Maria wasn’t sure how long she had been waiting in the day room. There was no clock on the wall. She glanced down at the Band-Aid on her arm. Peeling it back, she took it from her skin and stared down at the tiny mark where the priest, Gabriel, had taken her blood. She had no idea why. But she didn’t argue. What was the point?
You are not to leave his rooms again . . .
She wasn’t going home. It was done. God had shown her His decision through Gabriel.
It is decided.
Maria took a calming breath and thought back to the room full of men. She tried to make sense of what she had found. Were they all killers? Did Father Quinn and Father Murray know? And Gabriel, the priest. Was he facilitating this evil behavior?
Maria was losing herself to those thoughts when she heard the lock begin to turn. She held her breath, waiting to see who would enter, then an older man in a suit came through the door. “Ms. Maria?” he asked, politely.
“Yes.”
“If you’d like to follow me.” He turned and held the door open for her. Maria ignored her trembling legs as she rose from the couch and made her way across the day room and to the . . . butler? She thought he was a butler. A mansion of this size no doubt came with staff.
“This way, please,” he said. Maria self-consciously pulled at the t-shirt she wore, trying in vain to protect her modesty. The butler didn’t even give her a second glance, just dutifully led her upstairs. Did he know too? Know about the nature of the men he served?
Maria didn’t see anyone else as she passed through the mansion, through countless hallways adorned with paintings and furnishings that she assumed would be worth millions. Gabriel had obviously trusted that she wouldn’t try to run. She wouldn’t. She had no idea where she even was.
Finally, she was brought to a familiar door. The butler knocked three times. Maria’s heart pounded just as loudly as the butler’s hand rapping on the wood. She heard footsteps approaching from the other side. When the door opened, Maria had to swallow back her nerves. Raphael stood on the other side. His lean, muscled torso was bare, and he wore only a pair of black silk pajama bottoms. His feet were bare too. Raphael’s cheeks were flushed and his dark hair fell over his forehead, the messy strands only emphasizing his incredible beauty.
“Sir,” the butler said, breaking through Maria’s thoughts. The butler walked away. Maria watched him go until he disappeared around the corner. When she turned back to the doorway of Raphael’s room, he was waiting.
“Little rose.” Raphael’s voice was low and soft, seductive. Confusion flooded Maria’s body. He’d told her if she escaped, if she ran, she would be punished. He didn’t speak to her as if she were to be punished. “Are you coming in?”
Raphael’s voice was as smooth as the silk that draped over his lean hips. A small smile was etched on his full lips. The look was devastatingly handsome. His dimples showed, and his long lashes kissed his upper cheeks when he blinked. He still wore the silver upturned cross in his left ear.
Maria made her feet move over the threshold. She heard Raphael shut the door behind her. Then she felt him move closer to her back. Her breath was labored, her feet rooted to the plush carpet beneath her feet. “Come,” he whispered in her ear, his sea-salty and fresh water scent cocooning her. He walked farther into the room. He paused when she didn’t follow. Raphael held out his hand. “This way.” His lip twitched. “I won’t bite.”
Maria put her shaking hand in his. His palm was warm. Maria’s heart beat an irregular rhythm as Raphael folded his hand securely around hers. It felt like the hold of a lover, protective, nurturing. Not that she would know, but from what she had observed and read it seemed familiar. Raphael led her to the closet. When he opened the door, she had to blink at what lay before her. This was the same closet she had been bound and gagged in, and yet it wasn’t. All of Raphael’s clothes were gone, and in their place was a rail of white floor-length dresses. They had thin straps, and slits up their floor-length skirts. Maria swallowed when she saw that they were slightly sheer. She looked away, and her eyes traveled to the bed in the center of the room. It was also dressed in white. The mattress and comforter looked plush and soft. White pillows lay at the top of the bed. Maria’s stomach rolled when she saw bright red roses in a vase on a side table. A lamp illuminated the room.
“Do you like it?”
