Pulling the flap of her jeans open, I stared in horror at the mess of scars across the tops of her thighs and mound. “Faith... what the fuck?”
She shifted under me, pulling herself up into a sitting position, her arms around her knees. Her eyes flashed with anger, but I was in too much shock to respond. I couldn’t do anything but stare at her. My heart was pounding in my chest, but no longer from desire. Horror and fear flooded my veins, and I felt sick as I started to put two and two together. I had visited her in the hospital, but it had been a few days after her attack. I’d needed some time to put certain things straight[JR17], and I hadn’t counted on her reaction to me when I’d finally walked through the door. She’d been sitting up in bed, her normal fiery self. I hadn’t seen below the blue hospital blankets, below the anger...
“What’s the matter, Cas? Can’t deal with seeing it first-hand?” she sneered, her voice shaking with barely controlled fury. I shook my head, confused. “I told you what they did to me. More or less. Didn’t they give you a full report?”
My brow creased, and I sat back on my heels. “Faith, I... they told me…”
She shook her head and scrambled up from the bed. “I’m sick. Sick and twisted.” She turned away from me, grabbing her shirt and pulling it on.
“No, you’re not. Scars don’t mean you’re ugly, they’re just part of you. Faith, Peaches, you’re—” She whirled around and slapped me so hard I jerked backwards. “Faith, fucking hell—”
“Don’t you dare call me that! Don’t talk to me like that! I’m... I’ve had it, Cas. No more. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. Inside. I’m completely fucked. After all you did…” She paced beside the bed, her fury mounting. She stopped and stared at me, pure hatred etched on her features. “After what you did... I still feel it, that pull I can’t resist. How seriously fucked up am I? Angel descended? Ha! I’m a fucking sick and twisted demon.”
I stood up and moved towards her, but she recoiled. “Faith, I’m so, so sorry. It was a job, I was undercover, and I needed to keep my cover up. I never meant to put you in danger, but you’re right, if I hadn’t... if I’d just taken you on a few dates like I was supposed to…” I walked slowly towards her, like she was some wild creature I was afraid to startle with sudden movement. “But I couldn’t. You must feel it too, Faith. This thing, whatever it is, between us.”
She watched me warily. “Cas…”
I reached out slowly and took her hand. Fuck! The force of her knee slamming square between my legs had me dropping to the floor. My eyes watered, pain filled my lower belly, and I gasped for breath.
She grabbed my hair and wrenched my head back. Her green eyes flickered with a cold fire. “You fucking scum. The only thing that should be between us is a fucking set of bars. I’m assuming it was friends in Concordia who stopped you from going to prison for what you did to me, and when I find out who, I’ll make them fucking pay.”
My own anger began to burn inside as I remembered what she’d done to me years ago, and I staggered to my feet. “Yes, it was. You put me in a really bad position, and Concordia too. Why, Faith? Why did you tell the police it was me?” I grabbed her shoulders and stared into her eyes. The betrayal, now laid bare, was as harsh as it had been back then. “I went to Hell and back to take care of those fuckers who attacked you, and when I returned, the police were waiting for me.” She tried to shake herself free, but I held on, my fingers digging into her skin. They’d leave marks, but I didn’t give a shit. I was done taking the fucking blame.
Her eyes burned into mine. “What the fuck did you expect, you psycho? That I was going to let you get away with having me beaten? Did you think that would put me in my place? Well, let me tell you, motherfucker, I’m not the submissive type, and I don’t cower to anyone, no matter what you do to me.”
“I didn’t—”
She pulled away. “You didn’t?” Her tone was mocking. She ran her hand down one arm. “You didn’t tell them to come after me? Or you didn’t tell them to punch me until I fell down? You didn’t tell them to stamp on my arm until it broke?”
“No! Faith—”
She opened her jeans to show me the thick scars. “Or maybe you didn’t tell them to stab me again and again?” She slid her jeans down, revealing the multitude of shallow scars that marred her legs. “Or maybe you didn’t exactly tell them to slice me over and over again while I cried and begged them to stop?”
