Damnable Grace (Hades Hangmen Book 5) by Cole Tillie

Author:Cole, Tillie [Cole, Tillie]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Author Tillie Cole
Published: 2017-04-15T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Phebe

I felt the weight of my eyelids before I even opened my eyes. It was hot, and my hair was sticking to my face. My cheek was stuck to whatever I was lying on. It smelled like leather.

I moaned as soon as I tried to move. My head ached and my temples throbbed. I lifted my hand to my head and rolled onto my back. I inhaled a sharp breath when that little bit of movement caused nausea to creep up my stomach. I tried to stay still, praying it would go. But I had no such luck.

Scrambling to my knees, I opened my eyes and winced at the sun creeping into . . . wherever I was. My hands fumbled around me, and I realized I was in a truck. My fingers found the lever of the door. I yanked it open and dropped my feet onto the dirt ground.

I had barely felt the warm, sticky air on my face when I had to curl over and expel whatever was in my stomach. I held on to my hair as I purged, my eyes watering. When the need to vomit had ebbed, I stood up on shaky feet. The world spun, and my head felt clammy. I closed my eyes to stop myself falling over. I rested my back against the side of the truck and concentrated on my breathing. The minute I did, I thought of her. My face scrunched up in agony. But I welcomed the pain that came. It was my punishment, my reward for letting her down . . .

“Where is she?” I asked Martha. My skin was still wet from my shower and it was late. Too late, really, but I had done well, and so Brother John had given me permission to seek her out. I had earned thirty minutes of uninterrupted time with her.

A rare gift.

“She is in her room,” Martha said, still dressed from the night’s mission.

“Thank you.” I walked down the hall.

“She received her first touch this eve.”

I stumbled to a stop and felt a deep fissure split down my heart. It was not imagination—I actually felt it break. A true physical pain.

“Who?” I whispered, fighting back the lump from my throat. The tears came to my eyes regardless. I had known this day was coming. I knew it was deemed a blessing, yet I could not feel the joy in my heart that I knew I must. All I could think of was little Sapphira.

She was eleven years old.

“Prophet David had sent some men here for a visit. One of them chose her from the lineup.” Martha came closer and laid her hand on my shoulder. Her smile was bright. “I can see the pain on your face, but she has won the prophet’s favor tonight.”

I nodded numbly, knowing what I should be feeling. Yet I could not. I was aware the devil must have entered my soul to make me doubt our prophet and the ways of our faith, but I could not rejoice.

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