Original Sin: The Seven Deadly Sins

by Allison Brennan

  She fumbled with his jeans. He had to stand so she could push them down, along with his briefs, and his semi-hard cock grew under her touch. He knelt in front of her, kissed her, his hands on her breasts. She pushed his head from her lips downward, and he took one small breast into his mouth, his hand cupping and squeezing the other. She gasped as his teeth lightly bit her nipple, then reached down and squeezed him, pulling him closer to her.

  “Skye—” he whispered into her chest.

  “Shh.” He always wanted to make sure she was comfortable, that she was enjoying herself, so concerned about her that he never really let himself go. She wanted him to lose control with her, to want her so much that he took everything she offered and more. He was too damn restrained, too damn noble.

  But she didn’t want to talk about it, not now; she just wanted Anthony in her, over her, any way she could get him. He was hers; she wanted to mark him.

  Very unlike her. She swallowed uneasily, then Anthony whispered in her ear, “I love you, Skye,” as he stood, helping her to her feet.

  He slid off her uniform pants and panties together, and she was naked. He picked her up to carry her to the bedroom. Always the gentleman. Always chivalrous.

  “Right here, right now,” she said, using her body to direct him toward the counter. Uncertain, he sat her on the edge and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was exactly the right height to make love to her like this.

  Before he could protest, she guided him into her, then slid forward to take him completely. She gasped, wrapped her arms around him, and his hands moved to support her. His cock involuntarily jerked inside her. He was trying to control it again, to fight the passion, to make sure she was comfortable, that she orgasmed first, that she had pleasure even if he denied himself.

  But she knew his body now, knew how to push him over the edge. She kissed his earlobe, her tongue circling, sucking, moving down his jawline, to his lips where she kissed him hard, drawing his tongue into her mouth, mimicking sex. His cock soon followed the rhythm she set with their mouths and they both groaned, so close to the edge, so close to losing themselves completely in each other.

  Anthony couldn’t resist Skye when she touched him. She was a siren for him, calling, beckoning, drawing him in. She was his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. As soon as she nipped his tongue he let himself go, pulling out of her, then plunging in, her body open and inviting, her voice a melodious mixture of lust and satisfaction. Her body glistened with sweat as she worked them both up; he kissed her neck, tasted her salty flesh, wanted more. He braced his legs, bending his knees for better control. Her back arched and her head tilted back. He watched her face as her mouth opened on a high gasp of pleasure. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter; her long blond hair fell down her back in damp waves.

  He swallowed a grunt, sweat pouring off his skin as he held himself in check, wanting desperately to pump heavily into Skye but not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to deny her pleasure. Then she reached behind him and dug her fingernails into his butt, squeezing as she pushed herself into him. He would have stumbled backward, but she pulled them into the counter. He worried she’d hurt her back, but then her finger touched the tender skin on the underside of his penis and he groaned out loud, pushing himself into her as he came in a powerful, uncontrollable wave of ecstasy. Her body tightened around him and she shook with her own release.

  He held her close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Why?” Her breath was short and fast.

  “I lost control. I wanted to satisfy you.”

  “You did. And I like it when you lose control.”

  “I don’t. It’s—” He didn’t know how to say it. It felt primal. Lustful. Wanton and wrong. His discipline required that he remain in complete control of his emotions and his physical needs. There was too much at stake to put aside self-control for personal satisfaction. His love already put Skye in great danger; he was selfish to want to be with her. But he craved this one weakness. He needed Skye.

  “You can’t control everything, Anthony,” she said quietly.

  Lights from a car coming up the street cast shadows across the kitchen. Anthony stepped back, picking Skye up and putting her on the floor.

  “Someone stopped in front of the house,” he said.

  She nodded toward his pants on the floor by the table as she grabbed her uniform and underclothes. “Get dressed. I’ll be right out.”

  She walked into the bedroom. Anthony knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. He started to follow, but the knock on the door stopped him.

