“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.” Raphael’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.
Her head tipped back and rested on his shoulder. Raphael looked down at her bared neck, at the offering, and wrapped his hand around it. That was all it took for him to roar his release, the pain of the cage still on his cock making him come in endless hot streams. He pressed his hand tighter around Maria’s throat. Her eyes met his, and the sight of that blue gaze, her offered neck, and his hand around her throat made him a savage. The wave of pure possessiveness that controlled him had him lowering his head and wrapping his lips around the skin on her neck. He sucked and sucked, leaving red mark after red mark on her pale skin. His thrusts still slammed into her, until he pulled out, breathless and having left a tapestry of bite marks on his little rose’s neck.
Maria’s head fell forward as she caught her breath. Raphael pushed her hair aside and kissed along her shoulders. He kissed her cheeks. Spinning her around, his dick still out and her pants around her ankles, he cupped her face. Her cheeks were red from pleasure; he knew his were too. He couldn’t catch his breath. Seeing the marks on her neck and his cum on her thighs, he couldn’t calm. Raphael smashed his lips to Maria’s. He ate at her mouth, ravished her lips, and dueled with her tongue.
He tore his mouth away on a gasp, groaning when he saw the red rose tucked behind Maria’s ear. “I can’t get enough of you, little rose.” His stomach flipped when a shy smile began to grow on her lips.
He groaned again and kissed her once more. When he went to tuck himself back into his jeans, he saw blood on her inner thigh. His hands faltered. “Are you hurt?” he said, dropping to his knees and running his hands over Maria’s thighs, smothering the faint trickle of blood.
“My lord,” Maria whispered. But Raphael was too busy searching for blood or marks. The cage. Was it the cage? It hadn’t hurt her before. Raphael froze when Maria placed her hands on his cheeks. He glanced up. His eyes widened, instant shock rendering him motionless. He was on his knees. He never got to his knees for anyone. Never again, not since . . .
Raphael let Maria guide his head upward to meet her eyes. Her hands were warm on his face. “I’m not hurt,” she assured him. “It was a thorn from the stem you still held. Just a small cut.” Raphael dropped the stem and laid his hands on her hips, his fingers traveling to the scars on her back. Her breathing hitched as his fingers traced the ruined skin. “I’m not hurt,” she repeated. “Stand, my lord.”
He was on his knees. He was on his knees . . . He’d vowed to never get on his knees for anyone ever again . . .
“Stand.” Raphael bristled at the command, yet he found himself obeying. His body moved to Maria’s softly spoken order.
His legs and arms began to shake. He’d dropped to his motherfucking knees! Everything assaulted his senses at once. The roses, the greenhouse, the white petals . . . Maria issuing him an order . . . him obeying. He inhaled sharply when Maria’s careful hands tucked his dick back into his jeans. She pulled up her pants and threaded her hand through his. “Let’s go back to the room.”
Raphael nodded numbly and, for once in his adult life, let someone else lead the way. Maria walked beside him, her hand never breaking from his as they crossed the gardens, entered the house, and returned to Raphael’s rooms. Maria locked the doors, then smiled at him, bringing their joined hands to his heart. He didn’t understand the empty feeling in his chest. The pit in his stomach. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t get the image of the blood-coated white roses from his head. He didn’t understand why his hands were shaking.
“Let’s take a bath.”
Raphael stared at Maria. They had never done anything like that before. They had never bathed or showered together. They fucked and he dominated. She did as she was told. “Come, my lord,” Maria said in a soft, enticing voice. Raphael followed her, an unlikely slave to her commands.
Maria broke from his hand only to run the bath. He glanced at himself in the mirror as the room began to fill with steam and the scent of vanilla from the bath foam Maria had poured into the water. His face looked pale . . . but it was his eyes that shocked him most. He didn’t recognize the look in his own eyes. They were wide. They were dull.
What the fuck was happening?