Maria turned her head to Raphael. It wasn’t until she glanced down that she realized her hand still lay in his. She went to pull it away, but Raphael held on tightly. He moved before her, and Maria couldn’t look away from the mesmerizing sight of his golden eyes if she tried.
“I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.”
Maria knew she should have kept her mouth closed, but she had to ask, “Why?” Her gaze roved around the room. It was the prettiest room she had been in in a very long time. Her attention snagged on the roses again, and she had to fight back the tears the red blooms threatened to cause, the painful memories they tried to evoke. “You told me that if I escaped, if I left the room . . . there would be punishment. This . . . this feels like a reward.”
Raphael sighed and dropped his head. He looked up at her through impossibly long black lashes. He was perfection. She feared she would never get used to his stunning looks. “I was angry that you left,” he said and dropped her hand. Maria couldn’t help but notice how empty her hand suddenly felt. “I can get angry sometimes. But I’m trying to be better at controlling it.” Raphael’s lip curved up, a flicker of a smile ghosting on his mouth. “I thought there was no time like the present to start.” Raphael ran his hand over the back of his neck. To Maria, the move looked nervous. But she kept her guard. She knew she shouldn’t believe a word out of his beautiful mouth. “I had the staff make up this room for you while you’re here.”
Maria inhaled a shaky breath. “And . . .” She straightened her shoulders. “And how long will that be? That I’ll be here . . . with you?” She didn’t want to ask the real question—how long before he would kill her. Maria would rather face death blindly. She didn’t want to count down her days.
Raphael’s eyes narrowed for a second and his head lifted. He smiled at Maria, ran his thread-wrapped finger down her cheek, then turned to the clothes rail, dismissing her question. He lifted one of the identical gauze dresses and brought it to where she stood. “Change.” Raphael handed Maria the dress. She took it. “You must be hungry. I have dinner coming any minute now.”
Raphael left the room, and Maria watched him go. He turned and met her eyes as he closed the closet doors. She heard him move away. Only when she believed him to be out of earshot did she release a choked breath and drop to the edge of the bed. She searched around the room, trying to understand what all of this meant. She viewed the opulence of the room and furnishings, but she could still feel the phantom hands of Raphael thrusting her against the wall of the club and cutting off her air with unyielding hands. Maria sat on the bed, closed her eyes. And she prayed. Please help me, she silently begged God. Am I here to guide him to your grace? Am I here to find any good inside him that remains, to bring him into the light? Maria pushed away the memory of him choking her and embraced the one of him protecting her, of pressing her against the wall so his brothers couldn’t see her. A strange flicker of heat burst in her chest. Maria closed her eyes and felt that warmth spread over her body like a blanket. She smiled and tipped her head back. Maria knew in that second that it was the Lord. It was Him confirming what she was here to do.
Save him, she thought. You are here to save him. By any means. You are here to save his damned soul.
Maria heard a quiet knock on the door that led to Raphael’s rooms. It was quickly followed by the scent of food drifting under the closed closet doors. Maria’s stomach growled. But she wasn’t sure she could eat. Her stomach was in knots. She didn’t understand Raphael. He was violent, yes. But he had spared her life. If he had wanted her dead, he only had to have strangled her a few seconds more. And the way he was acting now . . . the kindness, the smiles, the room . . . He was making her feel safe.
Maria knew this would be the biggest test of her faith.
Hearing the door to Raphael’s rooms close, Maria quickly shed Raphael’s t-shirt and pulled the white dress over her head. She stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror that leaned against the wall. Maria swallowed. Most of her naked body underneath was concealed. But even though the material was more opaque than she had originally thought, she could still see the outline of her breasts, the dusky pink of her nipples. She turned and, with trembling hands, ran her hands under her hair and along her back. Relief surged through her when her skin was concealed by the neckline. It wasn’t high by any means, dipping low into a V, baring her shoulder blades. But it hid what so pained her, what her long hair disguised.
“Little rose?” Raphael said from the other side of the door. “The food has arrived. Come and eat.”
Maria glanced at herself in the mirror one last time and blinked. She could do this. She must. It was God’s will.
