Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  A splash of water sounded nearby, and she stood stock-still, assessing her surroundings. Sandalwood hung heavy in the air, tickling her nose and playing havoc on her trembling belly. Goodness, had she caught him in the middle of a bath? Victor should’ve been more adamant in his warning. Was Devlin standing naked before her, staring at her gaping mouth? Memories of her body’s wicked response to her lover’s touch assailed her, and a thin sheen of sweat broke out over her forehead. Always it was Devlin she imagined in her dreams, and though she never saw his face, in her heart it was he. She swallowed past the painful lump forming in her throat.

  “Excuse me,” she said, turning to retrace her steps. Heat flamed in her cheeks. “I didn’t realize—”

  Devlin captured her shoulders and tugged her back against his solid frame. “Don’t go.”

  Warmth radiated from his body and wrapped around her like steam rising from a hot spring. The robe he wore must be thin for her to feel his body heat. A torturous ache pooled in her nether region. It took a great deal of strength to suppress the moan of pleasure simmering inside her. His lips nuzzled her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

  “Where is that courage you display so often when in the company of spirits?” he whispered.

  Where, indeed?

  He kissed the crook of her neck and inhaled. “You’re fresh from your bath as well. I hope it eased your sore muscles.”

  She melted against him, overcome with a need to feel him, to drown out the memory of Josephine and prove her body craved only one touch. Devlin’s. Her mind and body were one with him. “Yes, it relieved the ache, thank you.”

  His hands skimmed down her arms to rest on the swell of her hips, and her body quaked. How quickly she fell under his spell. This would not do. She needed to speak with him about Josephine.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed your bath,” he said, his voice low and sultry.

  “Not entirely.” She flinched and seized the opportunity. “I had an unwelcomed visitor.”

  His entire body went rigid. “What do you mean? None of my staff would dare enter your bedroom uninvited.”

  “It wasn’t one of your staff,” she said, twirling in his embrace. “Josephine called on me this morning.”

  Her cheeks flushed red-hot, and she leaned her forehead against his chest, praying he wouldn’t push too hard for details. She could not share all of the particulars with him, lest she combust in a blaze of shame.

  He pulled her hard to him and smiled against her hair. “You jest.”

  Oh, how she wished that were true, that the whole morning had been but a sick figment of her imagination, a joke. “I’m serious, Devlin.”

  The strong beating of his heart accelerated, and he held her an arm’s length away. She noted an almost imperceptible trembling in his hands. “Thank God, you’re still alive.”

  Of all the things she had expected him to say, that wasn’t it. He didn’t cry out in triumph or demand to be taken to Josephine immediately. No, far from it. He worried for her safety, he cared. A tear slipped over her cheek, and she wiped it away. What a fool she was to have ever doubted him, to fall for Josephine’s treachery.

  “Grace—” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, cooing in her ear. “Why are you crying? Did she frighten you? Harm you?”

  “No.” She pressed her sleeve over her eyes. “Yes.” She nodded, then shook her head. “I m-m-mean no, she d-d-didn’t hurt me, but yes, I’m frightened.”

  “You didn’t seem frightened when you arrived in my bedroom demanding to speak with me. Come, let’s sit, and you can tell me what happened.”

  He pulled her by the hand a short distance before pushing her down onto a settee. The weight of his body settled next to hers, and his arm came to rest behind her shoulders.

  “Start at the beginning,” he said.

  She started with Emma leaving her bedroom to fetch rosemary tea for rinsing her hair. Best to skip over her dreams. “I was preparing to ba—”

  Oh, dear. She couldn’t tell him that. What would he think if she provided a detailed recounting of her bath? A smile twitched on her lips. She would very much like to hear a recounting of Devlin lounging in a steamy tub and rubbing a soapy cloth over his well-muscled form, but she couldn’t reciprocate.

  “I was waiting for Emma to return when the door opened, and a woman offered her assistance. When I begged her to leave, she introduced herself.”

  Devlin grasped her forearm. “What did she want?”

