Bless Me

18

Deep in the night, the rain began anew. The second of three that Isolde foretold. And yet, when thunder awoke him, she was already awake, and still.

"Will you go look? Count them all. There should be 10—9. Come back quickly. Please. I will bless you once more." She whispered into the black.

But he just stood, and ran through the rain to the temple. His eyes scanned the area his stomach dropping. The girls shivered together in a corner but there were only the younger girls.

"Where are Georgia and the others?" He asked softly.

Nixi, the 9 year old pulled on his hair softly. He looked down at her. "Georgia, Rose and Aurora, and even Damia. They came in and stole them while we slept. Georgia said to tell Isolde."

He clenched his jaw. Taken. She would die. She would die if she knew. He picked the remaining children up into his arms, carrying them back to the house, as they cried and clung to him, their small fingers wrapped around the braids in his hair.

Lightening struck as he entered the room soaking wet.

She gasped. "Where are the others?"

He swallowed. "Gone."

She shook her head. "No...people don't just vanish. They have to be somewhere so we have to go there and look!" She shouted.

"Aaron," he grunted. There is a certain pulsing air, as if darkness had taken up space in the room, though there is not a solitary light, this darkness is less of a state and more of a thing.

It is with them, the darkness, and it wraps itself around Isolde's body tightly, contorting her heaving her breast.

"I will go," she whispers, standing. "I'm going."

Before he can protest, she is up and moving. Her eyes have a deadness, a malice in them, a glint that bounces out of the darkness. And children, being the intuitive beings they are, diverted their eyes from the sight of this version of their caretaker. Her dress dragged along the floor silently.

A hush has fallen over the group. Dorian is awed silent, despite his many and varied protest. Who will bless us? He will kill you. Who can you save by yourself?

She descends, ethereally, her bare feet touching the grass. Her mind empty, her steps light but sure.

Aaron waits by the edge of the pack, the children squirming in his arms, as she approaches. He cocks his head, surprised at her lack of accompaniment.

Oh well. Always better to take a win.

"Release them," She demanded calmly. "I'll go with you."

Aaron smirks. "Nice try. Surrender yourself first and I'll release the children."

Isolde clenches her jaw, but offered her wrist. "Let them go, please." She whispered softly.

Aaron glanced down at the girls and up at her. They were useless, at least for a few years yet. She however...she was a prize worth sacrificing for. Her turned over the girls. Pulling her into his arms instead.

"Thank you," She said softly, closing her eyes as he lifted her, putting her on the back of his horse.

Aaron looked at her face, illuminated by the moon, her face still as a lake. He nodded.

"Your name?"

"Isolde. You're Aaron, Dorian's cousin?"

He smiled as the horse trotted along. "Yes. You remember. You didn't seem to be paying attention."

She said nothing to that.

Will he be coming after me?" Aaron asked after a while.

Isolde's body swayed with the rocking of the horse. "How can I deign to know what an alpha will do?"

He scoffed. "Do you love him?"

Her eyes opened. "Love a captor? I could never."

He reared back and looked ahead.

Dorian waited. A figure emerged over the hill. Then another. And another. She had retrieved the children, but where was she?

Meanwhile, Aaron's gaze could not be torn from the delicate slopes of Isolde's face. He understood why his cousin had adorned her so. Rags were not befitting. She was so beautiful, so striking, more so than anyone or anything else he had ever come across.

Her beauty rivaled a sunset, and he was beside himself with desire for her.

But if she knew what was evident. She looked ahead, with a sense of foreboding. Dorian was not the best but he was by no means the worst. Aaron shared his covetous eyes. She sighed softly.

"And what is it you want from me? What would you like me to bless?" She inquired.

He glanced at her over his shoulder, his short dark hair slicked back.

"I wish to regain my cousins territory. Clearly he's lost his mind."

And to that, once again, he was met with stony silence.

Isolde's mind flashed back to the last time she felt some semblance of safety. And she thought it would be in her mother's arms. Or her temple but instead her mind flashed to the bath in Dorian's house. She was in it, and sat next to it, holding her hand, his eyes toward the wall.

She'd leaned over it, the tub, her arms crossed on the edge and rested her head on her crossed arms. And he'd put his hand in her hair.

And for a moment, she had forgotten what being a priestess was all about. She was just Isolde, having a bath. But now she remembered.

The real role of a priestess it seemed was not bless or create—

It was to suffer.