Maria opened the closet door. Music was playing from a room beyond the bedroom. Maria followed the sound of familiar hymns that she sang at church. Wordless versions, soft voices humming and harmonizing, only playing loud enough to drown out the stringent sound of silence.
When she walked through the archway that led to what appeared to be a lounge, Maria stopped. Raphael stood beside a large fireplace. A table had been set for two, with domed silver trays and tall candelabras in the center. Raphael was staring into the flames, unaware of Maria’s presence. So Maria watched him. He had not changed; he remained in the black silk pants, his chest bare. His dark hair had fallen over his eyes, obstructing her view of his face. His hand was in a fist as he leaned against the marble mantlepiece. He looked so young in the soothing orange glow. Innocent and pure. The true perfection of an archangel, just like his namesake.
In theology, the archangel Raphael was a great healer. Maria felt nothing but sadness at the irony. This Raphael only wanted to kill. The very opposite of what his name symbolized.
Raphael must have finally sensed Maria’s presence as he turned his head and caught her standing in the doorway. Raphael’s eyes widened, his lips parted, and Maria believed that, in that moment, Raphael was not faking his reaction to how she looked.
He roved his golden eyes over her body. Maria wasn’t sure if it was due to the heat from the fire or to his perusal of her in the white dress, but a faint blush burst onto Raphael’s stubbled cheeks.
“You look beautiful,” he rasped. Maria tried not to feel the compliment in her heart. But she had not been paid too many compliments her life. The deadly sin of vanity reared its ugly head inside her soul and made her feel nothing but shame at Raphael’s unexpected attention.
Maria ducked her head, averting her eyes from Raphael’s too-intense gaze, and smoothed her hands down the soft white material. Maria was used to the practice of custody of the eyes. Used to keeping her eyes to ground, keeping distractions at bay. She felt safer that way. When she thought of God and her duties as a nun, she didn’t think about anything else. The demons of her past were too close, hovering, waiting to strike. She liked this. Liked that, here, Raphael was in control. His control kept her bad thoughts away.
Raphael’s bare feet came into her vision as he stopped before her. “Lift your head,” he ordered.
Maria did. The pleased expression that shadowed across Raphael’s face at her obedience was a surprising balm to her bruised soul. He lifted his hand. Maria flinched, instinctively bracing herself for a strike. But Raphael pulled back his hand, regarding her with interest. “I won’t hurt you, little rose,” he soothed. Maria caught her breath and looked up. Raphael held a flower in his hand. A beautiful rose as red as the ones in her room. Her stomach fell again at the sight of the velvety petals, but she remained still as he carefully edged forward and tucked the stem of the rose behind her ear. Raphael’s eyes dilated, and she saw his jaw clench. He briefly averted his eyes, only for his smile to draw back onto his face. “There,” he said. “Now you’re perfect.” Raphael moved behind one of the chairs and pulled it out. “Please, sit.”
Maria did as she was told. She cast her eyes around the room as the introduction to her favorite hymn, “Abide With Me,” began to play through the speakers. Instant peace washed over her body. She didn’t realize she was smiling until Raphael said in a husky voice, “You like this song?”
Maria came back into the moment. The choir singing vocal harmonies on the track lit her heart and filled it with joy. “Yes.”
“It reminds me of my youth,” he said.
Maria was shocked Raphael had offered up that piece of information about himself. He didn’t elaborate any further. She didn’t know if it brought back fond memories or painful ones.
“Wine?” Raphael lifted the bottle of red wine and poured her a glass, swiftly moving on from the topic. Maria never drank outside of communion. But she was here to heal him. She would take her lead from Raphael. She would abide by his rules.
Maria took a sip of the wine. It was good. It tasted expensive. Raphael lifted the dome from the dish in front of her. “Eat,” he said and sat back. Raphael left his food covered and sat back in his chair. He sipped at his wine, keeping his eyes on Maria. Lifting her knife and fork, Maria began to eat. She realized she was famished, and she had no idea when she might next eat.