  Grace licked her lips, but her tongue felt pasty and dry. It would be best if she divulged the truth, but with the moment at hand, she found she couldn’t confess all of it. “She came to negotiate.”

  “Pardon me?”

  Her lip quivered, and she blew out a breath. She hated laying Josephine’s charges at his feet, but there was no help for it. This was his home, and he needed to know what dangers lay within the walls.

  “She claims to be drawn to the darkness in my soul.” Pressing her lips into a thin line, she steeled herself before revealing the final element. “Just as you are. And that you knew she would be unable to resist me. A-a-and that’s why you h-h-hired me. To draw her out.”

  “Extraordinary,” he whispered. “Did she say why?”

  Extraordinary? He’d spoken with awe lingering on each syllable. There was nothing extraordinary about it; terrifying, nauseating, and insane, yes, those words came to mind. But never extraordinary. He ought to be outraged, or shocked at the very least. Shouldn’t he?

  Her brow furrowed in concentration as she searched her mind for Josephine’s exact words. “Mind you, I don’t believe a word of it, but she said I’m a pawn in a dangerous game you play. That you would see your mother burn in Hell for eternity, and you’ll go to any length to achieve your goal. You need me to negotiate with Josephine.”

  Dead silence greeted her. He didn’t say a single word, didn’t catch his breath, or touch her in any way. The silence built a mounting wall between them, every second lending more and more credence to Josephine’s claims. Why didn’t he say something? Anything. She worried at her bottom lip, and an ache burned in her gut, fanning out to her chest and throat.

  Oh, God. It is true.

  She drew in a ragged breath and stood, pacing before him, the sound of her slippers shuffling against the wood floor. Devlin wanted to negotiate with the gatekeeper to Hell, not to send a villainous heathen into the eternal flames of Hades but his mother. How had she misjudged his character so horribly? There was nothing she wouldn’t give to have her own mother back in her life, nothing she wouldn’t forgive with time.

  She rounded on him and scrunched her hands into tight fists, fighting the urge to shout. “You cannot mean to send your mother to Hell. Say it isn’t so!”

  “Grace, you don’t understand.” His voice carried a hard edge, unyielding in its intensity.

  “There’s nothing to understand!” she bellowed. “She is your mother, for goodness sake; the woman who loved you from birth, mended your scraped knees, and read bedtime stories to you each night. What kind of monster have you become that you would consider this course of action? It’s immoral!”

  “Do not dare to judge me, madam!” Her arms were wrenched from her sides, and he shook her once. “You glare at me with those sightless eyes and roam about my mansion speaking to spirits like a nutter, and you nearly fainted dead at my feet. My staff is almost as terrified of you as they are of the resident ghosts, and yet, in all this time, I have never once judged you. I saved your life when the townsfolk would have hauled you away and locked you in a mental institution for God only knows how long. And this is how you thank me?”

  He shoved her away, panting. The weight of his accusation bore down on her, pressing the air from her lungs, because he was right. Never once had he made her feel inferior or foolish. He was kind and generous. Nothing made sense anymore. She could not fathom how a man who saved little girls from wicked men and championed the village medium also wished to see his mother to
rtured for an eternity.

  “Please, Devlin,” she said, stepping toward the sound of his harsh breathing. She bumped into his hard chest and righted herself, then groped for his tense hands. Taking one, she pressed it to her cheek. “You’re right to be angry. I shouldn’t judge, but whatever it is your mother has done to displease you, you must find it in your heart to forgive her. Revenge will not give you peace in the end. You’ll perish in Hell yourself if you do this. You must know that!”

  “I. Don’t. Care.”

  His leaden voice cut deep into her chest, piercing her heart. He’ll go to any length to achieve his goal. The truth of those words frightened her more than anything else, because despite the goodness she’d seen within him, he harbored a depraved side as well. Good and evil could not coexist indefinitely; it would eventually rip his heart to shreds. She wouldn’t allow him to wallow in immorality and damn his soul, not without a fight.

  Cradling his face, she took a steadying breath and kissed him, long and tender, her mouth melting on his. His lips remained taut and unaffected.

