Page 38

Although small, this Congregation had two or three common concubines of their own, easily identifiable with their plain dark or gray or brown dresses, while Helpmeets got to wear colorful dresses in any colors they chose. The Congregants filed in, nodding and greeting Rhyder, the different patches on their motorcycle vests showing which Congregation they belonged to.

They were seated around a large square table, and Rhyder sat down in a large birch-wood chair, pulling me onto his leg as the Helpmeets brought large mugs of beer or mountain tea before the ceremony.

My panties had been left somewhere in the Holy Place, and the move spread my wet cunt against his thigh. I shifted, trying to relieve the sudden uncomfortable pressure, but it only sent sparks of sensation ripping throughout my core.

Rhyder wrapped his hand around my throat, raising my chin gently as he leaned forward to hiss in my ear.

“I love the feel of my blessing fuckingsoakingyou, Temperance.”

I wanted to turn and gouge his eyes out, but I was at least smart enough to know not to disobey in public like this, so I only tightened my lips as he stroked my hair, twining the tips around his finger.

My feet hung on either side of his thigh, brushing the ground.

His leg was wet, his release pooling under where I sat, but he didn’t mind, his hands stroking up and down my body like he couldn’t bear not to touch me.

Under my lashes, I covertly observed the other Congregants, mostly tough-looking men in their 20s and 30s, often deeply scarred from territorial disputes. Unless you were lucky enough to live in Ronan’s Congregation, territorial disputes were common, violent, and unavoidable.

“Have you decided to join in the Evangelism against Ronan?” Rhyder asked, addressing their Prophet Osric, who was big, ugly man with a mottled beard.

“Thinking about it,” he said, motioning to their common women. “Please, let me offer you our hospitality, Enforcer and Holy Warrior. Take any of our whores you like to suck your cocks and relieve your balls.”

He motioned and two women moved in front of Eli and Rhyder, waiting nervously.

They must be women from the cities, since that was the only permitted way to find camp concubines. Women raised in the Congregation were either virgins when they got married. . . or dead.

Their eyes were raised obediently, but I saw unmistakable signs of their previous lives on both of them. A Metallica tattoo on the black-haired one. Dyed bleach-blonde hair on the other.

They both looked dull-eyed and miserable.

“No,” Rhyder said in his deep voice. “I have my woman and don’t want any others.”

His hand rested on my hip, a low, heavy weight.

His woman

Eli began to list Ronan’s sins, as the woman between his knees sucked on his cock, her wet slurps echoed loudly in the cool respectful silence of the clearing.

“We have heard,” Eli said, “that he even did spit in the face of the Allfather by allowing his Helpmeet to give an old woman in his Congregation something to relieve the pain during her sin-cycle when her flow was so heavy they thought she might die.”

There were muttered oaths around the table.

“Women must experience pain during their sin-cycle,” Osric said disapprovingly. “that is important. Each month is a test to see if they have been faithful. If their flow is too heavy, they must be declared Unclean and put outside the Congregation to die.”

“It is said,” Eli added, “That he did so because his Helpmeet requested it.”

I wondered about a Helpmeet who was able to command her husband in such a way.

The men shot measuring looks around the table at this. It was a serious offense.

“Such a man,” my brother said, “will be easy to defeat. And our Prophet, who is known across the land for his Wisdom and his connection to the Allfather, has declared him to be Anathema.”

Oh, Rhyder would do anything that fucking Prophet said, wouldn’t he?

He’dkillfor the Prophet.

I shivered.

I’dseenhim kill for the Prophet.