by Irina Argo
Madalena didn’t say anything else, just shook her head back and forth as Raul moved in behind her. She probably knew that her objections didn’t hold any weight; those who’d been sentenced were not permitted to refuse an offer of proxy.
In fact, Simone realized, the whole proxy setup had really been designed to maximize the suffering of everyone involved—and to maximize its poignancy and pathos for spectators. Those who had been sentenced had to get into position as though their punishment was certain, ensuring their terror before a volunteer was even sought and during the suspenseful wait while the Chair asked for volunteers. They couldn’t refuse a proxy, even if the volunteer couldn’t physically handle the punishment.
And then there was the ritualized intervention component, where the volunteer had to physically cover the sentenced individual’s body with his (or her) own, and remain in place, unrestrained, during the punishment. Like what Raul was doing now, kneeling behind Madalena, his back pressed against hers, arms reaching around her body to place his hands above her cuffed ones. One of the executioners, meanwhile, was taking a seat across the stone from him.
As the executioner took out a pair of sturdy pliers and began to extract Raul’s claws one by one, Madalena completely lost it. Sobbing and dropping her head, then thrashing it side to side as though she couldn’t stand what she had to witness. When Raul’s blood dripped onto her cuffed hands, she began to struggle against the restraints like a wild animal.
Raul remained silent throughout the ordeal, grimacing slightly with each extraction. The blood streamed from his fingers and down the stone, soaking the sand, its thick scent stirring the crowd’s bloodlust.
Despite the cruelty of the scene, Simone found it wildly fascinating. The male taking pain on his female’s behalf was an act of such passion, the scene before her so public and intimate, that she just watched, mesmerized, as the punishment was completed, Madalena and Raul left the arena arm in arm—and the sound of her name being announced snapped her back into the present.
It was Simone’s turn. She rose and faced the Council.
Chapter 27
As the hearing began, Simone was trembling so violently that she had to concentrate on not letting her legs buckle. She anchored herself by staring at Theores, who watched her from the Council dais, her face expressionless but her gaze warm.
She barely heard her defender making her case. He was talking about youth and inexperience and being pushed over the edge by extraordinary circumstances. Then the prosecutor began to question her about her kidnapping, his manner polite, even concerned. She’d been promised that she had nothing to worry about; maybe she really would get out of this alive. Obviously the prosecutor was more interested in staying in the King’s good graces than seeing her executed.
Simone detailed her story as she’d been instructed, leaving Arianna out of it. Then, with tears flowing freely, she told them that she sincerely regretted the death of the tourist and would accept whatever judgment the Council deemed fitting. When she finished speaking, she glanced over at her father. Her heart filled with hope at Tor’s ever-so-subtle nod of approval. How could she ever have doubted him? He wouldn’t abandon her; he would save her.
The Council began voting. It felt as if a hundred years passed while she waited. Then she saw all of their thumbs pointing upward. Her life would be spared.
She closed her eyes against the rush of emotions, not even trying to understand what she felt, only hearing herself repeating over and over her prayer to the Goddess: thank you Sekhmet, thank you Sekhmet, thank you Sekhmet ...
But it wasn’t over. She’d expected the Council to huddle in consultation as they’d done after Madalena’s hearing, but instead Brianne’s eyes scanned the Council members, who each nodded in unspoken agreement, and then she and Theores exchanged nods, too. Apparently they’d discussed this part in advance.
Brianne stepped forward and announced that the Council had sentenced Simone to be whipped. It was the least damaging of the punishments, and Simone knew she should be grateful for such a mild sentence—but still, she had no idea how she would possibly bear it.
Taking her upper arms, the executioners led her to two upright poles in the center of the arena. They affixed Simone’s wrists to the poles with leather thongs, tethering her with arms outstretched, and one of them tore her exquisite gown down her back, baring her skin for the whip.
She barely heard Brianne’s pronouncement over the sound of her own heartbeat. “According to the Code of the Kingdom, a volunteer may act as proxy. Is there anyone who wishes to take the punishment in this female’s stead?”
