Page 38 of The Demon's Fire
“Did you have to stare so long? Accidentally, I mean.”
“I … never mind.”
When he laughed, Skyler’s eyes iced over. “You are a fine specimen. Of course I looked. It meant nothing.” She tilted her I’m-better-than-you chin higher in the air.
“Specimen, huh. Fine, huh.” Kole nodded. “I get that from a lot of females. Which part of my specimen had you drooling?”
Skyler pursed her lips, glaring.Butbefore she could open her mouth to snap shit, a female swept through the two-story high doors.
She threw back the hood of her red cloak, revealing bright green eyes and blonde hair in a coiled braid circling the top of her head. “Chief Legal Officer Maxwell. I am Loredana, your escort and translator for the ceremony. It is my pleasure to welcome you.”
Over her arm was another cloak of the same color, which she offered to Skyler.
“Thank you. It’s lovely to meet you.” Skyler slipped the robe over her prim, proper business suit.
The color looked good on her, though Kole doubted she owned any clothes in it. Too daring. Too sexy. He pictured her in crimson barely-there panties and bra. Just to torture himself, he clad her legs in thigh-high stockings, held in place by a red garter belt.
Yeah. Definitely her color.
Loredana produced a black-hooded robe for Kole, holding it for him to shrug into. “Welcome, Commander.” Her warm fingers brushed his shoulders.
When the corners of her mouth curled, her lips parted to reveal small fangs she had once buried in Kole’s flesh. It was a pleasant memory. Between it and the vision of Skyler in sexy lingerie, his pants were getting snug.
She escorted them through the heavy doors of the Strigodierna Shrine and along the polished marble floor of the nave. Above, stone arches vaulted across the ceiling. Red- and black-robed participants filled the pews.
“Are you familiar with all the women guides?” whispered Skyler to Kole.
“I seem to be, don’t I?”
Loredana led them to an empty row near the back.
Everyone Jack-in-the-boxed to their feet when a deep-toned bell chimed, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. The Cruor, the big honcho, drove a showy procession from the nave down the aisle toward the main altar. His bearing was soldier-proud, a cowl shadowing his face as he glided forward. He bowed his head, his hands clasped in front of him, obscured by the sleeves of his robe. On his tail were fifty adoring female vampires in traditional red cloaks.
ChapterTen
Theprocession mesmerized Skyler, from the somber, tall man in front to the magnificent, statuesque women trailing him.
“He is Nelo, our Cruor, the sacred practitioner in the Strigodierna Shrine. Behind him are his priestesses, the Carnemia.” Loredana leaned close to whisper.
When the Cruor arrived at the altar, he raised his arms high, the Carnemia dropping to their knees, ten to a row. Their robes created a sea of red in the dimly lit shrine where candles flickered on the walls.
Turning toward the congregation, Nelo began to chant. Every tight muscle in Skyler’s body relaxed, his voice rich with a velvety texture, calming like gentle blue waves and as smooth as decadent chocolate. When they rose, the Carnemia’s song rang out, joining him.
Between Loredana’s explanations of the rite, Skyler’s thoughts wandered to Sarah. She had a girlish face but a sharp, analytical mind. She had graduated from Chicago’s Circle Campus and was the youngest division manager in Alliance history. If life were fair, she would have grown older, married, had children, and left her mark on the organization. Life was so rarely fair, though.
Her thoughts jerked back to the Strigodierna Ceremony when the Cruor thrust his hands skyward, falling to his knees to thank Gahya, the Genitrix. When he rose, he ascended the steps to the altar and pivoted toward the congregation, eyes closed, his deep breaths pushing his black cloak in and out.
Loredana whispered, “He’s using telepathy to contact Gahya.”
When his lids drifted open, he seemed dispirited. Loredana explained it had been centuries since a Cruor had connected with their Genitrix. Nonetheless, they persisted.
The Carnemia raised their hands toward the overhead arches before falling prostrate upon the black stone floor. In unison, they surged to their feet, one approaching the altar to select a chalice. With the Cruor, she proceeded from priestess to priestess. His fangs extended, he bit into the wrist of each woman, collecting blood, each offering dripping into the gold bowl. When he was finished, they divided the contents into several chalices. Once again, their voices echoed throughout the shrine.
The priestesses stopped singing while the Cruor spoke to the crowd. “Y emi vite.Potane.”
Loredana, her voice breathy, her eyes adoring, translated. “I am life. Drink.”
Drifting down the center aisle, their red cloaks skimming the ground, the Carnemia passed the chalices along the rows, beginning in the front.