  “You’re important to me,” she said, holding him close. “Important to Maribeth. Victor. Hatchet. We all care—”

  “Cease!” He stiffened in her embrace and then stalked away. “You will not move me with your tender words. Do you hear me? I’m far beyond redemption, you silly chit. Have you any idea the things I’ve done in my lifetime, the number of men I’ve killed? You’d quake in your boots if you only knew. Josephine exists!” His voice was exultant, vibrating with triumph. “Everything is coming together, and I’ll not waste this opportunity. Not for you. Not for anyone! I’m paying you 100 pounds to do my bidding, so you call to her, however you need to accomplish it, and you negotiate for me.”

  A cry of anguish ripped through her. “I don’t care what you’ve done in the past; I’m sure you had good reasons. You’re a good man. I’ve seen it. Your staff respects you. Maribeth loves you. Confess your sins to Brother Anselm. Forgive your mother. Repent.”

  “No!” he bellowed.

  His voice was so cold; it chilled the blood in her veins. She couldn’t allow him to do this, to follow this path. Although he couldn’t see it now, he would regret his decision in the end.

  “Please, don’t do this,” she said, twisting her hands together. She had to make him see reason. Touch the part of his soul still filled with the grace of God. “You’ll hang for killing your mother. Is that what you want? Maribeth surely doesn’t—that child loves you, she depends on you.”

  “That’s enough, Grace.” He stood so close his hot breath seared her forehead. “My soul is my own. I decide my fate, not you, and certainly not your precious God. Maribeth will be well cared for on all accounts. Please, you must help me.”

  He sounded so desperate. Her heart ached for him, but she couldn’t give in to his demands. “Come pray with me in the chapel, just once, and then we’ll talk.”

  “When Hell freezes over!”

  She was losing him, was grasping at straws. “I’ll speak with Victor. Surely he’ll knock—”

  His steely grip held her captive, and he snarled. “Stop it, Grace! You cannot draw me to the light, I’m too far gone. Go to the gatekeeper, negotiate on my behalf.”

  She steeled her back. “No, I won’t help you.”

  He fell silent, and she held her breath. The air thickened with the intensity of his frustration, pressing in on her from all angles.

  “Oh, yes, you will.” His voice dropped an octave, his words delivered with measured precision. “Because if you don’t, I’ll drive you to Waverly Hills myself for an extended stay at the asylum, and believe me, when I’m done talking to the caretaker, he’ll lock you away in the darkest, dampest cell. You’ll survive on bread and water in solitary confinement with only your tormented thoughts for company. Do you hear me?”

  He wouldn’t dare. Or would he? Nothing she had believed about Devlin was true. By his own admission, he had murdered countless men and would see her waste away in the asylum if she didn’t do his bidding. Horrible, horrible man.

  A wave of nausea hit Grace full force, and she clutched her stomach as an even more disturbing realization hit her. Josephine hadn’t been lying. She’d been right all long. Grace fought against the inevitable truth screaming to be acknowledged in her head, but there was no denying it anymore. Josephine was drawn to the darkest depths of Grace’s black soul, and in turn, that gruesome part of her was attracted to a killer.

  “You have one week to decide your fate, Grace!” The door to his chamber whooshed open, and the venom in his tone pierced her skin, setting her insides to burning. “Now get out of my sight before I change my mind and haul you out of here this instant.”

  • • •

  Devlin slammed the door and leaned his forehead against it, forcing himself to take deep breaths. His heartbeat pummeled his ribs as blood raced through his veins. He wanted to shout in triumph, and curse the devil. All at the same time. Pounding his fist against the door, he growled and stalked to his bed and back.

  He would as soon cut his own throat than repent before her God, the One who’d abandoned him long ago. And forgive his mother? Never. Grace had no bloody idea what he’d suffered at the bitch’s hands. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. He dropped to his knees, fighting to suppress the memories.

  “Enjoy this, Devlin, it’s your last,” the Butcher said, licking the pre-cum off the tip of his swollen shaft and pumping vigorously.

