by Tillie Cole
Maria took Raphael’s outstretched hand. He pulled her in and wrapped his arms around her back. He lowered his mouth and kissed her, feeling her body go weak under his touch. When he pulled back, her lips were red. “Let’s go.” Raphael led Maria down the stairs and to the dining room. He felt her hand shaking in his as they approached the closed door. Raphael heard his brothers’ voices from the other side.
Maria’s face was pale. “They won’t harm you,” Raphael assured her. He brought the back of her hand to his mouth and kissed her soft skin. Maria exhaled and gave him a small smile.
Raphael turned the door knob and entered. Each of his brothers turned their way when he walked through. Only Michael was missing. He had received a Revelation and was out making his kill.
Maria followed behind. Gabriel got to his feet. He smiled at them both. “Raphe, Maria.”
“Gabriel,” Maria said softly.
His brother smiled at her and gestured to a seat. “Please. Sit.” Raphael led her to the table and pulled out her seat. Maria sat to his left, beside Gabriel at the top of the table. Sela sat to Raphael’s right. His brothers were quiet and watching them closely.
Raphael gripped Maria’s hand, bringing their joined hands to rest on the table between them. Bara smiled at the sight, sipping at his red wine. He cleared his throat. “Maria, we weren’t introduced before.” He nudged his head in Diel’s direction. “Our brother here temporarily lost his fucking mind and tried to kill you.” Bara put his hand on his chest, head bowing. “For that, we can only apologize.” He smirked at Diel. “We’re not all impulsive maniacs, I assure you.”
Diel’s blue eyes narrowed on Bara, and he shifted in his seat. Diel turned to Maria. “It won’t happen again. I’m calm.”
Maria gave Diel a tight smile. The staff brought the food through. When they each had a plate, Sela asked, “What do you do on the outside world, Maria?”
Sela’s eyes were on her body, roving over her arms and face. Raphael knew it wasn’t sexual. Sela was an artist. His obsession was body parts.
Maria placed down her fork. “I am a novitiate.” Her eyes flicked to Gabriel, then back to Sela. “I am training to be a nun.”
The air grew thick with tension. Uriel leaned forward, lips tight. “You know Father Quinn.”
“He’s my mentor.” Maria’s words were spoken with reservation. Raphael narrowed his eyes at her. Maria cleared her throat. “Father Quinn and Father Murray were the ones who sent me to find Raphael.”
Raphael froze. Every muscle in his body locked as Father Murray’s name circled his head. Anger boiled inside him. When Raphael looked up at the silent table, all of his brothers’ eyes were fixed on him. His chest pulled so tight he felt as if his skin would tear under his shirt.
Maria’s hand squeezed Raphael’s, but he couldn’t look away from the food on his plate to look at her. Rage was surging through his veins. He could immediately feel the floor of the torture room under his knees, Father Murray’s hand in his short hair, ripping it back until his neck ached. Stuffing his mouth with his cock, then pinning him down—
“I didn’t know . . .” Maria whispered, her voice shaking. “I didn’t know about the group they are a part of.” Her breathing hitched. “I don’t condone their behavior. Will never condone it.” Maria squeezed his hand again. When Raphael met her eyes, she was staring at him. Her face was pale, and there was a strange expression in her eyes. Raphael wanted to move from the table, fucking destroy anything in his path at the mention of that cunt’s name, the memory of what he did to him, but his chest filled with warmth the minute Maria’s gaze bored into his. A lump built in his throat. It was uncomfortable. Why did she make him feel such strange things?
“So,” Bara said, pulling Maria’s attention. Raphael’s redheaded brother smiled and gestured around the table with his wine glass. “You know who the Brethren cunts are and how they fuck young boys for fun.” Bara leaned forward. “But do you know what we do?”
Maria tilted her chin high. “I do.”
Diel’s blue gaze assessed her. “And?”
“I don’t judge,” she said plainly. Her gaze dropped for a second. “I was taken by a killer at sixteen. I was tortured, kept captive for months. I forgave him.”
“Tortured how?” Uriel asked.
