“I do,” Thrace said firmly.
“And do you understand that the shame requires a sacrifice?”
“I know that too.” He nodded. “I am fully prepared to—”
“Wait!” Trin’s mother was suddenly pushing her way to the front of the crowd of assembled priestesses. “Wait!” she cried again, her eyes flashing. “Are you actually allowing this? This male—he is the very one who…who defiled my daughter in the first place! He should not be here no matter what law he invoked—he is male.”
Thrace took a step forward and looked at Trin’s mother.
“I know how your people feel about males,” he rumbled. “It’s not much different from how my own people, the Havoc, feel about females. We take a vow when we reach maturity never to bond with a female—never to give our hearts and souls and tie ourselves to one. But your daughter, Trin, overcame my reservations and my determination not to bond. She did that with her bravery, her loyalty, and her compassion. She could have let me die in the slave auction at the Flesh Bazaar but she didn’t—she saved me. For that and for all that she is, I love her and I belong to her.” He touched his collar briefly. “I am hers and I would do anything for her.”
Trin felt like weeping at his speech.
“Oh, Thrace,” she whispered thickly. “It’s too much…you shouldn’t have come. I…I don’t deserve such devotion.”
“Yes, you do.” He looked at her fiercely. “And I’m here to prove it.”
“Disgusting,” Trin’s mother pronounced before stalking back to her place at the back of the sanctum. But the assembled lesser priestesses seemed to have been affected by the big Havoc’s words. The soft murmurs Trin heard from them sounded almost sympathetic. Several of them had their hands pressed to their hearts and were looking back and forth between herself and Thrace. Clearly they had never heard such eloquent, impassioned speech from a male before—or even believed it to be possible.
“Enough!” Betina’s voice was steely. “Let us get on with this. You, male—as I was saying—if you agree to take the Defiled One’s shame upon yourself, you must offer a sacrifice. Specifically an eye or an ear or a finger of your choosing.”
“I’m aware,” Thrace said softly, looking at Trin. “I am more than willing to make the sacrifice if it will clear Trin of all blame and shame and enable her to live a normal life.”
“A normal life, you say?” Betina gave a harsh caw of laughter. “There is no normal life for a Defiled One. Not after everyone knows she has been defiled.”
“But will a sacrifice on my part pay for her sin?” Thrace demanded. “Will you at least tell her she’s forgiven and absolve her of guilt?”
Betina’s voice was grudging when she answered. “The rules of the Goddess do say that a willing sacrifice pays for the defilement.”
“Good.” Thrace lifted his chin. “Then do it. I’m ready.”
Trin, who had been unable to make her mouth work during this exchange, finally found her voice.
“Thrace,” she whispered. “Thrace, no. You can’t do this for me—I won’t let you.”
He looked at her, his silver-blue eyes blazing.
“Anything for you, Mistress,” he murmured. “Anything—even this. Especially this. I cannot see you maimed when I can take the hurt on myself instead.”
“Very well,” Betina snapped. “Let us get on with the ceremony, then. Bind the male! I will not take the chance of such a huge animal going berserk at the crucial moment.”
Trin watched numbly as two of the lesser priestesses forced Thrace to his knees and cuffed his wrists together in front of him. The big Havoc made not a murmur of protest and allowed himself to be shackled without comment, even when one of the priestesses put a choke-chain around his throat, just above the collar, and held it like a leash.
“Now, Defiled One…” Betina motioned at Trin. “Choose which part of your lover you will sacrifice and make it quick.”
“You…you want me to…to…cut…” Trin couldn’t get the words out. Suddenly the frost around her brain thawed and she realized that the high priestess must have had this in mind from the beginning. Why else would she bind Thrace so that he was incapable of completing the ceremony himself?
“Of course.” A slow, cruel smile spread over Betina’s face. “You are still the Defiled One, therefore you must make the sacrifice. Whether it is your own pain you offer or another’s, it matters not but the stroke must come from your hand. The Goddess demands it.”
“I…but I can’t.” Trin’s mouth was so dry she could barely speak. She had been prepared to lop off her own finger or ear or poke out her own eye but the idea of doing such violence to Thrace turned her stomach.
“You must,” Betina declared. “It appears you have chosen to give a finger.” She nodded at the cleaver Trin was still holding. “Prepare his hands.”
The priestess holding the choke-chain around Thrace’s throat reached out but he had already placed his large hands on the small pedestal where the other instruments of sacrifice were laid.
“Do it,” he said quietly. “Do it, Mistress.”
Trin looked wildly at him. “I can’t hurt you like that—I won’t do it!”
He leaned forward, looking at her intently.
“It’s all right, baby,” he said softly, for her ears alone. “If this is what they want in order to clear your name, then do it. I want you to.”
“No!” Trin looked down at the cleaver clutched tight in her sweaty palm. Oh Goddess, why was she still holding the awful thing? She dropped it quickly, as though it had burned her and it fell with a ringing clatter upon the stone floor. “No, I can’t hurt you like that,” she said in a louder voice.
“It’s the only way,” he insisted.
“No.” Trin shook her head and backed away. “I can’t do it. Not when I…” She looked at him longingly. “Not when I still love you,” she said softly.
It sounded like the entire group of assembled priestesses had drawn in a breath at once. Betina looked enraged and her mother looked scandalized.
“How dare you!” the high priestess shrieked. “How dare you speak words of sacrilege and shame here in the presence of the Goddess—in the very inner sanctum of her temple? How dare you love a male?”
But neither Trin nor Thrace was looking at her.
“I love you too, baby” Thrace said softly. “I never stopped. Please leave this place and come with me now. I swear I’ll devote the rest of my life to making you happy.”
“The rest of your life won’t be very long—I can promise you that, male.”
Suddenly Betina was right behind him. In one motion she drew the long, jeweled dagger from her flowing sleeve and with her other hand, she grasped Thrace by his thick, black hair.
“No!” Trin gasped.
* * * * *
Thrace was about to die and he knew it.
He would have surged to his feet and fought his way free—even with the choke chain and the manacles he was certain he could have done it—but for the razor sharp blade pressed against his throat. The priestess behind him held the advantage. One swipe of the dagger would sever all the blood vessels in his throat—possibly even cut off his head. There was nothing he could do but hold still and look at Trin.
She was crying openly now, tears running down her face as she watched the high priestess threaten him. More than anything else, her tears made Thrace crazy. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, wanted to kiss them away and promise her she would never cry again.
But mostly he wanted to kill the high priestess who was holding him for putting those tears in Trin’s lovely dark eyes in the first place. Trin was his female, to love and cherish and protect. He needed to keep her safe and happy and this bitch had broken her inside, filling her head with guilt and her heart with doubt. Making her hate herself simply for loving him.
And now she was going to kill him right in front of Trin. He didn’t want to die but even more than that, he didn’t want Trin to watch him die and think it was all her fault.