by Tillie Cole
The curtains were closed around us. The crowd began praying for salvation, their murmurs penetrating through the gauze. I looked at the curtains, trying to see how see-through they truly were. I could see Brother Luke and the other elders through the material, but their features were blurred.
I took some comfort in that. Although this joining would be public, only our movements would be seen. My tears would not betray my fear to the people. I could not stand for them to see me break.
You must do this.
Tinny prayer music began pouring through the speakers surrounding the commune, and my heart matched its pace to the beat. I felt the prophet shift and remove his pants, but not his top. He lay back down next to me.
Stray tears escaped from the corners of my eyes as he climbed above me. I closed my eyes as I felt his warm breath ghost over my face. I expected him to speak. I expected him to be rough and cruel, so I was startled when he delicately pushed a strand of hair from my forehead.
His hand fell to mine on my stomach. I stiffened as he laced his fingers through mine. I sucked in a shocked breath when I realized his hand was trembling.
I froze, completely still, as I fought over whether or not to open my eyes. I counted to three, then blinked up through my long painted lashes . . . and straight into the kindest set of dark eyes I had ever seen . . . a pair of eyes I would know from anyone else’s . . .
He moved our joined hands up to his lips. And that was when I saw it. I saw what his subtle movement was showing me—his heavily inked skin, the demonic forms peeking out from beneath the tunic’s sleeves. My heart swelled to an impossible fullness, and astounded relief flooded though me.
“Rider,” I mouthed, expelling the breath that I had kept so tightly caged. Rider’s dark eyes closed in relief too. He placed a kiss on our clasped fingers and opened his eyes.
His fear of this moment reflected my own.
Rider stared into my eyes, and we both tensed as the crowd’s prayers grew louder, urging the joining to be complete. Brother Luke coughed from beside the bed. “Prophet Cain? Is everything well?”
“Get away from this bed! Now!” he snarled. My skin crawled; Rider sounded just like his twin. Brother Luke scurried to the farthest side of the platform. But I could see him watching from where he had stopped.
“I’m so sorry,” Rider whispered. I looked at his face and saw the regret and sorrow etched onto his every beautiful feature.
“How?” I whispered back. “I do not understand? How are you here?”
Rider shook his head, silently telling me that now was not the time to ask. I had played this role of the prophet’s betrothed for many days. I could do it for a short time more. His eyes closed. The people outside were becoming restless. I subtly moved my hand to lie over his chest, and he opened his eyes.
The pain that shone back at me cut down my heart. “Rider,” I said almost inaudibly. “We must do this. Judah . . . he would not have hesitated.”
He winced. “I know. But . . . ” A shade of scarlet washed over his olive skin.
“What?” I asked, moving my body closer to his, trying to urge him to lie directly above me. Rider’s already shocked eyes widened further, but he moved over me, his naked lower body meeting my own. His pupils grew as our bare skins brushed.
He sucked in a breath, and I lifted my hand to his cheek. “Rider—”
“I don’t know what to do,” he said, cutting me off. Sorrow infused my heart seeing such a formidable man so scared. Rider’s face reddened further, but this time it was in anger. “Harmony,” he rasped. “I’m so fucking sorry. This shouldn’t be happening . . . not like this.”
I almost broke at the sincerity in his voice. As I watched Rider’s face become alive with disgust and uncertainty, with the heavy conflict he felt at taking me right here and right now, I knew I had to take charge.
I had to lead the way.
I slowly moved my legs apart. Rider’s body, hovering over mine, fell into the space between. “Harmony,” he whispered nervously.
“Shh,” I soothed, nodding my head. “We must do this.”
His head turned away. “I feel like a rapist. I feel like I am here, just like my brother would have been, forcing you against your will. It’s not who I am.”
And I knew. I knew then that he was absolutely nothing like his brother. Because he was so incredibly torn over this joining. He felt sick at the thought of forcing himself upon me.
It was exactly why I wanted this.
Why I would welcome it. I had never known such kindness.
