by Cole, Tillie
The priest tried to focus on Diel. Then he smiled, igniting hellfire in Diel’s veins. “Pun …ish … Punished,” he said, fucking pride in his tone.
Punished, punished, punished … Diel ran the word over in his head. The Shunned. The punished. What did that mean? What did that fucking mean?!
Diel dropped the priest, sending the wood crashing to the floor. The chair fell back, and the noose pulled tight against the priest’s neck. Noa quickly righted the chair, then came after Diel. “Diel.” She forced him to turn and face her. “We’ll get more from him.”
Noa looked at Michael and nodded. Michael moved from the far wall and slowly approached the priest. He licked his fangs, and Diel felt as though his blood was scalding him from the inside. He needed more from the priest. He needed to know what and who the fuck the Shunned were. Why Cara was one of them and where the fuck she was.
The priest’s scream was deafening as Michael ripped his head to the side and sank his teeth into his flesh. But Michael didn’t drink from him. He recoiled, releasing the priest’s neck, and spat the blood onto the floor. Diel blinked, momentary shock rendering him motionless.
Michael always drank. He never wasted blood.
Diel glanced at Raphael, Michael’s closest friend. Raphael was frowning, shock in his expression too. The priest looked at Michael as if he were the anti-Christ. He screamed, trying to edge away from Diel’s blood-loving brother. But Michael sank his fangs into the other side of the priest’s neck. Seconds later, he wrenched his head back and spat the blood onto the floor once again. Michael’s facial expression didn’t change, it never did, but his body shook, Diel guessed with rage.
A low snarl sounded in Michael’s mouth as he wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, smearing red across his cheek.
“Please …” the priest said, showing the first signs of surrender as he glared at Michael with wide, fearful eyes. But at the sound of his plea, Michael curled his long metal-clawed fingers and slashed them across the priest’s face. He did it again and again, until the priest was screaming so loud it rang in Diel’s ears.
“Stop! STOP! I’ll tell you anything!” the priest shouted, but Michael didn’t halt, as if he couldn’t hear the priest’s begging, or he didn’t want to. Diel went to rip him away from the priest, but Raphael was across the room before he could, wrapping his arms around Michael and wrenching him away.
Michael’s ice-blue eyes were wide as Raphael pushed him against the wall to calm down, keeping him from charging back to the priest. Michael lapped at his fangs, but as if the blood was repugnant and sour, he spat it onto the ground. It took minutes for Michael to calm enough for Raphael to move away. The moment he was freed, Michael dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out the vial he had been studying when Diel and Noa entered the room. He stared at it again as though it was the motherfucking Holy Grail, his pale skin paling even further.
“Tell us everything,” Noa said from behind Diel, and he realized she had gone back to the priest. He was dying. Slowly. “Shunned …” the priest wheezed. He was fighting for consciousness, fighting to stay alive—a vain hope.
“What about them?” Noa asked. Diel kept his eyes focused on the priest.
“Tainted by the devil … veiled … women,” he slurred.
Veiled. Tainted by the devil. Diel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe.
“What do the Brethren do with them? The Shunned? The veiled women?” Noa asked.
The priest, even with his face and body mangled, fucking smiled. “They serve,” he said, coughing up blood. It poured down his chin and chest. “Slaves … paying their … repentance,” he said. Diel closed his eyes and imagined his sister, his younger sister, at the hands of the Brethren. And what the fuck did he mean by slaves? What were they fucking doing to her?
“Where are the Shunned?” Noa said.
The priest’s smile widened. “Don’t … know.”
“Wrong answer.” Noa went to signal Bara over to him again, ready for round two.
“Wait!” the priest said as Bara pushed off the wall. “I … really don’t.” The priest tried to swallow. “I’ve only seen them once … At a gathering …” He wheezed again, louder this time, his lungs quickly filling with fluid. They didn’t have much time. They needed answers from him.
Now.
Noa must have shared Diel’s concern, as she rushed to ask, “Who would know?”