  He crossed to the front door and looked out the side window. Rafe.

  And Moira. They both had blood on them.

  Something had gone terribly wrong.

  Fiona listened to Ian explain how he—and two other strong, grown men!—had lost Raphael Cooper.

  She was beyond furious that Moira—of all people—had found Cooper first.

  But it explained a lot.

  “Are you certain you shot her?”

  “Her arm was bleeding pretty good, and Walter cut her neck.”

  “He should have slit her throat when he had that knife on her. He’s a weak fool. Take care of him.”

  Ian cleared his throat. “Can you try the blood demon again? We’re ready to go out.”

  “No. Now that won’t work.”

  Fiona paced, the electricity in the room sparking with her anger.

  Serena explained to Ian, “It’s Moira’s blood. If Cooper has any of it on him, it’s protecting him. We won’t be able to find him.”

  “What’s so special about her blood?” Ian asked. “She’s not a witch anymore.”

  “She’ll always be a witch, whether she uses magic or not,” Serena said.

  Fiona interrupted before Serena said more. Not because it was a secret about Moira’s bloodline, but simply because the subject infuriated her. All she’d done to protect Moira as the Mediator was now being used against Fiona.

  “That doesn’t explain why we lost him after the cabin,” Fiona said. “My Third Eye saw him, we knew he was there, but then he was gone.”

  Serena cleared her throat. “Maybe it was her physical presence that gave him some sort of protective bubble. Your ‘eye’ has never been able to find her unless she used magic; maybe if she’s near Cooper or anyone else she passes that shield on to them.”

  “Andra Moira needs to die. She’s been an annoyance, and now she’s becoming a problem.” Fiona turned to Ian. “Take care of the idiot Walter, and make sure everyone understands that Moira is wanted only dead. No excuses, no hesitation.”

  “Yes, Fiona.”

  She waved at him to make him go away, and he left. It was her and Serena. The good daughter.

  “It’s too late to set up the ritual tonight, and we need a new location.” She needed Cooper, but it could wait until the Seven were bound in the arca.

  “I have one.” Serena handed her a printout from the local Santa Louisa Courier dated only an hour ago.

  Local Man Goes Postal; DOA in SWAT action

  Four people dead at Rittenhouse Furniture

  A tense three-hour hostage situation ended at 10:36 tonight when a SLSD SWAT officer shot Ned Nichols through a skylight at Rittenhouse Furniture Discounters while he held a customer at gunpoint….

  “Why are you showing me this?” Fiona asked her.

  “Four dead. This guy Nichols lost it … violence, rage, lots of blood; it’ll draw the demons in.”

  “We may have ghosts to contend with,” Fiona countered.

  “May have ghosts. And if we do, I can handle them.”

  Fiona considered the location. It would be private, and the spilled blood would be a lure. Though she was loath to admit it, Serena had exceptional control over her powers and could handle any spirits that interfered. Under normal circumstances, Fiona didn’t worry about ghosts because lost souls were easily sent to the underworld with a simple incantation. But with all her en
ergy focused on the Seven, she could possibly leave herself vulnerable to a pathetic ghost, especially one who didn’t know it was dead—too often the case in sudden, violent deaths.

  She smiled and spontaneously hugged her daughter. “Good idea, Serena. Now I think I’ll release some of this frustration with Garrett and get my beauty rest. You should do the same—you have bags under your eyes.”

  Serena closed and locked the library doors behind Fiona and smirked. If she only knew that Garrett fooled around with others behind her back, Fiona would be livid. She expected her “men” to be loyal to her, even though she slept around when the mood struck her. But Serena wasn’t about to tell on him. She liked the lying minister. Not to screw around with, but as a kindred spirit. They were both good at deception.

  She lay down on the chaise lounge and closed her eyes, incanting the spell that allowed her own psychic eye to see. She had never told Fiona that she’d developed the power, so Fiona had no reason to block her.