She ate in silence, the beautifully harmonized hymns and the crackling fire her only soundtrack. When her plate was empty, Raphael cleared the dishes and refilled her wine. Maria could feel her cheeks heat with the effects of the alcohol. But she welcomed the feeling the wine brought. It carried with it a numbness she relished, a lowering of her inhibitions.
Something she was sure she would need with this man.
“Tell me,” Raphael said, sitting forward in his chair. “Do you still want to play?”
Maria’s breathing paused at the question. But she quickly disguised her flicker of fear with a single nod. “Yes,” she whispered, placing her glass on the table. To save him, she would have to reach him on his own terms.
Lust.
It would have to be through the act of lust.
Raphael smiled, and Maria was sure his smile could illuminate the very darkest depths of hell. “That pleases me.” Maria nodded again, his approval making that familiar fissure of heat crack across her tight chest. “But we need rules, little rose.” Maria focused on hiding her rapid breaths. She kept her eyes down. It was natural for her to do so; she had done so for years, first as a postulant, then a novitiate. It helped disguise her fear.
“Maria. Look at me.” She did as he demanded. He smiled again, the effect on her sensibilities just as devastating as the last time. “You will be good at this, little rose. You’re already so receptive to me. To my commands.” Raphael braced his hands on the table. “But I suppose you’re wondering what I want from you? What I mean by ‘play’?”
Maria nodded, clasping her hands on her lap.
“Submission,” Raphael said, and Maria’s heart skipped a beat. “Your complete and utter submission to me.” Maria felt her cheeks blaze at the fire in his deep voice. “I want you, Maria, to hang off every word I say. I want you to give yourself to me in every way possible. Forget the world outside. Forget who you were before you found me at the club.” Raphael licked his lips. Maria’s attention was locked on his tongue as it lapped his mouth. “You will be reborn in these rooms. Under my instructions and care you will flourish like you never have before. I will take you to heights you have only ever imagined in your most vivid fantasies.” Maria’s eyes were wide as Raphael spoke these illicit promises. Her gaze dropped to his naked torso, the flames from the fire seductively dancing their light over his olive skin. She noted the tattoos that peppered his arms, chest, and stomach. The images of women caught in the throes of passion, gasping with pleasure through parted lips. Hearts wrapped in heavy ropes, being squeezed of their beat. Lovers entwined around one another in ecstasy. Maria stilled when she saw a bloom of roses covering the tops his shoulders. On one side they were bright red, like the one in her hair, their stems green and vivid. But the other . . . they were as black as ravens’ feathers, their thorny stems sharp and deadly as they crawled like toxic vines and wrapped around his heart.
The sword-and-angel-wing design was in stark contrast to the erotic art licking over the rest of his tanned skin. She wondered at its significance. The fact it was the only one out of sync with the other designs told her it was somehow poignant. And its texture seemed different. As if it wasn’t a tattoo at all, more seared into his flesh, burned as though metal had been pushed onto his skin and later framed in black ink, giving it the guise of a tattoo.
“I will make you feel, little rose. Feel things you have never even entertained.” Raphael rubbed his lips together. Maria had noted the move several times since her arrival in the mansion. He did it frequently. It was nothing but habit, yet it seemed sensual to her on every level, reeled her in like the tempting offer of salvation to a sinner. “You just have to say yes. I want your consent. Your consent, little rose . . .” He smiled. “And then your soul.”
Raphael took a sip of his red wine as if he hadn’t just bartered for her soul like the devil himself. But his golden stare stayed fixed on Maria, daring her to accept. Her eyes dropped under the power of his gaze and the heaviness of his offer. Maria saw her white dress. The color of purity. It didn’t escape her that Raphael had given her a dress in this shade. He knew she was a virgin. Her strength wavered for a moment.
Her chastity was her ultimate vow to God. It was the only thing that hadn’t been taken from her when everything else had. The only other time she had worn white in recent years was when she gave herself to the church, when she married herself to Jesus in Father Quinn’s presence. And here Raphael was, offering Maria pleasure she had never once desired.
