Raphael

by Tillie Cole

  This man . . . despite it all, he owned her heart.

  Raphael closed his eyes, his fingers finding Maria’s hair and sleepily wrapping it around his hand. Maria watched him as his chest evened out with slumber. She ran her finger down his cheek, admiring his beauty. Her eyes dropped to the emblem on his chest. The emblem that the Fallen wore to cover the upturned cross Father Quinn had forced on their skin as children. Maria closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had been hurt, tortured, and broken. But she hadn’t been taken against her will sexually, not by Bridge, and not by Raphael either. She knew it must have been because he was robbed of that right, had had his dignity ripped away by abusive men. She hadn’t been told over and over, each day for years and years, that she was evil and going to hell. Tears tumbled down Maria’s cheeks. She had been loved. For as long as she had had them in her life, her mother, father, and brother had loved her fiercely.

  Raphael pulled her closer, as if he sensed her emotional distress. What did Raphael know of love? How old was he when he was orphaned? Had anyone ever loved him? How did his parents die?

  As Maria studied the face of her soon-to-be killer, she couldn’t seem to find it in herself to judge him, to cast him aside as a sinner, a murderer of the flesh. All she saw was a little boy lost. Maria’s Mother Superior had told her that sin was simply due to the absence of love from one’s heart. Raphael needed to kill, was consumed by racking pain, haunting dreams, and the need to inflict pain. Maria’s vow to God had been to love Him and others regardless of their transgressions. She thought of the martyrs she was named after. Two women who died because their faith was so strong they paid the ultimate sacrifice with no regrets. Maria Goretti, a young girl, stabbed fourteen times for refusing a boy’s sexual advances. And Saint Agnes of Rome. A Christian in Rome when being a follower of Christ was forbidden. As an early teen, as punishment for being a Christian, she was dragged naked through the streets to a brothel where men were ordered to rape her simply for having a faith. Stories said her hair instantly grew so long it covered her body, shielding her modesty from the hungry eyes of her attackers.

  As a young survivor of a killer, Maria took courage from these women. They died for their faith. For what they believed in. So Maria would believe in Raphael. While she still had air to breathe, he would become her religion. He would become her faith. He would become her only god and prophet and angel. And Maria would bestow upon him a kindness he had been robbed of his entire life. If he still chose to take her life, then at least she would die knowing she had tried her best to save his soul.

  Just like Maria and Agnes, she would defend her choice with her life… even if it meant paying the ultimate price of all.

  “Sleep, little rose . . . sleep . . .” Raphael murmured and kissed Maria’s cheek. As she curled into his dangerous embrace, she closed her eyes. For the first time in weeks, maybe even years, she felt a burst of holy light eradicate the constant tightness in her chest. And as she fell asleep, she thought of destiny. Of why God helped keep her from death five years ago when all the other captives perished. You, she thought and squeezed Raphael’s hand. You are my why.

  And so she slept. With her head on Raphael’s chest, she slept and found peace. Neither stirred until the sun was high and bathed them in light. Kissing her lips as a morning greeting, Raphael pushed inside Maria. . . just him and her and a new kind of peace within their souls.

  Chapter Twelve

  “It’s perfect.”

  Raphael ran his hands over the clear glass. It was sturdy and heavy. He closed the lid and peered inside. A rush of excitement flooded his chest.

  “No changes?” Sela asked, standing back to let Raphael inspect the coffin.

  “No.” He shook his head. He could see it as plain as day. Could see Maria lying inside, dressed in white, roses in her hands and hair. “Have it brought to my rooms.”

  Sela clapped Raphael on the back. “You getting close?”

  Raphael tensed, his eyes still locked on the coffin. It had arrived. He had fucked Maria. Everything was falling into place. He should be close. But when he thought of the past week, having Maria in his bed every night, sinking inside her whenever he wanted, her moaning his name and crying out as she came, he felt a strange kind of hollowness in his stomach.

  “Close,” he replied, and Sela smiled wide.

  “You’re a lucky son of a bitch, brother.”