He looked down when he felt Maria unbuttoning his shirt. He swallowed as he watched her. His stomach swirled. She pulled the shirt off his arms and unbuttoned his pants. She rolled them down his legs and off his feet. Raphael watched, absolutely still, as Maria shed her clothes until she stood before him naked. She turned off the faucet, then held out her hand. Raphael placed his hand in hers, the strange numbness still in his bones. Only when they reached the edge of the large bath did he pull her to a stop. Maria turned his way, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Raphael reached for the rose in her hair. Taking it in his hands, he pulled at the petals, destroying the head. He threw the petals in the bathwater, watching as they floated on the top. He tossed the remainder of the flower to the floor and stepped into the hot water.
Raphael held his hand out to Maria, and she joined him. He sat down, the hot water blanketing his body. Maria sat opposite, facing him. Tendrils of wet hair curled over her neck. The bottom of her hair dipped into the water.
“Turn around,” Raphael said, and she did, pressing her back against Raphael’s chest. He moved her hair from her neck and kissed the bites he had made. The wave of possessiveness the bites caused was overwhelming. He owned his little rose. These bites showed the world that truth. Marked her as his.
Taking the sponge from the basket on the bath’s ledge, Raphael dipped it into the water and squeezed it over Maria’s hair. She tipped her head back and sighed in approval. Raphael was slow as he washed her hair, massaging his hands into the thick strands. The room filled with the sound of his voice when he began to hum the nursery rhyme that he always sung as he washed Maria’s hair. She melted against him. When the last of the shampoo and conditioner were out of her hair, he guided her back against his chest. He inhaled the vanilla and rose scent. As Raphael looked down at Maria’s naked body, flush against his, he watched red rose petals gather around her stomach.
His thoughts drifted back to the greenhouse. He picked up a petal and held it in his hands. Maria watched his every move. “Why do you like roses so much, my lord?”
Not taking his gaze off the petal in his hand, he said, “My mother was a botanist. She worked at the Arnold Arboretum.” Raphael spoke with no emotion in his voice. He didn’t feel any emotion to express. Maria asked him a question. So he answered it.
“She did?” Maria whispered.
Raphael became lost to fractured memories, and his vision blurred. “She always brought them home to have around the house.” He tried to grab onto the distant memory of a dark-haired woman leading him to the garden at the back of their house to tend to the rose bushes. Raphael felt the velvet texture of the petal in his fingers and remembered feeling them when he was young.
Maria inhaled a shaky breath. “My mom did too. Have them around the house, I mean. Red roses . . .” She smiled. From his position Raphael could just see her mouth. Her smile wasn’t as wide as it usually was. “Every time I see a rose, I’m reminded of her. Sometimes the sight pains me if I’m having a bad day. If I’m missing her more than usual.”
Raphael dropped the petal and watched it drift away into a mass of bubbles. “He strangled her,” Raphael said, the memory expressed as though the topic weren’t a tragedy. Maria turned her head, and her blue eyes clashed with his. Her mouth opened, then closed. Raphael stroked his finger down her cheek and down to her neck. He focused on the delicate bones. They were perfect. “He made me watch as he choked her with his bare hands.” Raphael remembered his mother’s eyes locked on his as she fought to breathe. “The vase she had been carrying smashed and split open the skin on her feet.” Raphael remembered the sea of blood his childhood eyes had watched cover the white petals that were spilled on the floor. “He took the blood-covered petals and stuffed them into her mouth, singing ‘Ring a-round the Roses’ as he did it.” He ran his hand over Maria’s hair as though he wasn’t talking of the vicious death of his mother. “Then he stood up and shot himself in the head.” Maria’s breathing became shallow. But Raphael was lost to the few memories he had in his mind. “I walked to where she lay. Her hair . . .” he said softly. “Her hair had fallen around her neck.” He smiled. She had looked so pretty as she stared at him without blinking, roses in her mouth. “It made me smile. Her face was calm. It was never calm. He always hit her, choked her. When he finally killed her, it was the first time I’d seen her at peace.”
Maria’s heart was beating fast beneath his hand. “Who was the man? Why did he kill her?”
Raphael frowned, trying to remember. “Her boyfriend? I didn’t have a father . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t think. I don’t know why he killed her. The priests never told me. I only remember bits.”
Maria searched his face. She swallowed. Raphael liked how her throat looked as she did. “My lord . . .” she said softly. “How many people have you killed?”