Maria glanced at Raphael, then slowly stood. She lifted her long hair from her back and turned. The dress hung low. Raphael licked his lips as her back was bared. Sela quickly got to his feet. Raphael did too, standing in his brother’s way. Sela frowned and held up his hands. “I was just going to look.”
“Look from there,” Raphael said, backing closer to Maria. A wave of possessiveness took hold of him, braced him to protect her from anyone but himself.
Sela’s eyes narrowed, but then he shrugged and glanced over Raphael’s shoulder. His dark eyes flared. “Sloppy work.” He smiled when Maria dropped her hair and turned to face him. “I would’ve done a much better job.” Maria’s face paled, but she kept her head high. Raphael felt a rush of pride at her reaction to his brother.
Maria took her seat again. Raphael saw his brothers watching her with interest. He didn’t like their attention on her. He pushed his hand into her hair and pulled her close. Maria immediately folded into his side. He kissed her head, and she sighed, her body relaxing. His body began to relax too.
“A toast,” Bara said, and held up his glass. Raphael took his and held it up. Maria hesitated, but then did the same. “To Maria, our nun in a den of sinners.” Bara smiled at Gabriel. “Seems you have one of your kind present for once.” He shrugged. “The scales are balancing.” Gabriel nodded, smiling at Maria. Gabriel lifted his glass in Maria’s direction then drank his wine.
Just as Raphael placed his glass down, the door behind them opened. Michael walked through. His usually tense body was relaxed . . . but he was coated in blood. His chest, bared by the shirt that was open to his navel, was soaked. His neck, his face, his fanged teeth—all covered.
Michael sat down on the opposite side of the table. His ice-blue eyes met Maria’s, then Raphael’s.
“Michael,” Gabriel said. “Is it over?”
Michael licked his tongue over his bloodstained teeth. Maria’s breathing was suddenly heavy. Raphael looked down at her. Her gaze was fixed on Michael. Her wide eyes tracked the blood on his face, his chest, and his fingers, his pointed fingernails stained crimson.
“He’s dead.” Michael clutched at the vial of blood around his neck.
“And?” Sela asked. Raphael’s heart began to race, waiting for the information.
“He screamed. I tied him to the wall by his arms and legs and drained him of blood. I pierced him over and over and drank from each wound.” Michael’s tongue traced over his teeth again. He shrugged. “He tasted average. His blood didn’t sing to me.”
“Michael,” Raphael said. His best friend turned to him. “This is Maria.” He looked to Maria. “This is Michael.”
“Hello,” Maria said shyly.
Michael stared at her blankly, then said, “You have nice veins in your neck.”
Raphael heard Maria’s quick exhale.
“You okay, Maria?” The question came from Gabriel.
“Yes,” she said, and Gabriel nodded at her.
Raphael didn’t like anyone nodding at her, or smiling at her. He didn’t want anyone fucking talking to her. He didn’t have long left with her, and he wanted her all to himself. His cock twitched, and he got to his feet, needing to be inside her, to remind both him and her that she belonged to him and him alone. Taking hold of Maria’s hand, he pulled her to stand. “We’re leaving.”
Maria turned to the table. “It was nice to meet you all properly and talk with you some.”
Raphael yanked her from the room and up the stairs. He needed inside her again. He was getting more anxious of late and he didn’t know why; his skin felt too tight when she wasn’t beside him, when he wasn’t inside her and making her his.
Being constan
tly around Maria was becoming the only time he felt calm.
*****
Gabriel stared at the closed door, hearing the rush of Raphael’s feet as he led Maria up the stairs.
“Well, that was interesting,” Bara said and refilled his glass from the bottle of wine in the center of the table. Gabriel kept his gaze on the door.
