Chapter Five

The following days pass slowly, the carriage stopping only rarely. My anxiety over what awaits us quickly turns to boredom; my body, used to being in motion from sunup to sundown, aches with inactivity and the jolting of the wagon.

Eugen tries to talk to me, but I find myself reluctant to accept his offered companionship, unwilling to get to know him when his future seems far more uncertain than mine.

Finally, we halt, and the bounty hunters come to fetch us. I blink painfully as the back of the wagon is opened; the midday sun reflects off white stone, the light redoubling until it's all but blinding to eyes adjusted to the dim light which filters through the narrow windows.

I'm given no time to adapt, though. The hunters reach in and pull us roughly out to stagger on legs stiff from sitting for hours on end.

We're in the center of a paved yard the likes of which I've never seen, could never have imagined. A building looms over us, around us, walls rising ten times or more the height of a man. Every inch of those walls is polished clean, no trace of moss or soot marring them, and I marvel that such a wonder can exist.

This can only be the Temple, and for the first time, I realize just what power these gods must command.

I'm so dazzled that I don't notice the strangers approaching until Eugen straightens beside me. His breathing is quick and rough, but without the wheeze I've become accustomed to during the journey, and I realize it's fear rather than sickness now stealing his breath.

Men have emerged from the Temple; priests, I suppose, though their garments and bearing put them so far above the priest of the town as to be entirely different beings. They wear robes of midnight blue, the cuffs and hems so thickly embroidered with silver thread that they hang stiff and heavy from the fine fabric. Pale blue sashes tie their robes shut, and these, too, are embroidered in silver, the threads glittering like frost against the lighter material.

The newcomers dazzle me as much as the Temple itself, and I can only stand there, mute, shame over my unkempt, barely clothed state making me bow my head.

We wait silently as Garik speaks to the priests, their words a quiet murmur not meant for our ears. Then I see a bag pass from the priest's hand to his. He bows, and the others do likewise; the Head Priest – he can be none other, a tall, broad man with gray hair and icy blue eyes – inclines his head to them, and as they leave the other priests move forward, taking charge of Eugen and me.

The men flank each of us, one to either side and two behind, as if we have any hope of running here in this vast, alien courtyard, as if they think we might chase after the wagon slowly making its way toward the heavy wooden gate. Before us, the Head Priest towers, gazing upon us with a look of barely-concealed disgust.

"A poor showing for the gods," he says coldly. "A half-wild renegade unaware of the law, and a consumptive. I doubt either of you will prove worthy of the honor the Wolf Gods have granted, but you may be good for one or two litters."

He sighs, and waves a hand, turning away. "Take them," he says to the priests at our sides. "Bathe them. See if you can make a suitable offering of them."

With that, he sweeps away, his robes swirling behind him. Eugen trembles, his breathing rapid, as our escorts grip our arms tightly, marching us into the Temple.

The interior is as magnificent as the outside, the polished and gilded walls covered in ornate carvings. I can't help but gape at them as I'm hustled past, for those carvings depict creatures who can only be the Wolf Gods.

My cheeks flame and my own cock stirs as I take in the images, the gods' furred, muscular bodies and thick, jutting cocks, the human men who kneel or sprawl beneath them, expressions twisted in ecstasy as the gods take them.

A mix of shame and lust flushes through me, the need which awakened during the priest's examination returning, until my breath comes as quick and shallow as Eugen's. That strange, liquid heat rises in me again, and my clenching hole grows slick...slick and ready for the gods' use, I realize.

I moan, the touch of the drape I wear around my hips, the brush of the fabric against my swelling cock, suddenly a torment.

"Patience, omega," the priest walking beside Eugen smirks. "Soon, you'll both be strapped to the breeding racks, ready to be taken."

His words send a shiver through me, warring fear and anticipation. Past the priests who separate us, I can see that Eugen is just as affected, his cock erect, straining against the sheer drape that barely covers him.

Eugen's escort reaches down, gripping his cock and stroking through the fabric. "The gods will be pleased by such eager offerings," he says, "even if this one is too sickly to last long."

Eugen closes his eyes, his hips arching into the priest's touch, his lips parted. The priest laughs and squeezes his shaft, and one of the other priests snaps sharply, "Respect the Gods' property, Brother. Even the weakling shall serve their purpose."

The priest releases him, and I see shame burn Eugen's face at their words, though his stiff prick doesn't flag.

We're led through a pair of huge, elaborately carved doors and into a bathing chamber. A deep, blue-tiled pool surrounded by barely-dressed men dominates the center, breathing fragrant steam from its surface.

"Strip," the order comes, though it's hardly necessary when we're wearing so little. My fingers fumble with the knot of the drape, every brush of the fabric over my aching cock a new torment. Beside me, Eugen struggles similarly, his pale body flushed, his cock dark with need.

The attendants move forward, silent and efficient as they take over the task, peeling the soiled garments away and leading us into the pool.