Raphael tried to think. He shrugged. “Many.”
Maria’s shoulders sagged. “Many . . .” she whispered.
Raphael stood and held out his hand. Maria threaded his hand through hers and he led her out of the bath. He didn’t bother with towels for them as he took her through the bedroom, through the small dining room and through the door to his private room. He flicked on the light. Maria gasped. Raphael let his gaze rove over his wall. The wall filled with the faces of his victims. Maria walked past him, and he watched her approach the wall. He felt his chest swell with pride. At the faces staring back at him, eyes wide open in death.
“Y-you . . . you killed all of these women?” Maria stuttered. “These pictures . . . they are all dead in them?”
“Just dead,” Raphael explained, recalling each one in vivid detail. “Their bodies were still warm.”
Maria reached out to touch the pictures, but pulled back her hand before she did. “Strangled?” she asked, tracing the red marks on their throats.
“All of them.” Raphael looked down at his hands and spread his fingers. He smiled.
When he lifted his head, he saw Maria had stopped dead in front of the wall. She turned to look at him. The blood had drained from her cheeks. “You killed her.” The picture was his most recent. “This woman, from the club.” Her hands shook. “When?”
Raphael licked his lips. His heart started to race at the way Maria was looking at him. In shock . . . disappointment? “Not long ago.”
“While I was here?” Her voice had dropped in tone. Her blue eyes began to shine. Raphael stilled. Was she going to cry? He didn’t like her crying. He couldn’t stand it. It fucked with his head.
“Yes.”
Maria stumbled back. Her back hit the far wall. “Did . . .” Maria met his eyes. “Did you have sex with her?”
Raphael curled his lip just remembering that night. “No.”
Maria went to turn her head again, then suddenly moved from the wall. “That night,” she whispered. “The night you couldn’t get hard.” Raphael’s jaw clenched. “The night I said those words. The safe words. Red rose.” Maria started shaking her head. “That was it, wasn’t it? When you left . . . you left to kill her. When you returned, you had scratch marks on your skin.”
“She was evil. She trafficked kids. She deserved to die.”
Maria ran her hands down her face. “All life is sacred.”
“It’s not,” he snarled, feeling his rage begin to build.
“It is!” Maria argued. Raphael raced across the room and took hold of her shoulders. He spun her around. “These women . . . These women raped kids, sold kids, whored them out for money.” Raphael couldn’t keep hold of his temper. He felt himself being forced to his knees, the priest’s hands across his chest, touching his cock, forcing him to the floor . . . Raphael hit his head to rid himself of the image. Maria stumbled away, but Raphael kept hitting his head. He needed the images from his fucking head. Images put there by people like the pieces of shit on his wall. By people who used kids, raped kids.
Fucked them, fucked them, fucked them! His hand was yanked away, and he moved. He pushed the person against the wall, ready to kill. “My lord, it’s me.” But he was lost to the red mist of rage. “Raphael.” A soft voice cut through his head, which was trapped in the torture room, being pinned to the floor by the priest. “Come back to me,” the voice whispered. “Come back to me.”
Raphael blinked, his chest heaving, and the room around him shimmered and his vision cleared. He was home. In the manor . . . and there was Maria. Maria before him, blue eyes shining with tears. Her hand slowly came to his cheek. “You’re here with me.” Raphael’s muscles twitched in exertion. “I’m here.” Raphael followed the rising and falling of Maria’s controlled breaths. She stepped closer to him, closer and closer until her chest was flush against his.
He groaned at her warmth. At the way she numbed the stabbing memories in his head. Soothed the ache in his chest. “It’s okay . . . it’s okay.”
Raphael held her close, wrapping his arms around her back.
“I am a novitiate, Raphael.”
Raphael stood stock-still as he held Maria. He didn’t know what that was, but his rose sounded serious. He pulled back to look at her face, and Maria took hold of his hands. “Before I came here . . . I was training to be a nun. I was close to taking final vows.”
Raphael’s eyes flared, and blood soared through his tight muscles, bringing them to life. “Chaste,” he said, excitement mounting in his chest. “That’s why you were chaste. Pure.”