“I want it,” I blurted out. Rider froze.
He looked back at me. “You cannot be serious. It’s wrong . . . it’s so fucking wrong.”
Brushing my hand through his long hair, I said, “Although it is not ideal, I am not refusing this. You . . . and me . . . together in this way . . . it will not be by force. Never by force, but instead with open eyes and willing hearts.”
“Harmony,” Rider whispered and leaned down to take my lips with his own. As his kiss engulfed me, I reached my hand down between us and took hold of his manhood. Rider jumped as I nervously took him in my hand, but I did not stop. The people would know something was wrong if he did not act . . . if there was not evidence of our joining on the linen after this was over.
I broke away from the kiss, leaving my lips brushing against his. “I want this, Rider. I could only ever want this with you.”
“Harmony,” he murmured. I placed him at my entrance and urged him inside, my legs on the back of his thighs guiding him forward. And this time Rider did as I asked him to, the fluid Sarai had placed within me helping him enter me with ease.
I tensed my jaw as he filled me, slowly, inch by inch, stretching me wide. My hands reached to hold on to his arms as he filled me so impossibly full. I opened my eyes and met Rider’s gaze.
His cheeks were flushed as he kept pushing forward, his face betraying how he felt—conflicted, yet wrapped up in such incredible pleasure. “Harmony,” he whispered as he pushed all the way in. Rider froze, leaning his head back to close his eyes and simply breathe. And I was struck speechless. Struck speechless at having him above me. He had looked into my eyes. He had his arms braced protectively over my head. He had only unbridled affection and need in his stare. No hatred. No pride.
It made me feel . . . It made me feel.
Until then, I had never felt anything during joinings. I always made myself go elsewhere, dreaming of a world away from the act taking place. But right then, with Rider, I felt it all. I felt the warm breeze slipping through the gauze curtains. I felt Rider’s hot skin brushing against mine, causing me to shiver in pleasure. But most of all I felt every second of this in my soul. I felt happiness in my heart . . . I felt free.
“Harmony,” Rider murmured. He was looking down at me in concern. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I replied softly. “I am more than okay.”
My words seemed to soothe something in Rider’s stare and he began to move, gently pulling himself back, only to push back in, the feeling of his gentle strokes like nothing I had ever experienced.
The faster he moved, the gentler he became. Rider’s skin glistened with the heat as he rocked within me. And when he lowered his head to press his forehead against mine, I almost cried.
I did not know joinings could be like this. This pure and true . . . this tender. My breath hitched as a strange sensation began stirring inside me. My eyes flew open and Rider reared his head back.
“Rider.” I met Rider’s eyes as they locked beautifully on mine. “Rider,” I repeated, seeing the same awed expression on his face that I knew I wore on my own.
“Harmony,” he said, guttural, low and raw, as his hips moved faster. My breath raced to catch up with his. Then, taking me by surprise, my back arched as a rush of red-hot heat pulsed through my body, lifting me to a great height from within. A loud cry tore from my lips as I felt a bright light splinter me apart, only to fuse me back together with an i
mpossible feeling of pleasure.
My hands held onto Rider as I tried to contain the brightness exploding within. I opened my eyes, just in time to see Rider’s neck tense and the same pleasure I was feeling possess his face. But unlike me, Rider never took his eyes from mine. He stayed with me, locked both within my stare and heart as he roared out his release and filled me with his warmth.
Rider’s hips rocked into me gently in the aftermath. He gasped in short, strained breaths, then calmed as we grew still. Both in shock at what had just transpired . . . at the indescribable feeling of grace I knew we both had just shared.
“Harmony,” Rider whispered again, my name like a prayer spilling from his soul. He leaned down and kissed me. He joined our mouths just as surely as our souls were now joined too.
When we parted, the crowd outside began to cheer, puncturing the cocoon of warmth and light we had momentarily been in. It was like a cold douse of water being poured over our heads, bringing us back to where we were.
