Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
“Your aunts’ faith sounds…simple.”
“I guess it is.” She shrugged. “It’s all based in nature—what is above is also below. People think witches worship the devil, but Satan is a Christian belief. Our practice demands respect for all earthly creatures. For the good of all and the harm of none.”
“Yet, your family attacked Jonas Hartzler.”
“And paid dearly.”
Adriel would not debate right and wrong with her on the subject of Jonas. For whatever reason, the witches must have believed they had just cause to go against their faith. There were always exceptions to the rules, just as the elders found exceptions to her situation with Cerberus.
While the elders believed there was nothing more sacred than the divine calling of mates, they helped her escape hers—but not without great judgment.
They assumed his anger would wane with time and that she’d eventually repent and correct the errors of her past. This placed a great deal of accountability on her shoulders since the female is viewed as the peacekeeper of a home.
Repenting was never her plan, and no bonnet or prayer book would change her mind.
She dressed the part and abided by their laws but never stopped thinking for herself. Deep down, she believed females were just as entitled to rights as males—a belief that significantly contributed to her loneliness over the centuries.
Adriel cut her hair every week, determined to keep it short. There was no law against such an act, but the others saw it for what it was: a blatant show of disobedience beneath the prayer kapp.
The kapp was a symbol of submission—to God and husband—but Adriel would never willingly surrender her autonomy to any male ever again—that included the males of The Elders’ Council as well as her son, who out-ranked her scant authority as a boy simply because he was male.
A pebble flung into the windshield, and Adriel gasped.
“Stupid truck.” Juniper shifted lanes and appeared undisturbed by the tiny chip in the windshield, so Adriel forced her muscles to unclench.
Startled by a pebble. Pathetic.
“How come you were always sitting on that bench with Dane?”
The question caught Adriel off guard. “You knew I was there?”
“I could always sense Dane. He came to the cells every night, so I knew his voice and smell. Sometimes I heard you two whispering, so I asked him who you were. He told me a little about you.”
“You two talked?”
“Occasionally. In the beginning, we had nothing nice to say, but then, over time… He was the only person I trusted.”
Dane was a familiar topic that comforted Adriel. He spent a lot of time in the basement of Council Hall visiting his sister, Cybil, so it made sense that Juniper would have learned of his good nature since her cell was close to his sister’s.
“What did he say about me?”
She smiled, her gaze focused on the road. “He said you weren’t like the others. That you were older and a bit of a badass. Whenever we talked about you, his voice filled with protective pride, the way a son might talk of his mother.”
That made Adriel smile. “Dane is a good man.”
“Yeah. But we both agreed your real son’s a prick.”
Dane’s dislike for her son did not surprise her, but it did bother her. Her son was a good and honorable male who faced centuries of judgment for her choices.
“Christian is…softening now that he’s found his mate.” Her son had always been a concern. He was part of her but also part of Cerberus. “I’d like to blame Christian’s father for his flaws, but I’m afraid he gets his hardheadedness from me.”
Juniper chuckled. “You are stubborn.”
Adriel frowned but then understood she was only teasing. Her defenses softened. “We sat on that bench because females are not permitted to enter Council Hall unless summoned by the elders.”
“But Dane’s a guy.”
“He’s not a purebred immortal, nor is he a true member of the faith.”
“Neither are you.”
She hesitated. Sometimes, the simplest assumptions required the most complicated explanations. “I abide by the basic principles of Amish life, but I confess, my faith crumbled long ago.”
“Then why did you stay in a place that made you wait outside like a dog on a leash?”
“I was not waiting like a dog.”
Juniper studied her briefly and snickered. “Dane’s right. You’ve definitely got a little badass in you.”
“I’m sure I don’t know that term.”
“It’s a compliment.”
She wasn’t sure how comparing her to poorly trained livestock could double as praise, so she asked, “Did Dane help you?”
“He actually needed my help. He was trying to kill that…thing in the last cell.”
“You mean Isaiah?” Adriel straightened in her seat. “Did he?”
Juniper laughed without humor. “No. It went ballistic the second he shot it, then it broke through the walls—like they weren’t even holding him in. His sister came after me, and that’s when I ran. She got hurt. Maybe killed, I don’t know. That thing took her.”