  Raphael walked out of the room and climbed the stairs. He stopped on the threshold of his room. Maria sat at the window, staring outside. Her hair cascaded down her back. Today’s rose was pink. His chest tightened when he looked at her, and he cocked his head in confusion. The tightness came more and more these days. When he looked at her. When he came inside her . . . when she stood before him naked.

  Something had changed in Maria since they’d fucked. She was different with him somehow. Her fear of him seemed to have waned. She touched him more. She smiled at him. She touched his face.

  She kissed him.

  Kissing . . . Raphael could still feel her mouth on his from that morning. He kissed Maria often. His cock stirred when he thought of her mouth on his. She had never been kissed before him. But what his little rose hadn’t known was that neither had he. Raphael fucked. He killed and he strangled. He never kissed. It was a mundane and useless exercise.

  But he liked kissing Maria.

  He’d become addicted to kissing Maria. He liked the way she moaned against his mouth. Liked the way she tasted. Liked the way her body went weak at his touch. Liked the way she looked afterward, her eyes dazed and pupils blown . . . worshipping him like he was her god.

  He wanted to be her god. He needed to be her everything.

  Raphael cut across the room, his feet silent on the carpet. When he reached the window where Maria sat, he pushed his hand into her hair and pulled her head back. Maria’s eyes clashed with Raphael’s. The hunger and need he saw there made him groan and crush his mouth to hers. He sank his tongue in deep. His little rose was addictive. He couldn’t get enough. He fucked her any chance he got and she loved it. Welcomed his every move. He wanted to spend a lifetime eating her pussy, fucking her hole, and making her come. But more than that, he wanted her hands on his scarred back, brushing over the brand on his chest. He wanted her arm over his waist while she slept, her head tucked into his neck.

  “What are you looking at?” Hand still in her hair, he looked out of his window. It overlooked the front of the estate: the manicured grounds, fountains, and hedge maze. Even though it was cold outside, it was sunny and bright.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve been outside. Since I’ve breathed in fresh air. Since I’ve felt the sun on my face.” Maria sighed. “I understand why I’m to stay in your rooms, my lord. I just . . . I just miss outside. I was always outside; I took a walk every day before I came here.” Maria smiled sadly. “After all those months in the coffin . . . I’m not so good at always being inside.”

  Something pulled in Raphael’s gut. He dropped down opposite her on the window seat and watched her eyes drink in the vast gardens. When Maria turned to face him, she smiled. He released a quick breath at the sight. Her smile was debilitating to him of late.

  Raphael got to his feet. “Get up.” Maria frowned but did as he said. She no longer looked at the ground when she was around him. None of his kills or lovers had ever had the audacity to look him in the eyes, not without severe punishment. She was breaking one of his main rules.

  But he allowed it. He didn’t know why. He reasoned it was because if she trusted him, she would give herself to him more easily.

  That must have been it.

  Raphael walked to the closet, pulling Maria behind him by the hand. He took out a hoodie and sweatpants and handed them to her. “Dress in these.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Maria, the perfect submissive, took them from his hand and dropped her dress to the floor. It took all his self-restraint not to fuck her right there against the window. But when Maria looked up at
him through her long lashes, Raphael pushed her against the wall and devoured her mouth. He held her hands above her head with one hand and ran his fingers along her pussy with the other. He plunged his finger inside, swallowing her moans as she rolled her hips at his touch. His rose was a needy little woman, desperate for the pleasure only he could bring her. Raphael ripped his mouth from Maria’s, leaving her lips swollen and red. Making sure she kept his gaze, he brought his finger to his mouth and sucked on the digit. Maria exhaled through parted lips.

  Raphael released her. “Dress,” he said tightly. Maria did, although her legs shook. Pride filled Raphael’s veins at knowing it was his touch that did it. He kissed her again, tasting her on his tongue.

  When Maria was dressed, he glanced to her feet. “I’ll be right back.” Raphael went to Lynn in the kitchen and asked to borrow her sneakers. She had an unopened box that she gave him. When he returned to Maria, he handed her the sneakers. “Hopefully they’ll fit.”