“We need to go,” Rider said, sadly. And I knew that, like me, he was wishing we could freeze time, eradicate the unwanted audience and stay right here. Keeping our hearts brimming with this much contentment.
“I know,” I said reluctantly, sighing as he removed himself from within me. It was strange. When Rider left my body, I felt like I had lost a piece of my soul too.
Rider slipped on his pants and stood from the bed. I watched as he gathered his composure, then turned to me. I took his outstretched hand and followed him out of the enclosed bed. Rider squeezed my hand in his as we walked outside, my naked body immediately on display. He shielded me as much as possible, before snapping his fingers at a nearby guard to give me my garment. I slipped the dress on quickly and waited for what came next.
My face flushed with embarrassment as Brother Luke walked to the bed and came back holding the soiled sheets up for the crowd to see. The people cheered and held up their hands for their prophet.
The prophecy was complete. I could feel the pulsing waves of their joy.
Rider held up his hands, looking every inch the prophet of The Order. The crowd quieted. “The four days of solitude for me and my new wife will now commence. Take this time to reflect on your sins and pray for our souls to be saved.” The people jumped to their feet in celebration. “Your celebrations will commence in the west hall. Go and celebrate your salvation and embrace in the love that your Lord has sent to his chosen people!”
I heard the rush of the crowd as they dispersed to begin the celebrations. Rider turned to Brother Luke. “I am going to take the Cursed to the house of solitude. No one is to disturb us until the four days are complete, am I understood?”
“Yes, Prophet. I have everything covered here. You enjoy purifying your new bride.”
Rider took my hand in his and dragged me in the opposite direction to the crowd. I kept my eyes downcast, trying my best to keep up with Rider’s fast steps. The soft grass quickly gave way to a path, and risking a glance up, I saw the bridal house of solitude up ahead.
But when we arrived at the house, Rider did not lead me inside as I expected. Instead he ran past the entrance and headed for the surrounding forest. I frowned in confusion as the ground beneath us turned to rough, dry soil and twigs. Several of the broken branches sliced at the bare parts of my feet through the strappy sandals, but Rider kept pulling us deeper and deeper into the forest, his attention solely focused on wherever he was taking us.
As the light above began to fade, unease began to travel to my chest.
Rider did not look back, just kept pushing forward. Beads of sweat built on my forehead as he increased his speed. The humid air grew thicker the further we traveled. We pushed through, until so much time had passed that night moved in. I gasped for breath, unused to such bodily exertion.
Then suddenly, Rider pushed a branch out of the way, and a fence came into view. The fence was metal, but the panel in front of us had been cut . . . cut wide enough for us to fit through. Rider pushed the cut sheet aside. I swayed on my feet. I was so confused and exhausted that my head pounded and ached.
“Come on, baby,” Rider urged, indicating for me to go through. I hesitated just long enough for him to reach for my arm and guide me through. Rider fixed the sheet back in place behind us, then reached for my hand. At the same speed as before, we passed through several more lines of trees, before arriving at a deserted road . . . deserted but for a black vehicle with black windows.
I sucked in a breath. What was happening? Where were we going? Rider turned to face me. He placed both his hands on my upper arms and pushed me backward, until I was pressed up against the vehicle. His hands moved from my arms to cup my cheeks.
“Rider,” I whispered, trying to catch my breath. I leaned forward, lifting my hands to lie over his on my cheeks. I breathed in his scent and felt his heart racing against my chest. He was looking at me as if I was his sun. I felt in my heart that he was mine too.
“How?” I asked softly. “How did you . . . how is this even possible? I am so confused. I was meant to marry the prophet! I had to, to help our cause . . . what . . . what have you done?”
He stepped back, brushing my questions aside. “We need to go, baby.”
I reached for his wrist. “Where? Where are we going? I need to know what is happening!” I glanced back in the direction of the commune, fear lacing my veins. “My friends. My guardians . . . we cannot leave them! They need me. They needed me to get close to the prophet!”