  Devlin’s semen shot out of his manhood in a hot stream all over his abdomen, searing him with shame. How could his body betray him and find pleasure in his tormentor’s touch? Tears threatened to spill over his eyelids, and he shut his eyes to block out the leering face peering at him. For once he wished to be blindfolded against the horror to come. A red-hot poker branded the flesh at his hip, and the stench of burning skin filled his nostrils. His eyes flew open, and he roared, shooting daggers with his eyes at the Butcher.

  “Do not look away!” the pirate said with a sneer. “Your mother begged me to castrate you. To finally bring an end to your lineage. Even put it in a bloody contract. Stupid bitch.” The Butcher trailed kisses across Devlin’s stomach, lapping at the spunk. He breathed deeply and sighed. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, I had to have you. I’ll spare you the humiliation if you willingly become my lover. We both know your soul is as depraved as mine. Admit it. I feel the way your body trembles under my touch. Look at the evidence of your desire. Relent.” The Butcher’s pupils dilated, making them appear as black as his soul. The cold edge of his scalpel pressed against Devlin’s scrotum. “Though I’ll take great pleasure in severing your bollocks if you decline.” He cupped Devlin’s sack and licked his lips. “Choose now, my pet.”

  Something died inside Devlin as the full truth of his mother’s betrayal slapped him in the face. No doubt the woman had suffered horribly at the hands of his father, but to turn her hatred on her own son? She would see him castrated, her flesh and blood—her child. He swallowed, fighting the hopelessness rising in his gut, struggling against the cold, rank bitterness seeping into the core of his heart. But he didn’t have the strength or the desire to fight it anymore. He finally accepted the truth. His mother was a deceitful bitch, and one day soon she would regret everything she’d put him through. Starting now …

  “I choose you,” Devlin whispered.

  The Butcher stiffened and narrowed his stare on Devlin’s lips. “Prove it.”

  “Come here,” he said with a sultry voice.

  When the pirate climbed onto the table and crawled up Devlin’s naked body, he lifted his head and met his mouth, crushing his lips over his enemy’s, knowing it would spark the man’s desire and rob him of his senses. Devlin drove his tongue into his prey’s mouth and groped frantically within, reveling at the moans he elicited. Victory would soon be his.

  He nipped at the Butcher’s lip, drawing blood and licking it away. “Untie my hands so I can touch you.”

 
The pirate drew in a sharp breath.

  “I need to feel you. Taste you,” Devlin said, keeping his eye contact steady. The man’s shaft came to life, poking hard against Devlin’s hip, and he lifted his bottom off the table, grinding into him. “Let me touch you, bring you pleasure.”

  Indecision flashed across the Butcher’s features, and Devlin held his breath. This had to work. He leaned up and licked his enemy’s jawline, trailed his tongue through the crease of his chin and up to his lips before exploring once more in the recesses of his mouth. “Please, I want you.”

  The Butcher untied his wrists and held the scalpel to Devlin’s throat. A smile curved up the corners of Devlin’s mouth as his hands rolled over his captor’s arse, pulling him snug against his body. He moaned and groped the well-muscled back until his fingers slid into his thick, black hair. Tightening his hold with an iron grip, he dragged the man’s mouth to his and kissed him with a passion he did not feel. The scalpel eased from his neck, and his heart began to thump madly in his chest. When their heavy breathing filled the small space, Devlin loosened his hold, running his fingers gently through the Butcher’s tresses, down his neck. The man shuddered against him, and Devlin pounced.

  He grabbed the scalpel and drove it into the Butcher’s neck with quick efficiency, watching the blackheart’s eyes bulge with shock and anger as he twisted the knife deeper. Blood gurgled in his throat and spurted everywhere, covering Devlin’s face and chest.

  Devlin heaved a gulping breath and rolled to his back on the floor, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. That memory remained etched into his brain, so deep and intricate he could not free himself of it. Would never be free of it.

  Repent and forgive his mother?

  Never.

  Chapter Sixteen