After what seemed like days, two deep, familiar voices called out, “I will!” Opening eyes she’d screwed tightly shut with the force of her wishing, she saw that one voice had come from the Royal tribune. Anock was coming forward, the rest of the pride watching him approvingly, like they’d known he would do it. She looked in the direction of the other voice and saw Antar striding across the arena.
Simone was propelled from deep despair to near ecstasy. How could she have ever doubted them? Her pride was going to protect her. The Elite always defended their own. And Antar—dear Goddess, maybe he did love her?
The two males stood before the Council, bowed heads indicating their willingness to take the punishment in Simone’s stead. The amphitheater erupted with excitement. Brianne calmed the crowd with a gesture before speaking. “There can be only one volunteer.” She turned to Simone. “You may choose your protector.”
Simone stared at Antar and Anock. Both exuded astonishing power, and the combination of that aura and the deference with which they now stood silently at attention, awaiting her decision, was incredibly sexy. If only we could skip the whipping part, I would jump into bed with both of them. She should probably choose Anock: he was in her pride, and they obviously supported him doing it. And besides, he was her lover; she’d been in bed with him only a few hours ago ...
“Princess,” Brianne reminded her gently.
Oh, who was she kidding? She was only in love with one of them. “I choose Antar.”
As Antar came toward her, she thought of the terrible beauty of Madalena and Raul, of their love for each other on display for all to see, and felt a savage thrill at the thought of Antar accepting a whipping so she would be spared.
Antar stripped off his shirt, and she had just a second to admire his powerful torso and golden skin before he moved behind her and pressed his body against hers, extending his arms to cover her arms and hands. Then he laid his face against her right cheek. The tenderness of that gesture and the feel of his hot skin on hers were more than Simone could bear. A wave of intense arousal shot though her. She felt it hit Antar, too, his body tensing against hers. Overwhelmed, she turned her head to place her mouth on his, but just then Brianne gave the signal and two whips whistled through the air, slicing across Antar’s exposed back.
He stood like rock, accepting the blows without flinching. Simone smelled blood as the whips broke Antar’s skin. The executioners were not pulling any punches; if anything, they were excited to have this chance to torment the Legacy Alpha.
Simone focused entirely on Antar, feeling for his heartbeat. Finally, she picked up the rhythm thudding through the flesh of her back, even and steady as if he wanted to comfort her with its rhythm, to console her that everything was under control. Goddess, how much she loved him at this moment. She was ready to die for him.
As the scent of freshly spilled blood grew heavy in the air, the roar of the crowd rose to a crescendo, and Simone’s bloodlust rose along with it. Finally, moaning, unable to hold herself back, she tilted her head back to nibble at Antar’s neck. He flinched as though avoiding the bite of a cobra.
At that moment, the vicious lashings abruptly stopped. Antar broke his contact with Simone and stepped aside, allowing the executioner to release her.
Simone’s hands trembled, and it took all her willpower to pull herself back together. Antar
’s reaction had absolutely blindsided her. She only distantly registered the crowd’s ovation for her—or was it for him?
Through the sound, she made out Brianne’s voice. “Antar and Simone, I want you both to come here.”
“What? Isn’t it over yet?” she muttered. Moving closer to Antar, she was assailed again by the scent of his blood. She was groggy with it, and the earth seemed to be dancing beneath her feet. All she could think about was digging her fangs into Antar’s flesh and feeling his hot, hard body pressing into hers. Just say the word, and I’ll be yours right here; everybody else can go to hell ...
But no words came. Antar was distant and unresponsive as he took Simone’s hand and led her to the Council tribune.
“Now, warrior,” Brianne addressed him, her tone reverent. “Please turn around so the princess can see your back.”