The priest laughed, maniacal and delusional. “Fa-Father Auguste.” The hairs on the back of Diel’s neck rose at the thought of that cunt. He cut a glance to Sela. His brother’s expression was beyond dark; it was deathly. “H-has Shunned ledger … owns them … schools them …”
Noa looked at Diel, and he saw the pain in her eyes. Diel was consumed with the need to rip Auguste apart. To kill that fucker once and for all.
“You … won’t … succeed,” the priest said, and Noa turned back to him slowly. He was smiling at her, teeth washed with red. “God is on … our side …” The priest grinned wider.
Noa got to her feet, pulled Diel’s dagger from the priest’s shoulder, and rammed it right between his eyes. Blood spattered from the priest’s shattered skull, but Noa merely walked back toward Diel and wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “She’s alive.”
“But they have her.” Sela met Diel’s gaze.
“And we’ll get her back,” Noa said. Diel nodded numbly.
“The Shunned? Veiled?” Uriel said, shaking his head. “They’re hiding their faces?” Diel could hear the anger in Uriel’s voice loud and clear.
Noa’s palms moved to Diel’s cheeks. “She’s alive. For now, we’ll take comfort in that.”
“And my motherfucking brother knows about her too,” Sela said. He pushed off the wall of the dungeon and left the room. Diel watched him go, concern stirring in his chest.
“His brother needs to die. Soon, and fucking painfully,” Raphael said, then left the room too. One by one, the Fallen left Diel and Noa alone.
When it was just them and the dead priest, Diel said, “Is it her birthmark?” he rasped, letting Noa hear his inner pain, his worry. “Why they veiled her? Why they think the devil created her? Because of her birthmark, her blindness?”
Noa’s shoulders sagged. “I think there’s rarely anything that shocks me anymore when it comes to the Brethren. Their delusions run so deep, God knows what their fucked-up ideologies make them believe.” Noa edged closer. “Cara is strong,” she said softly. “She’s a fighter. Just like you.” Diel nodded, but he didn’t speak. Shunned? Veiled?
They serve … slaves … paying their repentance …
“What does she have to repent for?” he said eventually, voice hoarse. “What has she ever done wrong?”
“Nothing,” Noa said vehemently. “Nothing at all. Do not try and rationalize the Brethren’s beliefs and practices. They are cruel and wicked and base their ways on one of the most barbaric and senseless periods in history.” Diel nodded, but he felt empty inside.
His sister. His baby sister was in their clutches. She had been all this time … and he hadn’t even remembered her. He had failed her.
Noa threaded her fingers through his. “Let’s go to bed. Get some sleep. You’re dead on your feet. We can make plans when we wake.” Diel nodded numbly and allowed Noa to take them to his room and lay them down.
Diel held Noa tightly to his chest and closed his eyes. But when he did, he saw Cara in a veil, bowing low at Auguste’s unyielding command, a deep sense of fear in her heart.
* * *
Noa’s breathing evened out. But Diel stayed wide awake. All he could think of was Cara in a veil, under Auguste’s hand. He didn’t even know what his little sister looked like now she was older. His gut churned when he even dared to imagine what she might have been through at the hands of those motherfucking priests.
Noa turned in his arms, her face turning toward him on the pillow they shared. He stared at her peaceful expression. She was s
o beautiful. But then he imagined her veiled, let himself imagine her as a child under Auguste’s brutal torture techniques. She said they had been burned as witches, drowned, hanged. He felt his inner rage like a spark of fire in his soul. And it built and built until he couldn’t lie there. He softly drew back the covers and stepped out of the bed.
Diel felt like he was losing his grip on his anger again. Not the rising of his monster, just the pure rage that he felt when imagining those he loved under the Brethren’s totalitarian control.
Diel fled from his room and burst outside. The cold air slapped at his skin. And he ran. He ran and he ran, the cold air burning his lungs like flames. He pushed his muscles until they screamed at him to stop. But the anger just kept sweeping though him, an unstoppable force.