I felt sick. My words froze in my throat as my eyes fixed onto the scars I’d found when she’d been in my arms only a few minutes ago. She stepped forward and pressed her body to mine. Confused, I slid my arms around her, thinking she wanted to be held. My head was spinning as her hands slipped behind my neck, and she pulled my head down so she could whisper into my ear.
“What didn’t you tell them to do, Cas? Cause they told me their orders were from you. They told me I’d seen too much, and you’d commanded them to give me a good warning of what happens to girls who’ve seen too much, who’ve outstayed their welcome. They told me over and over again while they punched me, while they stabbed me, while they sliced into my skin. They even took pictures to show you.”
I jerked back in horror, staring at her in disbelief, the pieces finally coming together. “Faith, no—”
“Did you like the pictures? Did you have a good laugh while you flicked through them? The little girl who thought she loved you? Did you plan it all along, or just take the opportunity? When you were taking my virginity, Cas, so gently, so tenderly and loving, did you know then that you’d order your thugs to hold me down and take turns raping me?” She screamed the last sentence, and I broke.
Something inside me shattered, and I couldn’t focus anymore. I stepped back from her, my gaze dropping from the look of sheer fury and hatred on the face of the woman I loved beyond measure. The blood in my veins felt like ice, and I thought I was going to throw up. “I—”
“Get out, Cas.” Her voice was low and controlled and full of hate.
“Faith,” I whispered.
She turned her back on me. “I said, get out.”
I turned and stumbled towards the door, not even stopping to do up my shirt. I fled downstairs as though the Hosts of heaven were after me and charged out into the rain. I wanted to scream and cry and hit something and really, really hurt something. With a scream of defiance into the torrential downpour, my wings burst from my shoulder blades and I took off into the dark sky, throwing all of my rage and torment into each downwards movement of my wings as I hurtled through the night, leaving my ravaged heart behind.
Chapter Twenty
FAITH
“This is the refectory?” I asked, staring up at the imposing stone edifice from where the taxi had dropped us off in the piazza. “It looks more like a church.” Even with the grey skies and heavy clouds, the cream stone stood out against the dark sky like some kind of renaissance painting.
“This is the Santo Spirito Church, the refectory is part of it.” Euriel stood next to me, looking up at the stone facade. Even with rain dripping from his nose and his silver hair plastered to his head, he still looked like some kind of stunning marble sculpture. Our afternoon yesterday had been spent wandering around the cathedral. He had certainly known a lot about it, and it was the most I’d heard him talk since I’d met him. It had been nice to see him looking more animated as well. Normally, he just sat in the corner and sulked or sent death glares at whomever he was hating that day. Obviously, the sullen mood had returned as soon as we had met up with the others, but the freshly made pizza and the gorgeous wine had more than made up for it.
Alex stood on the other side of me, his phone open to the museum website. “He’s right. The refectory is known as the Cenacola, and is the only surviving gothic-style wing of the ancient Augustine convent built around 1350 and features a large fresco on the eastern wall by the well-known gothic painter Andrea Orcagna.”
I looked at him. “Is he important?”
Alex nodded.
“He might be. He’s the one who painted the fresco that is on your mother’s card.”
“Oh. Well, I guess he is then. How do we get to the refectory—the Cenacola?”
Alex gestured towards the door of the church where Cas stood chatting with someone in what looked like a security uniform. Cas nodded, thanked the official, and then headed back over to us. My stomach churned as his eyes met mine.
He’d walked straight out of the door last night and had only returned when the rest of us were eating breakfast. He’d been dripping wet and shivering, and he’d smelled strongly of alcohol. I hadn’t thought he could feel the cold, but it seemed he could. He’d not said anything, just headed up to his room for a quick shower and met us on the way out. I’d avoided being anywhere near him, and now, close up, I could see how haggard and drawn he looked. His eyes were desolate, almost empty, and there were dark circles under them. If I didn’t hate him so much, I’d be worried about him, but all his appearance did was make me angrier. What the hell did he have the right to be broken up about? I was the one he’d fucked over. Or maybe he was just upset his normal magnetism wasn’t working on me anymore. I rolled my shoulders, shifting my skin against the fabric of my t-shirt, and relaxed my face into a neutral expression before looking the other way as he came up to us with his information.