Raphael had seemed different. Gabriel recalled the way his brother had watched Maria, his golden stare seeming less troubled, less tense than Gabriel had ever witnessed in all the years he had known him. Gabriel frowned. He had nothing to compare it to, but he entertained the thought that the way Raphael looked at Maria—and she him—looked something like . . . love? Gabriel’s chest tightened at the foreign notion. He scanned his eyes over his brothers, who were animatedly talking to Michael about his kill. They smiled and they laughed, clearly not thinking anything of the way Raphael had held her hand, had always made sure a part of him was touching her—his arm, his leg, his hand clasped tightly around her fingers. Gabriel pictured them all in Purgatory, their faces as they returned from the torture rooms. The humanity and light that lived in their teenage eyes had diminished with every rape and pain-filled “exorcism” that the Brethren forced upon them.
Gabriel’s light had faded too.
They didn’t know eros—romantic, intense, and passionate love. Gabriel wasn’t sure any of them—even himself—would recognize eros if it were standing right before them.
But the change in Raphael . . . his hand holding Maria’s as if he never wanted to let go. And his easy smile. Gabriel had never seen that kind of free smile grace his face before. And the way she looked at him in return . . . as if he were her lifeblood. As if he were the air she needed so desperately to survive.
Gabriel’s heart broke for his brother. Because he knew that if Raphael was falling for Maria, if it was real love that was burgeoning between them—however unlikely—Raphael wouldn’t know it, wouldn’t recognize it for the miracle that it was. His brother was going to kill Maria. He didn’t have a choice. It was who he was. Raphael was going to kill the woman who, despite everything—her faith, her past, and Raphael’s plans for her pure soul—looked at him as if he hung the moon.
She would die.
Raphael was going to kill the potential love of his life. His soul’s other half.
Gabriel took a drink of his wine to rid himself of the choking lump in his throat. It was a tragedy. He looked at his other brothers and wondered how they would be if they too found someone they loved, someone who saw past their dark ways and simply loved them for who they were. Could they be healed? Could that kind of love save them, save their lost souls? Was that the answer? Love?
He sighed, shaking the farfetched notion from his head.
It was an impossible dream.
Chapter Thirteen
Maria’s hand was tight in Raphael’s as they climbed the stairs. Raphael was acting strangely. He kept looking back at her with a frown on his face. As if she were a puzzle he was trying to work out. Maria didn’t know what was running through his complex mind, but she liked being on the receiving end of that look. It made her knees feel weak.
When they reached the door to Raphael’s rooms, he paused and looked at her as though trying to read something in her face. Maria let him drink his fill. Her heart kicked into a sprint under his attention. Raphael’s nose flared and he groaned. Capturing her face in his hands, he crushed his mouth to hers. Maria melted into his embrace. She felt Raphael opening the doors, and they stumbled through. He lifted her in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She was a slave to his touch, a victim to his lust.
Maria broke from his mouth with a gasp. She sucked in a much-needed breath, her hands tight around Raphael’s neck.
Then Raphael stopped in his tracks when he saw something over her shoulder.
Maria turned to see what had captured his attention so thoroughly. She froze, every synapse in her body firing when she saw what sat to the side of the room. Her stomach fell, and the residual anxiety from five years ago consumed her bravery, leaving her a shaking, weak mess. What was that doing there? In Raphael’s room?
Maria was too paralyzed to put up a fight as Raphael crossed the room with her still in his arms. When he came to a stop, he tucked his nose into her neck and kissed her skin. Maria heard his quickening breath. She felt his hardness grow.
Raphael lowered Maria to the floor and turned her around. It was her biggest fear. Overwhelming memories of bring trapped, being starved of oxygen, diluted her blood like the deadliest poison. Its effect was quick. Her limbs froze. She couldn’t move.
“What do you think?” Raphael’s hoarse voice asked, the excited tone sending shivers down her spine. Her body didn’t know how to respond—fear and excitement mixed in one heady concoction.
“It’s a coffin,” Maria said, and Raphael moved from behind her to run his fingers over the glass. It was completely transparent but for the red lining in the center.
“It’s for you,” Raphael said proudly, as though he were showing her a new car or bouquet of flowers. Raphael smiled. Maria gasped at the sight. At the happiness that shone from his soul. Despite the darkness of the situation, her heart melted. This tragic man drew such satisfaction from death. From the promise of death. Maria felt tears shine in her eyes. Not for herself, but for the little boy lost before her. The one who had watched his mother be killed so violently, the one who only saw peace on her face when she was dead. The boy who grew roses in her honor. The one who didn’t understand what he was feeling most of the time. And the one who wanted Maria to be just as excited about her promised death as he was—her beautiful killer.