Reluctantly, Antar obeyed. Every inch of his gorgeous back had been laid open with deep, bloody welts. Simone covered her eyes with her hands—not out of sympathy for Antar, but because the blood was making her delirious with lust. Her insides wrenched at the sight; her first impulse was to lunge at him, taking him to the ground, and feed. Through the curtain of red obscuring her vision, she saw Brianne signal Antar to kneel.
The elfin turned to her with triumph in her eyes. “Now, Princess, you will lick his wounds and seal them. You need to prove that you can master your bloodlust.”
Chapter 28
Everything became a blur. Simone couldn’t do what Brianne was demanding.
She wasn’t even sure that she’d have been able to control her bloodlust under ordinary circumstances, much less now, with the male of her dreams standing in front of her, bleeding, having just come to her rescue, and with all her urges intensified tenfold from adrenaline and lust and holding herself back from all the emotions she’d been feeling since this night had begun.
She wanted to wail with despair. She couldn’t do it. She was doomed to fail. Brianne couldn’t possibly believe that she was capable of controlling herself right now.
Aha! That was it: Brianne had set her up. She might not have been able to get away with condemning Tor’s daughter to death, but she could humiliate her in front of the thundering crowd. It was probably her way of getting revenge on Tor and Theores for choreographing everything in advance. Simone shot a glance at Theores, who was gaping at Brianne, appalled, her eyes glittering with anger—and then she looked back up at Brianne, whose eyes were laughing, triumphant. The Council Chair knew exactly what was about to unfold and was anticipating Simone’s failure with great relish.
Simone shot a desperate glance at her father, hoping against hope that he would intervene somehow. But the King and his pride just watched her from their comfortable chairs, their faces impassive. How could they be so indifferent? Then it dawned on her: their casual behavior was a performance, a mask under which they were on high alert. If she failed, her shame would reflect on the King, on her whole pride.
In fact, Tor was probably going to kill Brianne when this was all over. Obviously the Chair was too focused on her bruised ego to notice that she was basically committing suicide. Not that any of that helped Simone at the moment.
“So what are you waiting for, Princess?” Brianne was gloating shamelessly now.
Simone threw Brianne her best I’m onto you, bitch look, straightened her shoulders, and dropped down to her knees behind Antar. She braced herself and then ran her tongue along the deepest welt.
The taste of his blood set off a nuclear explosion in her brain. She withdrew quickly, but not fast enough. Instinct overwhelmed rational thought as her fangs elongated, her vision sharpened, and her entire universe narrowed to a laser focus on Antar’s jugular. Brianne’s plan was coming to pass. She’d calculated right, pushed all the right buttons.
The arena was deathly quiet now, everyone holding their breath in savage anticipation, awaiting the attack. Antar’s calm, convincing voice came to her as if from another dimension. “You need to get ahold of yourself, Sim. It’s just bloodlust. You can control it. Push it away. I know you have it in you.”
Just bloodlust? “No, I can’t!” she pleaded. But her last sober thought was still pulsating in her mind; if she did this now, she’d pass the point of no return. She’d lose the respect of all Sekhmi—all immortals—forever. And worse, her father would lose respect, too.
Simone shivered with the overload of emotions roiling through her. Dear Sekhmet, Goddess, help me now, I need you now!
An instant before her fangs struck Antar’s neck, a lightning bolt knifed through her body, bringing with it the image of Arianna’s face. Arianna had heard her through their blood-bond.
In her inner vision Simone saw a bright filament streaming across space, connecting her with Arianna. She saw Arianna moving along the filament, breaking through the energy shield that blocked their connection. Then she felt Arianna’s consciousness merge with hers. The sensations in Simone’s body split, duplicated, as if she had two of everything.
Arianna’s voice was in her head. Don’t worry. You’ll be okay. Just let go. Stop thinking. Let me do it.
Yes, please, she begged her sister. Please, help me. She tried to relax, to let go as Arianna had asked, praying that it would work and that Arianna was strong enough to stay with her until it was over.