“The fresco is in the refectory, but it’s not in great condition. Apparently, it was damaged when the church was abandoned for a while in the nineteenth century. Obviously, the fresco is the main reason we’re here, but it could just be that Rose was trying to get us to the church itself, so I think we should spread out inside and see what we can pick up.”
Sam and Amadi nodded in agreement, and Alex hummed his acknowledgement, still distracted by the website on his phone.
Walking into the church, I paused and looked around at the cream plaster walls and the towering grey columns and archways.
“Beautiful,” I breathed. I wasn’t religious myself, but I still had a great deal of respect and admiration for the splendour of the buildings religion had been responsible for.
Euriel came to stand next to me, his eyes drifting over the columns and the shine of the organ pipes. “It was designed by a man called Brunelleschi. He devised it with the notion that the church should be a stage for the priest, as well as considering how the physical building would interact with nature such as light, shadows, and space. He wasn’t just an architect, he had an idea about how the word of God should be taught and wanted to build the perfect platform for it.”
I smiled at him, but Cas glared. “Funny, I don’t see the pens for the mindless sheep anywhere about,” he muttered.
I reached out and smacked his arm. It didn’t hurt him, but I wanted to head off the argument before it began. “We don’t have time for your petty arguments, Cas. Behave.”
He stared at me, grunted, and moved away without arguing. “The refectory is this way,” he called quietly over his shoulder. I sighed and followed him. To my surprise, Euriel did too.
Reaching the refectory, the three of us stood in front of the fresco on my mother’s card. It was huge, covering the entirety of the eastern wall, but most of the bottom half was sadly missing.
“Do you know what would have been at the bottom?” I asked Euriel. He shook his head.
“It was supposed to be the Last Supper,” Alex said quietly, coming to stand on my other side. I noticed he deliberately stayed far away from Euriel. He glanced down at his phone screen. “It was commissioned by Florentine patrons between 1360 and 1365 to a great gothic master, Andrea Orcagna, and it’s thought his brother as well.”
Euriel stepped forward, tipping his head up to take in every detail of the crucifixion scene. “Beautiful. Just stunning. Look at the details in the armour, the head coverings. All medieval Florentine costumes. Putting his people at the crucifixion so they could witness it for themselves.”
“Who’s that guy?” I asked, pointing at a man to the right of the cross, gesturing with his arm. He seemed to stand out more than anyone else.
Euriel frowned. “I think it is supposed to be Longinus.”
“Longinus?”
He looked down at me. “The soldier who pierced Christ’s side with his lance to make sure he was truly dead. It is the last of the five wounds Christ received during the crucifixion.”
“Why would they remember him?”
“He was supposed to have said that Christ was truly the Son of God. And of course, the Lance of Longinus became a highly sought-after religious relic.”
“We should have a look around, see if there is anything Rose might have wanted us to notice,” Cas spoke up. I had almost forgotten he was there without his constant snide digs at Euriel.
We split up and began to search the refectory, but none of us had any idea what we were looking for. I felt the frustration and desperation growing inside me as it became clear there was nothing to find.
At last, Alex sighed. “There’s nothing here. Let’s go back to the church and see if Amadi and Sam have turned anything up.”
“Can I…” They turned towards me. “Can I just stay here for a few moments? On my own, I mean. I need a couple of minutes.”
Cas studied my face then nodded. “Sure. Don’t wander off though. Come back through to the main church, we’ll wait for you there.”
I nodded, and they left.
I turned back to the fresco and sat down on the nearest pew, dropping my face into my hands. I hadn’t wanted to show it in front of Cas, but I was becoming convinced this whole trip was a waste of time. I was so certain there would be something here.
“Miss Matthews?” the soft, Italian voice called, and I sat up, brushing the stray tears away.
“Yes?” I answered before realising no one here knew who I was. A stern-looking, middle-aged woman stood in front of me.
“I am Giada Bianchi. May I ask your first name, please?”
I sat up straighter, suddenly feeling nervous. “It’s Faith. Who are you?”
She smiled and sat down next to me on the bench. “Giada. I work here at the church. I am sorry for the interruption, but I was asked to deliver something to a young woman by the name of Faith Matthews.” She handed me a thick brown envelope with my name on the front. I grabbed it tightly. It was my mother’s handwriting.