But was her chastity a cure to Raphael’s insatiable lust? Was her purity the holy bread that would sate his ravenous appetite to kill? Is that why God had placed her in Raphael’s path? Why it was she and she alone who could be his one and only chance at redemption?
Maria recalled Raphael’s offer. Replayed every word he had spoken. Could she do this? Could she give herself to this man? Take him into her embrace?
She thought of her life as a nun. Of her beliefs, her calling to help others. She lived to help people in need. Who was more in need of help than a killer? A man who thought nothing of ridding another of their life. Did he not deserve salvation too?
That God-given warmth returned to her chest, giving her the answer she desperately searched for.
And he had asked. Despite all his sins and the evil actions she knew he would think nothing of displaying, Raphael had asked.
He wouldn’t take her without her consent.
But she knew in her heart that if she refused, he might kill her before she had a chance to appeal to his good. Before she could show him the love of others. Before she could show him he didn’t have to kill.
“Yes,” Maria whispered, almost as if God had taken control of her body and spoken for her. “I consent. I consent to your will.”
The room was deathly silent for several seconds.
“Good, little rose,” Raphael sighed. “You will not regret it.”
Raphael arose from the chair, placing his wine on the table. He offered his hand, a gentlemanly move. Maria placed her hand in his. She couldn’t help but note how small her hand was compared to his. Her stomach flipped when she realized just how quickly Raphael could kill her. He dwarfed her height and slight frame. Yet he guided her from the seat with the gentleness of a whisper.
Raphael led Maria into his bedroom. The red chair where he had brushed and dried her hair still sat at the base of the bed. Raphael guided her to sit in it. He walked around her and crouched down so he could meet her eyes. The lights in the room were low, the curtains drawn, keeping the dark night from creeping inside.
Raphael dropped his hand and began threading the string around his finger. He did it so naturally that Maria understood it was a habit he did without conscious thought. “You are mine now, Maria. Do you consent to this? Tell me one more time.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I consent.” It was the truth. She did consent. It was what was meant to happen. Of this she was convinced.
Raphael’s eyes flared. “From this point on, you will do anything I say.” She watched as his cheeks burst with redness. His hard chest tightened further, causing his muscles to become more pronounced. This power . . . her consent was bringing him pleasure. Raphael hissed through his teeth. His head fell back and his eyes closed. Maria watched his neck cord, the rose tattoos that climbed his throat dancing as if caught in a breeze.
Maria shifted on her seat as heat built in her spine. Maria was here for God. She was here because she was a nun and had been tasked with saving a soul. But what shocked her was the unfamiliar feeling of excitement that consumed her when she pushed her religious duty aside and simply became a woman. She had never had lovers before, had never even been touched in a sexual way . . . but the way her body vibrated with electricity when Raphael was close, his eyes rolling back in pleasure . . . Maria didn’t know how to comprehend it. It was unexpected.
It felt like awakening after a long slumber.
Raphael fought to breathe, a low groan slipping from his red lips. He licked at those lips, his tongue wetting his mouth. Maria had no idea what brought him such pleasure. But when her eyes dropped she saw him pulling the string so tightly that his finger was turning blue. She hadn’t meant to look, but underneath that finger was an obvious bulge in his pants. The thin material hid nothing; there was no modesty to be found under the black silk. Maria sucked in a shaky breath when she noticed the prominent outline of his erection. Her eyes widened.
Maria averted her gaze, dropping it to her clasped hands on her lap. When she finally looked up, Raphael’s eyes were on her, focused and wide with excitement. He edged closer and placed his hands on either side of her chair. Maria felt his hardness brush against her knee. She swallowed, too inexperienced to know what to do, how to act appropriately.
“From now on, you refer to me as Lord.”