Then she felt a wave of relief as the tension left her body, her fangs retracted, and her mouth pulled away from Antar’s throat. Her lips were placed on Antar’s back and her mouth began sealing his wounds.
Simone was more aware of Arianna in her body than herself, and for a moment all she could do was try to integrate the physical sensations she was feeling. But then Arianna’s feelings started to come through, too. Simone felt Arianna’s longing, felt how much this contact with him meant to her. She also felt the love radiating from Arianna, through Simone’s body, and into Antar—and how Antar’s body responded to Arianna’s touch: his breathing grew shallow and he tensed, then relaxed, surrendering to the energy Arianna was pouring into him.
When Arianna reached for his cheek and kissed him delicately, he accepted it with gratitude, not the rejection with which he’d met Simone’s mouth. No, as her—their—lips moved to his throat and glided down his back, Simone couldn’t ignore the pleasure with which he was receiving her caress.
She remembered Antar leaping out of the helicopter to fly Arianna to Aldeia Alada, remembered what it felt like in his arms.
Arianna was in love with Antar, and he loved her. It was so obvious.
The revelation almost knocked her out. Everything she’d dreamed of, everything she’d worked for, was about to be stolen away by her sister. Barely keeping herself from screaming, she sealed the last welt on Antar’s body and withdrew. She lifted her head and faced the Council with regal condescension.
The crowd roared their appreciation of the exceptional show. This was a victory for Simone, a profound one.
Brianne frowned, disappointment in her eyes, but she was out of options; there was nothing more she could do to harm Simone without getting a lot more out of line than she had already.
The Council Chair announced that the trial was over and that Simone was free to go.
Simone bowed graciously to the Council and turned to Antar, who was already on his feet next to her. He also bowed to the Council and escorted Simone over to her pride, who were waiting for her, smiling.
Tor’s smile was brighter than anyone’s. She’d so rarely seen that smile in public, where he always wore his poker face, and she’d never before seen it directed at her. As she approached, he opened his arms to her. Simone flew up the stairs and threw herself into his embrace. She had been waiting for this moment her entire life; her heart overflowed with happiness. Tor enveloped her in his arms and held her close for a few minutes, as if protecting her from the wild crowd.
If Simone died right now, she’d die feeling like her life had been complete.
“Thank you,” she exhaled
into Tor’s ear, hardly holding her tears back.
“I’m so proud of you, my daughter.” Tor kissed her forehead and then released her from his arms. He waved to the crowd and walked to the exit, followed by his pride and bodyguards.
Simone hesitated. She should go with her pride, but Antar stood there next to her, half naked, his muscles gleaming in the light, the scent of blood still emanating from his freshly-healed wounds. Simone had never desired him—had never desired anyone—so much.
Did he really love Arianna? Her sister was an illusion now, but Simone was flesh and blood, still throbbing with her need for him. He must have been able to feel it; it would be impossible for him not to.
And he did. He took her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed her every fingertip. She thought she’d swoon with pleasure.
Then he said “have a nice trip home, Princess”—and turned away. Without looking back, he strode across the arena to meet the Legacy brothers who were waiting for him. Sargas laid a long, dark-blue velvet cape upon Antar’s shoulders and all five navigated though the crowd to the exit.
Simone stood completely alone on the now-empty dais, her torn gown half-fallen from her shoulders, hands dropped lifelessly at her sides, cheeks burning with shame and humiliation. Tears choked her; she gave up and let them flow. She didn’t care who noticed, didn’t care if they knew that at this moment she was the most miserable girl in the entire universe, rejected by the one she loved.
Awash in grief, she was unexpectedly disturbed by a powerful inner pull. Arianna was trying to communicate with her through the connection they’d opened earlier. Simone concentrated on what Arianna was trying to show her and was flooded with a kaleidoscope of images: a small, dim, windowless cell with a beat-up table and chair and a small cot, on which Arianna sat huddled, legs folded to her chest and arms wrapped around her knees. She was focusing all her attention on Simone, calling out for her help.