Rider stopped and pulled me closer to him. “They know, Harmony. They helped me do all this. Now I need you to come with me so we can help them too. The plan has changed. We just didn’t tell you in case that knowledge put you in danger.”
A thick cloud clogged my mind. If they had helped Rider . . . “They will be punished!” My hand flew to my mouth. “He will kill them. He will kill them all for their betrayal. And where have you put your brother? Is he still alive?”
Rider cupped my face again. His expression was sympathetic, yet determined. “He is alive. Harmony, this moment was why your friends stayed in Puerto Rico all those years when they could have fled. This was why you volunteered to come back, too. We have set that plan in motion; it just looks different than you thought.”
“I do not understand,” I answered and held on tighter to Rider’s wrists. “I needed to marry him.”
“They—Brother Stephen, Sister Ruth, Solomon and Samson—couldn’t see that happen. We all saw what this wedding was doing to you. It was killing you inside. None of us could see you sacrifice yourself. My brother . . . he would have hurt you. And even if you could have taken it. I couldn’t. We couldn’t.” Rider closed his eyes. “This was the plan we devised the night they discovered who I was. I can get to people who can help us. Because we cannot do this alone. We need to get help . . . without destroying you in the process.”
I saw in his eyes that he was just as conflicted as me at leaving them. “Rider,” I rasped, the tears already clogging my throat. “Whoever will help us out of this mess? The authorities Brother Stephen talked of?”
Rider’s hands on my cheeks tightened just a fraction. “No. The people that Judah fears most.”
At first I could not think who that could be. Then the prophet’s teachings played in my mind. The sermons he preached through the speakers for all the commune to hear. “The devil’s men,” I whispered. Rider nodded his head once. “To rid ourselves of the prophet we must walk through hell?” I asked, trying to build the courage to face such men.
Rider stared at me for what felt like an eternity. “I fear we have already been living in hell, baby.” Rider’s jarring words halted my breath. “We have to go, now,” Rider said and went to turn away.
Just before he did, I pulled on his wrist until he was facing me. His eyebrows were pulled into a frown. He watched me, worry in his gaze. I stepped closer, once, twice, until I was right before him. “We are married,” I said in an awed whisper. I glanced down at my left hand in his
, simple matching golden rings on our ring fingers. I ran my thumb over Rider’s band and looked up into his eyes. He was already watching me, eyes glistening. “In the eyes of our people, we are man and wife for eternity. And we are celestially joined. You and I . . .”
Rider did not speak. I watched as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. My heart increased in its pace as I feared that what I felt—the heady lightness of happiness fluttering in my heart—was not reciprocated. That it was simply for the sake of the plan.
Just as I was about to pull my hand from Rider’s, he backed me up against the vehicle again. My heart beat for an entirely different reason now. It was all due to the strange look in Rider’s intense gaze. As if his dark irises were lit with fire, a burning hunger in their depths.
I opened my mouth, willing myself to speak. But Rider’s hands landed on my face, and his mouth crashed down to mine. I was stunned, breathless, as Rider’s mouth devoured mine—passionate, desperate and filled with so much desire that my legs shook where I stood. My hands moved to his chest, trying to hold on tight to the new feel of being taken in such a way. The movement only urged Rider on. His tongue dueled with mine, so dominant yet so gentle and soft at the same time. My body felt alive with light and flames, so much so that my chest ached and I had to clench my legs together as a now-familiar feeling gathered at my core.
Finally, Rider pulled back, resting his forehead on mine as we both searched for lost breath. Our chests rose up and down in a frantic rhythm. When our starved lungs had finally found a reprieve, Rider ran his thumb down my arm to my wedding band. “I want you, Harmony. Right now I can’t fucking believe you’re my wife. That we . . . that you were my first. That I just had you like that . . .” He drew his head back, and brushing his lips against my mouth, said, “So fucking beautiful and perfect. And mine. Truly mine, in every way.” I closed my eyes, relieved that he wanted me too. “But I don’t deserve you. Not even one little bit.”