“Until I gave myself to you,” Maria said.
Raphael thought of her moaning his name. Thought of her pale skin and slim body. Thought of the customized coffin and how Maria would look flawless within it, sleeping for eternity, forever in Raphael’s room. His shrine caught his eye, and uncontained excitement built inside him. She was in his arms. The one.
Raphael leaned forward and cupped Maria’s cheeks. “I am going to kill you, little rose. Do you understand?”
Maria’s eyes widened for a minute, before they closed and she took a long, calming breath. “Yes, my lord.”
“Look at me.” Maria’s eyes opened, and she fixed her gaze on Raphael’s golden stare. “Someday soon, I’m going to bathe you.” He searched her face; there wasn’t a blemish in sight. “I’m going to comb and dry your hair.” Maria’s chest rose and fell, her small pert breasts heaving. Raphael smiled softly, like a lover confessing his love to his betrothed. “I will anoint you with the finest oils.” He tucked his nose into her neck and inhaled her sweet scent. “Vanilla and rose. You wear vanilla and rose the best.” Maria’s pulse raced; he could feel it under his thumb. “I will lay you on the bed, little rose. And I will love you. I will worship you like the queen that you are.” Raphael’s eyes closed, his hands still holding her face. “I will kiss you, little rose. I will taste your skin, your lips, and your sweet wet pussy.” He opened his eyes, and he knew his pupils would be dilated at just speaking the fantasy aloud. “I will push inside you, capturing your moans and sighs with my lips . . .” Raphael’s cock awakened and filled the silicone cage. He freed one of his hands and ran it through Maria’s soft wet hair. “I will take this silky hair and roll it in my hands. I will tilt your delicate neck off the bed, then I will wrap your hair around it, around and around and around—three times.” Raphael felt his body grow lighter, weightless. “You will look into my eyes as I thrust deeper within you . . . and then I will pull tight.” Raphael placed his hand over Maria’s neck. “Your cheeks will flush and your eyes will shine. Your lips will part, but no breath will leave your mouth. You will give yourself to me, little rose. Your body will begin to lose its strength as I build your pleasure. Your back will arch, and you will come, come so profoundly that it is all you will feel. You will search for breath, but there will be none to find. And as your eyes begin to glaze, your heart slowing to an almost stop, I’ll come inside you, groaning your name.” Raphael felt the pressure build in his back. His eyes closed, his balls pulled tight, and with a loud groan, he felt himself spill against her leg. His body jerked in the aftermath. His neck was tight with the exertion of pleasure. When his eyes opened, he exhaled a shuddering breath. Maria’s cheeks were flushed and her nipples were erect. Raphael’s hand was still on her neck, his thumb caressing the soft skin as though it were a delicate petal. A white rose petal—Maria’s favorite color.
Raphael smiled, a loving, compassionate smile. “Your heart will cease to beat.” Maria’s lips parted and she released a short, soft breath. “I’ll hold you, little rose. I’ll hold you tightly in my arms, until you are no longer warm.” Raphael kissed Maria’s cheek. “I’ll place a rose in your hair—the best one from my garden. And you’ll have a bouquet in your hands. Twelve white roses for you to hold.” Raphael kissed her lips, tasting salt on her mouth. Tears were falling down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumbs. “You will be so perfect, little rose. So, so perfect. You’ll be nothing like these.” He flicked his hand to the pictures on the wall. He turned her to the shrine. “Your photo will take pride of place in this room.”
Raphael brought Maria to his chest. He held her head and body against him. His hands wrapped in her hair, and they stayed that way until he led her to bed.
“I wont abandon you, my lord,” Maria said against his lips as he kissed her goodnight. “I’m here for you. I am here to serve only you.”
Raphael’s happiness didn’t fade from his heart.
*****
“Beautiful,” Raphael said as Maria walked out of the closet. She wore a purple dress that fell to the floor. He had dried her hair, and it fell in natural waves down to her thighs. She wore golden sandals on her feet and a peach rose tucked behind her ear. Unlike the white dresses she wore in Raphael’s private room, this dress was opaque, not a touch of skin visible underneath.
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 constantly 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.