his rigid cock.

  I am devoured. His kiss is ownership, more permanent than a tattoo and more scarring than fire. I open wide for him, his tongue seeking and finding mine. Dusky tobacco, hard whiskey, and him all dance along my taste buds.

  Twining my fingers in his hair, I clutch the strands, pulling until he groans. I drop my lips to his throat, nipping and licking. Salty and sultry, his taste whispers in some primitive part of my brain, and I want to sample him everywhere.