  Serena’s mind tumbled and fell, stars swirling, until she felt disconnected from her body, connecting more firmly with the elements. The air, the fires, the winds, the waters—she was everywhere and she was nowhere.

  This must be how omnipotence felt.

  She watched Fiona and Garrett begin their sexual dance in Fiona’s chamber. Fiona was always in charge, always in control, even during sex. Serena grew tired of watching and left them alone, floating through Santa Louisa, watching, watching, watching.

  Seeking … she looked for Moira, hoping that this time it would work, but it didn’t. It never did, but Serena had grown more powerful with the effort.

  She searched for Rafe … his eyes. His touch. His mouth. She craved him like no other, wanted him back, her seduction complete only in the carnal sense. Yes, he’d made love to her, but he didn’t love her, not like she did him.

  Moira’s blood protects him.

  Anger bubbled and boiled as Serena realized Rafe was physically close to Moira.

  The thought, the mere idea, that Rafe and Moira were working together angered her so much that her psychic eye returned to her too quickly. Serena’s head ached with a migraine so sudden and fierce that she couldn’t get up if she wanted to.

  But she had an idea that would lead them to Rafe, if he was still with Moira. And if that were the case, they could take both of them. It would require time and extensive energy on her part, but she realized that she could see all of Santa Louisa except where Moira and Rafe were. She’d find them through the process of elimination as soon as she regained her strength.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Skye watched the coffee drip steadily into the pot while Anthony treated Moira’s injuries.

  She should have taken Rafe Cooper to the hospital, or into custody. Yet she’d let Anthony talk her out of it. She hadn’t protested much—it was two in the morning and she’d been up for twenty-four hours straight. Why was she making coffee? Honestly, no amount of caffeine would keep her awake at this point.

  She’d called dispatch and learned about the false fire alarm at the hotel and calls of shots fired, but no witnesses came forward with information that helped. Two deputies were on scene but hadn’t found a shooter. And when Rafe told them the story of jumping off the balcony and running for the truck, he’d left something out. She didn’t know what, but he wasn’t telling the complete truth. He skimmed over the story, and every time she had a question Anthony put his hand on hers, asking a question of his own that had nothing to do with the crime at hand.

  So Skye had started the coffee, duty and love coming head-to-head. She should have resigned after the massacre.

  She and Anthony had lied about what happened at the fire on the cliffs. No one would believe that Juan Martinez had been possessed and tried to kill her. Not only had she written a false report about how Deputy Reiner died, she’d enlisted Rod Fielding’s help in covering up details that would have opened even more questions for which no one would believe the answers. She should have quit, but she didn’t because she loved Santa Louisa. This was the only home she’d ever known. Her father had been born and raised here, had died in the forest he loved so well. She’d be lost anywhere else. But even more important, she had to protect her people. Not just Anthony, but the innocent citizens who didn’t know that demons were alive and thriving in their town, a threat to their lives and their loved ones. That there were people who played around with demons, who wanted to control and use them for specific purposes Skye would never understand.

  Anthony came up beside her and rinsed bloody towels in the sink. Pink water swirled down the drain.

  “I’m sorry, Skye. I know this puts you in a difficult situation.”

  “Don’t,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed. “I understand. But I need some answers soon.”

  “We both do.”

  Skye glanced at where Moira and Rafe sat on the couch. A white bandage was wrapped around her upper shoulder—there’d been no bullet, but a large-caliber round had taken a nice chunk out of her arm and she’d lost a bit of blood. The cut on her head was sealed with a butterfly bandage, adding to the bruises she’d sustained earlier in jail.

  But it was the thin cut on her neck that had disturbed Skye more than the other injuries. The two-inch wound had already started to heal by the time they walked into Skye’s house, but the mark was proof that someone human had attacked her.

  She brought the pot of coffee over to the table on a tray with mugs, milk, and sugar. “It’s not tea, but it’s hot and caffeinated,” she said when they stared at it.