“How did you... When did you get this?”
“About a month ago, I think. A dark-haired woman approached me and inquired if I worked for the church. When I said I did, she asked me if she could leave something for her daughter who might be visiting in the next few weeks. She described you quite accurately and gave me your name.”
I stared down at the package in my hands, trying not to let the tears spill over. “Did she say anything else?”
“No, I’m sorry. Just to make sure you were on your own when I gave it to you.”
I nodded and swallowed hard. “Thank you.” I smiled at her. “I really appreciate the effort.”
She smiled back. “Not that I wouldn’t have done it anyway, but your mother insisted on paying me for the service. A donation for the church. I’m glad I was able to pass it on. She seemed like a nice woman.” She got up to leave.
“Did she say where she was going after she left the church?”
Giada thought for a moment. “She said she had to get back to the hotel, she seemed like she was in a hurry. I’m sorry, that’s all I remember.”
“It’s fine, thank you so much.” I waited until she left the room and then opened the envelope. Inside was a dark blue leather notebook, about half used. I began to flick through it, finding pages and pages of my mother’s handwriting, sketches, printouts, and photocopies of paintings and drawings. Choosing a random page, I started to read.
“... pilgrim Antoninus of Piacenza described in AD570 seeing the crown of thorns with which our Lord was crowned and the lance with which He was struck in the side... Basilica of Mount Zion, Jerusalem. In 615AD Jerusalem was captured by the Persian forces of King Kosgrav II…�
�� I frowned. It was just another of her research notebooks. I had thought it looked familiar. I flipped through again, scanning over the entries, drawings, and photographs. Yep, just another notebook about relics and artefacts.
I closed it and stood up, tucking the notebook into the back of my jeans under my jacket. Maybe Alex could find something in there that might give us a clue about what was going on. I glanced back up at the fresco, and a wave of worry and sadness washed over me. “Where are you, Rose?” I murmured aloud. “I don’t know what you want me to do, to find. What am I missing?” I rubbed my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. I hated feeling so helpless.
“Miss Matthews?”
“Yes?” I turned again, thinking Giada had remembered something and come back to tell me, but it wasn’t Giada. The woman was tall, with closely cropped blonde hair and... white eyes? Fuck. I turned, but she reached out and grabbed my arm. A shock wave of pain ran through my body, and I opened my mouth to scream, but the man with her slapped his hand over my mouth and grabbed my wrist, twisting it up behind me so I couldn’t pull away without breaking my arm.
“Quiet!” he muttered into my ear. “Or she does it again, and this time it will hurt.”
I nodded and forced myself to relax. As I did, so did his grip. I slipped my wrist out of his grasp then snapped my head back as hard as I could. The impact left me slightly disoriented, but my reward was the satisfying crunching sound of his nose breaking. I slammed my elbow into his stomach, and I felt him double over, gasping for breath. The woman narrowed her eyes and came straight for me, but there was no way I was letting this bitch touch me again. I spun around, away from the gasping muscle behind me, with a kick aimed straight at her head. She saw it coming and ducked, but I followed through with my second foot, which caught her in the middle. She recoiled in pain, but her reflexes were like lightning, and her hands fastened tightly onto my ankle. Before I knew it, she had flipped me over, and my back hit the stone floor with a force that left me breathless and stunned. Grabbing my arms, she crossed and knelt on them, pinning them to my chest. Her cold, slender hand fastened over my mouth, and the pain began again. This time, though, she had taken the dampeners off, and agony lanced through me. The world faded away, and all I could feel was the pain until that, too, suddenly eased. My sight didn’t return though, and I stood alone in darkness with an increasing sense of panic. Had I blacked out? It was very possible with the torture she was putting me through, but surely I wouldn’t be able to think coherently? A familiar feeling crept over me, like I was being watched. There was a presence here in the darkness with me. Unable to resist the need to know, I turned slowly, taking in the darkness until I met a pair of glimmering, cold silver eyes. A rustle of feathers surrounded me, and I felt their razor-sharp edges brush against me, slicing through the skin of my back like a thousand tiny knives. The eyes glided closer, and a raspy, disused voice drifted over the space between us.
Nephilim the Awakening (Wrath of the Fallen Book 1) Page 20