  Maria put on the shoes and smiled. Raphael felt that smile down to his bones. “They’re perfect.”

  Raphael took her hand and led her to the door. Her feet faltered when he opened it and pulled her into the hallway. He saw the shock on her face, but it was the following expression of excitement that made his heart beat faster. He led her along the hallways and down the stairs until they arrived at the back door. The second the door was open, the cold wind wrapped around Maria’s long hair. Raphael was a statue, captured in stillness at the sight of Maria smiling, tipping her head up toward the sun, her long hair blowing across her face . . . wrapping around her neck.

  When she finally looked at him, he slowly took her down the graveled path that led to the gardens she had been staring at only minutes ago. They arrived on the terrace that overlooked the fountains and maze, and she sighed.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.” He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. Her cheek was ice cold against his.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” she whispered. “So peaceful. Like paradise.”

  Maria silently watched the wind blow through the trees. Raphael kissed along her neck, her cheeks, and around the shell of her ear. “You have permission to speak freely,” he murmured. “Until I tell you otherwise.” Maria turned her head, and the smile she wore made his dick stir. Raphael growled. “Here’s a tip, little rose. If you want to stay outside awhile, don’t smile at me like that.” He held her tighter. “Or I’ll take you back inside and fuck you. And you’ll never get outside again.” Raphael released Maria when he felt her body shake at his threat. He didn’t release her because she was scared. But because he saw the lust in her eyes. That look was a match to his already lit flame.

  Maria walked to the stone barrier of the terrace. “Do you come out here often?” Raphael’s head tipped to the side at the sound of Maria speaking without command. Her voice sounded softer somehow, more . . . alive. When he didn’t answer, she turned to face him. Raphael nodded. His hands balled into fists at his sides. He didn’t recognize the buzz cutting through his body as he watched her. He didn’t know if he liked it. Maria nodded at his silent reply. “I’d practically live out here if this was my home. These stunning grounds . . .”

  Her home . . . Raphael couldn’t move past that thought. Her home . . .

  Stalking to where she stood in her baggy clothes and sneakers, he took her hand and guided her down the stone stairs to the gravel path that led to the maze and fountain. Maria squeezed his hand when they approached the fountain, the sound of water filling the surrounding air. They passed the maze, and Raphael wasn’t sure whether he would show her the greenhouse until they arrived at the door. Her hand tightened in his. An unfamiliar sense of doubt ran through him.

  As if she could feel it, Maria hugged his arm and asked, “What is this place?”

  Raphael clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. Only he ever came in here. Not even his brothers touched this place. They knew better than to intrude. It was his and his alone. “Raphael?” The sound of his name made his eyes open and his gaze latch onto Maria. She is here. I want her inside. Without responding to her, Raphael unlocked the door and led her inside.

  The heat of the greenhouse hit them first, a stark contrast to the blistering cold outside. Maria gasped when she saw what lay before her. Raphael hung back, releasing Maria’s hand as she walked slowly along the narrow path before them.

  “Raphael,” she said, awed. Looking over her shoulder at him, she smiled wide. “Roses.” A lump formed in Raphael’s throat as she held out her hand and ran it carefully over the blooming petals. Over the roses grown by his hands.

  Raphael made his feet move and followed her along the path, watching every single move she made. Maria turned and asked, “What is this place, my lord?”

  Raphael swallowed the heaviness in his throat and touched the Eternity red rose that was fully bloomed. “Roses,” he rasped. “My rose garden.”

  “Yours?” Maria said breathlessly, shock lacing her tone.

  Raphael smiled. Maria’s cheeks bloomed almost as red as the flower still cupped in his fingers. “Mine.”

  Maria looked around the garden. “You grow these yourself?”