Maria’s eyes snapped to Raphael in shock. “In this room, little rose. I am your Lord. I am your God and I am your savior. I am your teacher and guide.” He lifted his hand and ran his finger down a long strand of her hair. His finger, wrapped and choked by the string, ghosted past her neck, her shoulder, and along the curve of her breast. It wasn’t intentional, but she gasped aloud, her eyes fluttering shut. When her eyes opened again, it was to Raphael watching her as if she were the most fascinating creature on the planet. “You won’t speak unless I tell you to.” His instructions were heavy, but his voice was delicate and soft, a feather lying upon a bed of nails. “You’ll keep your eyes to the floor when you’re around me.” Raphael’s finger came underneath her chin and guided her head upright. “Unless I want you to watch me. And make no mistake, there will be many times I will.” Maria stayed silent. His commands were burrowing their way deep into her heart. His stringent tone made her feel as though her body were floating in the Dead Sea. It carried with it a heady sense of freedom she struggled to comprehend. Why did she like it so much? “Do you understand, little rose?”
“Yes,” Maria whispered and averted her eyes once more. Her heart kicked into a sprint when her gaze fell upon his hardness, his sizable length pushing against the fabric of his pants. She inhaled a shaky breath. Her sexual inexperience was never more obvious than in that moment.
“Yes what?” Raphael’s voice was harder than before, an aggressive edge to his deep tone. Maria felt a trail of fire race down her spine to the tops of her thighs.
“Yes, my lord,” she quickly amended.
Raphael froze, then brought his mouth to Maria’s ear. “My lord . . . that’s not what I told you to say, little rose, was it?” Maria panicked at her mistake, but before she could beg for forgiveness, Raphael let out a stuttered breath. “But I like that better. My lord. Your ruler, your savior. Your world.” Raphael traced the tip of his bound finger along Maria’s bottom lip. Her pulse fluttered in response. “Say it again.”
“My lord,” she whispered, Raphael’s deep inhale catching at her words.
“Good girl,” he said. “Doesn’t that sound perfect coming from your pretty little lips?”
“Yes, my lord,” she repeated. Raphael’s skin glistened with sweat, his muscles twitching with every obedient word she spoke.
“You won’t do anything without my permission, little Maria. And I won’t ask you anything twice. You’ll listen at all times. If I must repeat myself, there’ll be consequences. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Raphael smiled a blinding smile, pleased. He loosened the string from around his finger, the cords in his neck disappearing along with his strained voice. “If we do anything you don’t want, you’ll simply say ‘red rose.’ And I will stop. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Raphael stood and circled her on the chair. Maria wondered what he was doing, until she felt a brush combing through her hair. “Each day after you’ve eaten breakfast, you will shower. You will wash your hair, wear one of the dresses provided. Then you will sit on this chair and wait for me. Understood?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“I will take care of you, little rose. I will brush out your hair, dry it, and dress it prettily with a rose.”
Maria hid her bewilderment at why he would want to do such a thing. Why he would bother to care. But she kept silent. She hadn’t been given permission to speak.
Raphael brushed her hair until all of the knots and tangles had been freed. Maria stilled when he began to hum, a soft melodic tune that sank into the very marrow of her bones. As the brush smoothed out her tresses, Maria’s stomach fell. She recognized the song he hummed quietly to himself. It sounded so natural coming from his lips she wasn’t sure he was even conscious he was doing it.
“Ring a-round the Roses.” The tune Raphael hummed was “Ring a-round the Roses.” The childhood song simultaneously filled her with both sympathy and dread. Sympathy for the man who hummed a nursery rhyme so sadly it made tears prick in her eyes. And dread for what the nursery rhyme was about.
Death.
He was humming a child’s song about death.
Clearly not seeing her distress, Raphael lowered the brush then he came before her and guided her to stand. “But it’s late tonight and you’ve had a long day.” Relief flooded through Maria, yet an odd niggling at the back of her brain made her frown. She was relieved. She was exhausted. And she was overwhelmed with the thought of what lay before her. But, despite all of that, there was a part of her that seemed to be disappointed.
Maria put that down to her need to help this man. Help him fight the darkness inside.
Raphael led her to her room. He stopped at the door and brought her hand to his mouth. Never taking his eyes from her, Raphael brushed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Sleep, little rose.” Raphael turned away. But he then placed his hand on the door. “These stay open. Don’t you dare close them. I want to be able to see you at all times.”