Raphael was a sorrowful beautiful mess. He came toward her, seemingly seeing something in her eyes. “Don’t you like it?” His smile fell, and genuine concern seemed to engulf his handsome face.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, unable to disappoint this man.
Raphael inhaled a relieved breath. His hands cupped her neck, softly, the hold of a lover, not a murderer. Gazing adoringly into her eyes, he said, “I will keep you forever, little rose.” He kissed her forehead as if she were the most precious thing in his world. “I will embalm you.” He took her hand and turned to the coffin. His hand shook with excitement. “You’ll stay in this room, beside me, for the rest of my days. My perfect rose. More beautiful then any flower I could grow.”
Maria heard his words, but she was numb. Listening to the details of her death and beyond. Raphael pushed back a strand of her hair. “Do you want to try it out?”
Maria’s numbness faded and she became racked with fear. But when she saw the hopeful look on his face, all she could hear was Gabriel’s story of the Brethren—the rapes, the tortures—and Raphael telling her about his mother . . .
Maria looked up into Raphael’s eyes and, with steadier hands than she felt, began unbuttoning his shirt. Raphael licked his lips, but he let Maria take the lead. As his olive skin came into view, Maria rolled the shirt off his shoulders until his tattoos were bared to her seeking eyes. Maria lifted her hand and ran it over the rose tattoos. They now made perfect sense to her. The red, she thought, must have represented his mother when she was alive. The black . . . the death of her, the thorns aiming for his crushed boyhood heart.
Raphael didn’t show emotion like a “normal” person. He was too complex a character for Maria to read in typical ways. But she knew he felt. He just didn’t know what to do with those feelings. Except for death. Death and pain he understood more than most. His trophy room told her that.
As her hand ran over the brand that the priests she had once admired and respected had seared on his flesh, a strength she didn’t know she harbored filled her limbs, eradicating the trembles.
She wanted to give him this. The man who had never been given anything good or pure in his young life.
“Little rose?” he said, a hopeful question in his hypnotic voice.
“Yes,” she found herself saying. “I�
�ll try it . . . for you . . .”
A flash of something she couldn’t name crossed his face. His hands tightened on her hips. Raphael stepped back, and Maria faced her greatest fear. But she pushed down the all-encompassing terror that was rising and embraced courage. Raphael kissed her neck, then, with his hands under her arms, lifted her high until her feet landed on the soft red silk lining of the coffin. Maria’s eyes closed as he lowered her down and down, until she was lying on her back. As though in meditation, she focused on breathing. She breathed in deep and steady breaths as her hands found the high edges of the glass coffin.
“Little rose . . .” Raphael said softly. She followed the path of his voice, basking in the awe, the sensual murmur of the endearment, and she opened her eyes.
Raphael was shirtless, standing beside the coffin. As Maria looked up at him, fear didn’t consume her as she’d thought it would. Instead, seeing the quietness and calmness on his face filled her with peace. She had never seen him look that way. Even in his sleep, there was always a pinch to his forehead, a tension in his body. But seeing Maria like this, Raphael was still, tranquil . . . happy. Had he ever experienced true happiness once in his sad life? Not from kills, but from human connection, from a simple gift?
“You . . .” Raphael cleared his throat. “You look so beautiful.” Gone was the arrogant, dominant male, and in his place was a humbled lover, walls torn down and the jagged scars of his soul exposed. “Maria . . .” he whispered and leaned over the coffin to run his hand softly down her face. It was almost her undoing.
She pictured him in the bath, in his trophy room, how lost he had been after the rose garden. How he’d told her of his mother. He had no one. No one had loved him . . . Maria felt a tightness in her chest.
Love.
Sin is simply due to the absence of love.
She inhaled a stuttered breath as she thought of love. She couldn’t . . . it wasn’t possible. He wanted to kill her . . . but . . .