  Raphael kneeled down and checked the health of the stems and the soil in the ground. “Mmm,” he replied. His finger ran over the vibrant red petals. “I grow them from seed. I nurture them. I aid them to grow.” He looked at Maria. She had moved closer, as though drawn in by his gentle voice. Looking back to the rose, Raphael held the head in his fingers and moved it from side to side, checking its condition. It was perfect. “I guide it to bloom, bring it to life . . .” He dropped his hand to the stem and plucked the rose from the bush, ripping it from its home. He stood and turned to Maria, towering over her. “Then I cut them from their source.” Raphael took the pink rose from Maria’s hair and tossed it to the ground. He stared at the pink flower then pressed his boot over it, grinding it into the gravel path. When he stepped away, its petals were crushed and ruined. His eyes flared and his chest filled with satisfaction. Raphael tucked the Eternity rose behind Maria’s ear. The color suited her much better. “I make them all pretty as death begins to close in.” Raphael placed his finger under Maria’s chin and tilted it so she was looking right into his eyes. “Then it wilts and dies, losing its prettiness, its reason for living.” Maria sucked in a breath. He moved his cotton-wrapped finger to her pulse and felt it racing. “But there’s no sadness. The rose served its purpose, pleasing me for as long as it was alive.” Maria held her breath, eyes wide. Raphael ran his thumb down her soft cheek. “Then I start again. I replant. And wait for another to grow. The cycle starts again.”

  Maria swallowed. Raphael bent his head and pressed his lips against hers. “Mmm,” he murmured. “You always taste so sweet, little rose.” He released her and walked along the path. He’d had yet to visit the garden that day. Raphael busied himself with checking the budding bushes, with monitoring the temperature and the filtration systems. When his eyes found Maria again, she was watching him closely.

  His head cocked to the side. “Which is your favorite, little rose?”

  A hint of a smile pulled on Maria’s lips. Raphael’s heart beat in a steady rhythm as he watched her close in on a particular rose. She looked up at him. “This,” she said. “This is my favorite.”

  Raphael paused for a moment, a distant, stabbing pain piercing his heart. He cleared his throat and pushed the feeling away. He walked over to Maria. “The white rose.” She smiled and nodded her head.

  “It’s so delicate. So beautiful. It makes me feel . . .” She shrugged. “At peace, I suppose.”

  “It’s the rose of purity. Of chastity.” Maria’s cheeks flushed. He cut the rose and turned to face her. “It’s also the rose of death.” Heat rushed to his groin. He bit his lip as he pictured Maria in the coffin, holding a bouquet of the most perfect white roses. Maria bowed her head, escaping his gaze. His attention moved back to the white rose. “It was my mother’s favorite too.” R
aphael’s finger gently ran over the white petals. But in his mind, he saw only a smashed vase and white petals being consumed by red blood. He heard the echo of screaming and shouting and—

  Raphael crushed the white rose in his hand, destroying it. Its ruined petals tumbled to the floor, but he still held the thorny stem in his hand.

  She placed her hand on his arm. Raphael looked down and went to yank his arm away. “Raphael,” she murmured.

  “Against the wall,” Raphael ordered, voice strict and unyielding. Maria’s eyes seemed to fill with something . . . something Raphael didn’t recognize. Her eyes seemed . . . sad? Maybe. But before he could be sure, Maria walked to the nearby wall, taking her confusing look away. “Hands on the glass.”

  Maria did as he told her. “Yes, my lord.” Her subservience caused his cock to fill with blood. The cage pulled tight around his flesh, turning him on even more, as always. Raphael stalked to where Maria stood. He wasn’t going to wait. He needed to fuck. He needed the white petals covered in blood, lying lifeless in the smashed vase, out of his head. Raphael pulled Maria’s sweatpants down by her ankles. He lifted the sweatshirt and bared her ass to his ravenous eyes. He scraped his teeth over his bottom lip at the perfect sight.

  Maria’s breathing was heavy. Raphael pulled his cock from his jeans, forgetting the stem still clutched in his hand. He pushed the tip of his dick between her legs. She was already wet. His little rose was always so wet and ready for him. Circling his arm around her waist, Raphael lined up his dick and slammed inside. Maria cried out, but like the good little submissive she was, kept her hands flat against the glass of the greenhouse’s wall. Raphael wasn’t gentle. He fucked her hard and fast. His chest grew tighter when the picture of those bloodied white roses wouldn’t leave his head. Maria moaned, and in minutes he felt her pussy contracting around his cock.