She wasn’t supposed to be chosen.
Elena stood frozen at the center of the stone circle, the red ash still fresh on her forehead, marked by the Elder’s fingers. Around her, the villagers murmured in disbelief, their gazes devouring her body under the sheer white lace slip clinging to her skin. The garment was barely clothing at all her n*****s stood taut through the thin fabric, her soft curves exposed to every eye watching in the moonlight.
She felt their hunger.
The ritual was sacred. Only one woman, once a year, was chosen for the Harvesting Ceremony selected by bloodline, age, and untouched purity. Elena met none of those criteria. She was not from the sacred bloodline. She was not a virgin. And yet, the moment the ash touched her skin, there was no denying the choice had been made.