Diel’s hair dripped with sweat. Exhausted, he eventually stopped by Raphael’s rose garden. He slumped down on a stone bench covered by a wooden awning. He stared out at the manor’s vast grounds. Mist hovered over the grass and bit at his bare feet. But Diel didn’t even feel the cold. He felt numb. Numb, but with inner unease sparking like a live wire. He felt like crawling out of his skin.
He was fucking lost. He didn’t know how the fuck to get his sister back. He didn’t know how to defeat the Brethren. He fucking knew nothing.
Diel glanced up when he saw a flicker of movement beside him. Silently, Sela sat down next to him on the bench. His hair was wet too, feet and torso bare as if he had fled his bed too. As if he was unraveling too.
Sela stared out over the manicured lawn. The mist looked like ghosts waking from the dead to haunt the old grounds under the protective cover of darkness. Diel looked at his brother, his best friend, and saw Auguste’s unwanted shadow lurking around him. Without moving, Sela said, “I sometimes wish I could tear off my own face. Make a new one from all the people I kill.” Sela’s jaw clenched, the only indication that he was anything but calm inside. “Just so I don’t have to share any fucking features with him anymore.”
Diel felt immediate sorrow for his brother. He remembered how Finn Nolan had felt about his little sister, his only sibling. He’d adored her, wanted to protect her, wanted to get them both free from their mother and get them a better life. He couldn’t imagine hating her, wanting her dead. He couldn’t imagine having a sibling who was responsible for so many people’s grief and pain.
Diel didn’t say anything in response. He had no fucking clue what would help his brother right now.
Sela shifted on the seat. “Her name was Destiny.”
Diel froze. Sela’s eyes were downcast, and the high wind kept his long dark hair blown forward, hiding his face. But something in Sela’s voice sounded different. It carried an inflection of mourning. Of sorrow. Of longing …
“We were kids in the same group home,” Sela said. Diel stared at his brother in shock. Sela never spoke of life before Purgatory. None of his brothers really did. Those were the only memories they had the privilege of keeping to themselves. Kept just for them, when their entire lives had been held in someone else’s hands. Sela sighed, then looked at Diel. The sadness in his brown eyes cut Diel to the core. “Destiny had issues.” Sela sealed his mouth shut then, as if anything else he said would be a betrayal of the girl he’d obviously loved. He sighed, but then allowed himself to add, “Auguste had her taken away from me.” His jaw tightened. “I ended up in Purgatory.”
“Where did he take her?” Diel asked.
“Killed her,” Sela whispered after a few tense seconds. He lifted his chin. “He made sure I knew that he killed her. That she would never be mine again. That I would never have anything for myself ever again.”
The rage simmering in Diel rose to a boil. His hands shook, and he was sure he could feel his monster breaking through for a moment just to show his fury.
“Brother …” Diel said.
Sela stood, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “We’re going to get your sister back from whatever fucked-up reality he has her living in.” Sela’s face displayed more evil than any painting he could ever create. “Then I’m going to kill my brother once and for all.” Sela nodded, as if reassuring himself of that fact. “He has your sister. He hurt the Coven, your Noa.” Sela hissed as he inhaled. “And he took my Destiny away from me. My greatest and only muse. For that, he will die, and he will die slowly.”
Sela began to walk away.
“Sela … I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Diel said. Sela turned back to him, nodding his head. Then Diel thought of Sela’s studio. The paintings, the statues … and realization hit him. They were all different forms of the same person. Of the same girl. “She’s who you draw, isn’t she?” he asked. “Who you try to recreate.”
Sela’s gaze drifted off over the gardens again. “I found out a long time ago that you can’t recreate perfection.” He gave a self-deprecating smile. “Though every day I try, just so I can see her face again. Just so I can have her back in some small way.”
It took Sela a while to move again, clearly drained of energy. When it seemed he’d mustered up enough strength, he walked away in silence, and Diel knew not to follow. His brother wanted to be alone. But as he watched Sela go, Diel’s nerves felt untied, frayed. Auguste had killed the love of Sela’s life. His own brother took away his only chance at happiness and then dumped him in hell.