He looked at her expectantly.
“Yes, my lord.”
Raphael closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sleep well, little rose.”
Maria moved to the bed and pulled back the comforter. She turned the lamp off. But from her bed, she could see Raphael in the main room walking around, heard him locking the main door so she couldn’t escape again. She watched him move to his bed, remove his pants, and climb into bed. The almost-darkness prevented her from seeing his most intimate parts, but she was breathless knowing he lay bare just across the room.
Sleep didn’t find Maria easily. She felt as though she had just closed her eyes when she was awoken by a pained roar. Maria froze, immediate fear keeping her paralyzed. But moans and shouts of “No” drifted in from the main room.
Raphael.
Forcing herself to move, Maria sat up and peered into the main room. Raphael was clutching at the black sheets of his bed with tight fists, thrashing from side to side as though something were pinning him down, hurting him. Maria threw back her comforter and tiptoed to the edge of her room. Her hands braced on the doorframe, and she ignored the trembling that was threatening to take control of her body.
Maria’s eyes strained in the almost-darkness. She caught Raphael’s shadow thrashing and calling out muffled, untellable cries of pain. The scared edges to his voice struck her heart like an arrow, shredding it apart. Raphael’s pain was evident in his voice. His hoarse cries were a physical representation of what pain pulsed and tortured him inside. Maria silently crossed the room and peered over to where he slept. Her heart was a thunderstorm in her chest as she looked at his face. Tears. Tears were tumbling down his cheeks. His beautiful face wore a grimace, teeth clenched and neck corded with tension.
Maria found it difficult to breathe. Mother Superior had always told her she would make a good nun because of her empathy toward others. Right now, as she looked at the man on the bed who was being torn apart by his dark dreams, she knew her Mother Superior was correct.
As Raphael let out another horrific cry, Maria made herself return to the closet, heart in her throat. He wasn’t ready for her touch, for her comfort. She had to let him lead. He had to come to her when he was ready. And she would be waiting.
Everyone, even the most sinful of men, deserved to be cared for. That was exactly what she would do.
So instead of offering Raphael the comfort he so desperately needed, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her legs gave way and she sank to the floor. Maria curled her arms around her bent knees and let the tears fall. Because she knew that kind of pain. She knew the demons that came crawling into one’s consciousness in sleep. The nightmares that felt so real one relived the horror and agonies of dark moments over and over again.
As Raphael let out another tormented groan, Maria laid her head back against the doorframe and cried. She had lived with the pain of her past for years, no one to understand how it consumed her, threatened to destroy all the progress she had ever made. If she was an empath, it was born from experience and personal trauma.
As Raphael’s screams and wails carried on long through the night, Maria wondered if maybe he would understand. Wondered if he could feel sympathy for others or whether that was a part of his soul that was lost. Could he love? Was he capable of that emotion?
When the rooms finally quieted, Maria rose and tiptoed to where Raphael now slept soundly, his sheets haphazardly wrapped around him, preserving his modesty. His brow was damp, and dark circles pitted beneath his eyes. Maria unconsciously reached her hand out, her fingers grazing the soft strand of dark hair that forever fell over Raphael’s eyes. She pulled her hand back, but didn’t move. Her feet were planted to the ground. There was an ache in her chest that compelled her to keep vigil beside this man, this killer.
Because Maria had never met anyone like him. She’d never met anyone who shared the ailment of nightmares that seemed so real they were debilitating. As Raphael rolled to his front, Maria’s eyes fixed on the scars that littered his back. She closed her eyes and could feel the burning of her scars too.
Is that why I’m here? Maria silently asked God. Because I understand? She opened her eyes and looked at Raphael. One dweller of dark, one dweller of light, brought together to collide? To share the burdens of their pasts . . . to heal?
As warmth flooded Maria’s chest, she knew it was the truth. She climbed back into her bed, and she found sleep.
Her duty to Raphael would begin come morning. She didn’t dwell on the flicker of excitement in her heart. She simply placed herself in God’s knowing hands, and fell asleep.