Page 107

Immediately the Prophet’s fingers relax their grip, but his voice is a harsh growl as he tells Jeffrey to, “Stay back.”

Blinking away tears, I try to look at Jeffrey, but the Prophet jerks my face closer to keep all my attention locked on him.

“Perhaps you will enjoy this visage more?” he growls.

His face transforms again in front of my eyes. Morphing from one of divine beauty to one plucked from a nightmare.

Long hair made of gleaming gold darkens until every strand now appears to be made from spilled ink. The entire bone-structure of his face changes, thinning and becoming sharper. His chin ending almost in a perfect point. His skin both dulls and pales until it’s a flat bone white.

But the most disturbing part of his new face is his eyes. Pupils expanding, they swallow up his irises and eat every last bit of white. Leaving behind what appears to be two holes that lead directly into oblivion.

Then the markings begin to appear. Red markings that stain his skin just like the figure eight between my breasts.

Gaping at him in horror, I can’t tell what any of the markings mean. They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

There are sharp, straight lines cutting like slashes down his cheeks and swirling lines that resemble vines hanging from the bottom of his mouth, trailing down to his chin. In the middle of his forehead is a circle, but it’s not the symbol of the Order. Not with all the tiny, strange markings inside it. Markings that don’t resemble a cross or anything remotely holy.

Spreading his black lips, he grins at me. Revealing two sets of sharp fangs. “Better?”

Shaking my head back and forth, I try to pull away, but his grip tightens, keeping me in place.

“Do not be afraid. You, of all people, should never be afraid of me,” he insists.

How could I not be?!I want to scream.

“Because you aremine,” he hums softly, as if it’s supposed to give me comfort.

But I don’t know what he means.

How am I his? In what way? Is he simply referring to me being one of his flock? Or something else?

Ignoring all my inner turmoil and questions, he says, “I’ll only ask one more time. Where have you been?”

I couldn’t answer him if I wanted to because I honestly don’t know. Everything that happened with Father McCall after he asked me to help him is still a big blank. And I wasn’t exactly paying attention to where we were going when I was in the car with Raphael and his ‘family’.

“You’re telling the truth.” The Prophet scowls at me, but there’s no anger in his expression. Only thoughtfulness.

His gaze suddenly drops from my face and lands on my chest.

Without looking down, I can feel him staring pointedly at the place where my mark is between my breasts.

Shame prickles at my consciousness but I fight it back. Now is not the time to worry about my modesty, especially if I want to get out of this alive.

Lifting his other hand, the Prophet extends his finger and presses against my mark. Softly tracing the shape of it. “A pity we weren’t successful in suppressing this.”

I suck in a sharp breath.

“It would have been our biggest accomplishment yet.” He sighs. Then the black holes that should be eyes flick back up to mine. “I had great hopes for you.”

Had?

Does that make me useless now that I’m a failed experiment?

“Ah, child, if you only knew how valuable you truly are,” he says wistfully as his finger continues to trace the mark, branding it into my skin.

I scoff at that. Then bite my tongue to keep myself from saying something that will probably get me killed.

If I’m so valuable, why did he make my life utterly miserable by locking me up beneath the church?