As Sela was swallowed up by the thick mist, Diel got to his feet. He raced back through the gardens to the manor and straight back into his bed. Noa shifted as her warm skin met his cold body. Her eyes flickered open, a sleepy smile forming on her lips when she saw Diel looking down at her. As Sela had said about Destiny, to Diel, Noa was perfection. Unaware of his inner worship, she laid her cheek on Diel’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around her as she fell back to sleep.
But Diel could only think of Sela and Destiny, his best friend’s “one,” whom Auguste had robbed him of forever. They’d taken Cara from Diel too. So he squeezed Noa tighter. If anyone even dared come for her, he wouldn’t rest until he’d torn them apart and bathed in their blood.
The monster inside him agreed.
Chapter 24
“All the beds and bedroom furniture arrive tomorrow,” Gabriel said to his brothers. He took a sip of his red wine, looking relaxed as he sat back in the head seat at the table. “I’ll need all of your help to get the home finished off before the children finally move here.”
Noa was sitting at the dining table with the Fallen and the rest of the Coven sharing an evening meal, as had become their usual routine. Diel nodded at Gabriel. He kept his hand wrapped in Noa’s—her constant anchor.
Dinah leaned forward, putting her arms on the table. “Perfect. That will give us ladies a chance to scout out a few locations we know of.” Noa nodded in agreement, but her stomach churned with betrayal. She didn’t lift her eyes, in an attempt to avoid any of her sisters’ gazes. She couldn’t let them see. “We have a few places we believe the ledgers could be,” Dinah continued. “I want to see how heavily guarded they are. Track the comings and goings.”
Dinah was right. There was a chance that the ledger containing the details of the Shunned could be in any number of places. But Noa believed that ledger was somewhere else, somewhere specific. Somewhere only she and Priscilla had ever been to in person. A place Auguste and his Witch Finders kept for their worst kind of heretics—the unrepentant and unremorseful.
A treasure trove of torture devices.
Noa studied Diel’s large hand in hers. Her chest tightened as she remembered being there as a late teen. She squeezed Diel’s fingers, and he cut a sharp glance from his brothers to her.
Noa gave him a tight smile. But inside? Inside she was crashing rapids of guilt smashing into cliffs. And something else lingered there too. Something she tried her best to block out. But it was too strong to ignore—fear. If she was truthful with herself, Noa was terrified of what she planned to do, what her heart was telling her she must do …
Alone.
But then her eyes drifted to
Diel’s face once again as he laughed at something Bara said. Noa found herself smiling too. Not at what Bara had said, but at how Diel had done the impossible and completely captured her heart and soul. How, despite the trials and tribulations they had both been through, they were here, together, breaking bread with their families as though it had always been destined to be.
Noa felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end at that thought, and she could almost hear her grandmother laughing knowingly, telling her that nothing in this life was coincidence, that everything happened for a reason, and that the Triple-Headed Goddess provided for her stewards on earth.
Diel laughed even louder, unburdened and filled with happiness, and Noa took a mental snapshot of that image. Diel, free from the collar, momentarily free of his burdens, of worrying for his sister. Because she had seen him over the past few weeks, in training, pushing his body to the point of breaking. She’d seen his inner rage in meetings, as they planned for where they might find the ledger. And she’d awoken at night to see him pacing the bedroom when he believed her to be asleep, hands in his hair and pain racking his torn soul as he fought for a plan to get Cara back.
Diel was falling. With every second that passed, Diel grew more and more tormented by the fact that he hadn’t saved his sister all those years ago. That he hadn’t remembered her in the years since.
“Don’t you think so, pink witch?” Noa heard Bara say, ripping her from the deep-set sorrow that had consumed her. She blinked, tearing her attention from Diel and focusing on Bara across the table.
“Sorry, what?” Noa asked, eyes already narrowed on the redhead in anticipation of his sarcasm.
Bara smiled, all white teeth and sinister soul. “That on the next full moon, we should see you in full Wiccan mode.” Ice replaced the blood in Noa’s veins as those words fell from his red lips.
