On the Move Read Online Free PDF Page A

meaning.
    Addison nodded, not trusting her voice. Xavier had a way of rattling her, no matter how hard her resolve, no matter how dispassionate she tried to be. The boy nodded to the priest, who nodded at Xavier.
    “Then proceed.”
    The priest stepped forward and the boy hurried to his side, carrying the box. The old man stopped abruptly and the boy slid to a halt beside Addison. He opened the box, turning his head as if he half-expected something to jump out and bite him. He set it gently on the floor, stepping away with obvious relief.
    From lowered brows, the priest shot him a fierce look, before reaching into the box and withdrawing a small glass bottle, which was almost hidden in his gnarled hand.
    The bottle caught Addison’s attention. Clearly it wasn’t made by the clan. It might have come from the villages, but when the man pulled off a metal cap attached by a chain, Addison gasped. It looked like cut crystal, and was clearly antique. She leaned forward for a closer look. In doing so, she caught a whiff of the old man. He smelled of incense and old blood, a disagreeable smell, and she made a face.
    “Stand back! Can you not listen, woman?” Xavier rushed to the edge of the platform and she took a step back, expecting him to leap up and strike her. But he came to an abrupt stop, just short of the platform.
    He didn’t touch the platform. Neither did the guards. The anthropologist in her rose again, and she thought the platform must be sacred, and Xavier’s touch would contaminate the ritual. So as long as she remained here, she was relatively safe. Ramos’ comments from earlier made sense now, that once the ritual started, Xavier would be unable to attack Griffin.
    That would account for Daphne’s assertion she felt revered. She was, and Addison would be, as long as they were on the platform. They were put on the proverbial pedestal.
    Addison couldn’t help herself from breathing in sharply, which garnered a glare from the priest. He’d opened several glass vials, setting them in the recesses of the box. Addison thought the box and glass vials might have belonged to a ship’s surgeon, holding tinctures or herbs. Wherever they came from, they were beautiful.
    The priest had now withdrawn a brilliant red feather. He dipped it into one of the vials, the tip of the feather holding a single drop of oil. He motioned to the boy, who stepped forward.
    “Please.” He held out one hand and she stepped forward. “Like this.” He took her hands, turning them palm up. The priest swooped in with his feather, tracing a line of oil across her palms.
    She let the boy manipulate her, turning her as the priest continued dipping his feather into the oils, brushing it across various parts of her body, her head, and across her face, the tops of her breasts. Daphne had been right; the oils were intoxicating, the scents lush and deep. In a distant part of her mind she wondered if there was an aphrodisiac quality to the scent, not for her, but for the shifters.
    The boy finally turned her back to the front of the platform, picked up the box as if it were a live snake, and stepped away. The priest withdrew a small rattle from his loincloth and began shaking it, shuffling around her as he did. He began a chant, a low mumble of words she didn’t understand.
    As he circled her, the clan leaders began emerging from the jungle, moving gracefully around the edge of the circle. Ramos had mentioned masks, but he hadn’t mentioned the rest of their costumes.
    Each man wore an elaborate headdress, tall feathers shimmering and shaking in the sun. resembling hers, but far more resplendent. The masks were made of smaller black feathers, covering their eyes, coming to a peak over their noses. They wore scarlet loincloths, and nothing else. They started moving in a circle around the platform, slowly at first, all eyes focused on her.
    The priest turned away from her, shaking his rattle over the men as they passed in front of him. Addison