  Rafe said, “I acquired a taste for coffee after moving to the States.” He poured himself a mug and added a hefty dose of milk.

  Moira said, “May I have some water?”

  Anthony went to get her a water bottle from the refrigerator and Skye sat on the chair across from them. She didn’t know how to start.

  “This day has been hell,” Skye began.

  Moira grinned, a raw laugh coming out of her throat as she took the water from Anthony. “You could say that.” She drank heavily.

  Anthony sat on the armrest of Skye’s chair, put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She wanted to touch him but didn’t move. She said to Rafe, “Tell me why you won’t go to the hospital.”

  “They did something to me there. I don’t know what, but I wasn’t in a coma. I have memories … but I can’t focus on them. I had vivid dreams—I’m still having them.” He looked at Anthony. “Do you know Father Isa Tucci?”

  “His name, not personally. He was killed at the mission.”

  “I know why he was at the mission.” A pained expression crossed his face. “It was because of a snake,” he said.

  “A snake?” Anthony glanced at Moira. What did they know, what did they share, that Skye didn’t understand? She felt such the outsider.

  “What’s important about a snake?” she asked.

  Rafe said, “In hindsight, I think the snake was a lure. But at the time … a boy came to Father Tucci with a snake, said he’d hunted it. It was large; Father made a stew. Everyone participated.

  “The killers came when everyone was asleep. Father woke up, saved a handful of the youngest children. He survived, but almost killed himself.”

  It was Moira who asked, “How do you know this?”

  He looked at Moira, spoke as if talking just to her. “Remember when I told you I know things I don’t remember learning? This is one of them.”

  Skye said, “If they drugged you in the hospital, we should be able to prove it.” She turned to Anthony. “I’ll call Rod in the morning and ask him to take Rafe’s blood and hair samples and run the tests on the q.t.”

  Anthony concurred. “We’ll find out what happened. I promise.”

  Skye cleared her throat. “Rafe, we need to talk about what happened at the mission. You’re the only survivor.”

  Moira rushed to his defense. “You sound like you’re accusing Rafe.”

  Rafe interjected, “I will answer any of you
r questions if I can, but first we need to find the person who has all the answers.”

  “Who?”

  “Lisa Davies. She’s a witch; she was the daughter of the cook at the mission. If you talked to her, she deceived you or cast a spell so you didn’t look too closely. But she was there at the mission when the priests were killed. She, Jeremiah Hatch, and Corinne Davies summoned a demon through a violent sacrifice. I was trapped in my room and heard everything, heard the cries …” He hesitated, and Moira took his hand and squeezed. “I don’t know how I got out, but I think when the demon was brought forth Lisa loosened her mental grip on my prison in order to control him, and I broke free. When I came into the chapel, I saw them … and I saw the demon in his true form. Hideous … wretched … then suddenly beautiful, trying to lure me. But I broke their concentration, and their circle, and the women ran to the sacristy for protection. I intended to kill Jeremiah to stop the demon, but he was already dead.”

  Everyone looked at Rafe. He spoke as if he was in a trance, the memory so painful that for a moment no one could speak, feeling his anguish.

  Anthony said, “Lisa is dead. She died in the fire on the cliffs two days after the murders.”

  Rafe shook his head as he rubbed his forehead. “She’s not dead. I saw her on the cliffs. She changed her hair, from dark to light, but it was her. She’s a witch with strong magic. And I was blinded to it. Because of me, because of my weakness, I didn’t see the truth. Lisa’s spells and her mother’s poison forced my brothers to relive their worst nightmares. Those nightmares really happened. When they died, they wanted to die to escape the unbearable pain of reliving their past.”

  “Thank you,” Anthony said when he and Skye lay in bed awhile later. The grandfather clock dinged the half-hour—3:30 in the morning. “Rafe isn’t safe anywhere else, and I know this was difficult for—”

  She cut him off. “Don’t thank me.”