J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [417]
Each virgin female, after she went through her transition, was presented to the Primale like that.
Surely others must have felt the fear she had. And more would, in the future.
God . . . this place was dirty, she thought, looking around at the white walls. Dirty with lies both spoken and left to lie intrinsic in the hearts of the females who breathed the still air.
There was an old saying among the Chosen, the sort of ancient stanza that one never knew when one had first heard it. Rightful is the cause of our faith, serene be our countenance of duty, nothing shall harm we the believers, for purity is our strength and our virtue, the parent to guide our child.
There was a wild roar from the bath.
Phury screaming.
Cormia wheeled around and raced into the other room.
She found him naked in the stream, rearing back, his fists clenched, his chest craning upward, his spine straining. Except he wasn’t screaming. He was laughing.
His head came around, and when he saw her he dropped his arms, but didn’t stop his laughter. “Sorry . . .” As more of the wild joy bubbled up out of him, he tried to keep it in, but he couldn’t. “You must think I’m crazy.”
“No . . .” She thought he was beautiful, his golden skin slick from the water, his hair falling in thick ringlets down his back. “What’s funny?”
“Pass me a towel?”
She handed him a bolt of cloth, and didn’t look away as he emerged from the stream.
“You ever hear of The Wizard of Oz?” he said.
“Is it a story?”
“Guess not.” He secured the wrap by tucking it into itself. “Maybe someday I’ll show you the movie. But that’s what I was laughing at. I got it wrong. It wasn’t an all-powerful Ring-wraith in my head. It was the Wizard from Oz, nothing but a frail old man. I only thought he was terrifying and stronger than I am.”
“Wizard?”
He tapped his temple. “Voice in my head. Bad one. The one I smoked to get away from. I thought he was this huge, overwhelming Ring-wraith. He wasn’t. He isn’t.”
It was impossible not to join in Phury’s happiness, and as she smiled at him, a sudden warmth suffused her from heart to soul.
“Yeah, it was a big, loud voice that is nothing special.” His palm went to his upper arm, and he rubbed at his skin as if it had a rash—except there was nothing that she could see marring its smooth perfection. “Big . . . loud . . .”
Phury’s stare abruptly changed as he looked at her. And she knew the cause. Heat flared in his eyes as his sex thickened at his hips.
“Sorry,” he said, reaching down for another long cloth and holding it in front of himself.
“Did you lay with her?” Cormia blurted.
“Layla? No. I got as far as the vestibule when I decided I couldn’t go through with it.” He shook his head. “It’s just not going to happen. I can’t be with anyone but you. The question is what to do now—and for better or worse I think I know the answer. I believe that all this”—he motioned his hand around, as if encompassing everything in and about the Sanctuary—“this can’t go on any longer. This system, this way of life, it’s not working. You’re right, it’s not just about us, it’s about everyone. It’s not working for anyone.”
As his words sank in, she thought of the place in the race she had been born into. Thought of the white rolling lawns and the white buildings and the white robes.
Phury shook his head. “There used to be two hundred Chosen, right? Back when there were thirty or forty Brothers, right?” When she nodded, he stared down into the rushing water of the stream. “And now how many are left? You know, it’s not just the Lessening Society that’s killing us. It’s these damn rules we live under. I mean, come on. The Chosen aren’t protected here, they’re imprisoned. And they’re mistreated. If you hadn’t been attracted to me, it wouldn’t have mattered. You still would have had to have sex with me, and that’s cruel. You and the sisters are trapped here, serving a tradition I wonder how many of you actually