Raphael sat beside Maria as she slept on his bed. His muscles still ached from the doctor’s visit. Maria was hooked up to an IV of antibiotics. Gabriel had had to restrain him as the doctor assessed her naked body. Uriel and Gabriel had pinned him against the wall when he refused to leave and let the doctor work. But as the doctor touched the puss-ridden upturned cross on Maria’s chest and she screamed, Raphael had lunged. His vision had misted with red, and the anger inside him had torn him up from the inside out.
But soon Maria was sedated. “For her own good,” the doctor had said. “So she can heal.” Raphael had moved beside her and taken her hand in his. The string that he forever wore around his finger was firmly in place. As his fingers entwined with Maria’s, the warmth in his chest was back again. He wanted her to open her eyes. He wanted her to smile. Raphael believed the constant ache in his chest would go if she did.
Raphael listened to Maria breathe. He hadn’t even showered since they’d arrived back at the manor. “Heal, little rose,” he whispered into her ear as he lay down on the pillow beside her. “That’s an order. I won’t repeat myself. Do you understand?”
But there was no Yes, my lord to this demand. There was no obedience. Maria was too deep in sleep to open her eyes.
Raphael placed his hand on Maria’s hair. It was full of sweat and knots. He needed to clean it. He needed to brush it and dry it; it needed to smell of vanilla and rose. Then she would be perfect again.
Raphael’s eyes dropped to the brand Father Murray had seared onto her flesh. Raphael wanted to run his finger down it. He wanted to take the pain away. But as he looked at the brand, he couldn’t help but feel his chest grow tight. Not in anger, but . . . With the brand, Maria was now like him. She wore the sign of the devil on her chest . . . just like him. Just like his brothers.
Like she was one of the Fallen.
But as quickly as the tight feeling in his chest came, it was replaced by seething fury at remembering Father Murray’s fingers in her pussy. At his hands around her throat. Raphael ran his finger over her neck. Finger marks that didn’t belong to him were imprinted on her flesh. Blue bruises and red scratches marred her perfect skin. Raphael looked down at his hands. They were shaking. But as he stared at those hands, he remembered them wrapped around Father Murray’s throat.
Raphael licked his lips as his cock grew hard in his jeans. Father Murray’s eyes had met his, never moving away as Raphael had drained him of life. Raphael sighed as he recalled the priest’s slowing pulse, his blue face . . . and his severed dick, his blood gushing onto the floor. Raphael’s jeans were still stained with the blood. He wouldn’t wash them. He would frame them and hang them on his wall in his room so he would be forever reminded of the cunt he had killed.
Raphael heard the door to his room open. Michael walked in, still covered in blood. His hands were stained; Raphael knew his brother wouldn’t be washing them anytime soon. Silently, Michael walked into the room and sat on the chair next to the bed. His best friend smiled, his fangs still coated in his victims’ blood. He would have gorged on his new collection as soon as they returned home. Michael’s eyes were dilated from the adrenaline of the kills they had all made. Raphael knew his would be the same.
Raphael settled into the pillow again. Michael took out a vial of blood from his pocket and, dipping his finger into the open top, began to suck on the blood. “She going to live?” Michael asked.
Raphael met his brother’s watching eyes. “The doctor said so. But she’ll take weeks to heal.”
Michael nodded, then went back to his blood. The door opened again. Sela and Diel walked through. Wordlessly, they moved to the couch against the wall and sat down. Sela rested his head against the backrest. “I’m beat.”
Diel’s hands twitched on his knees. His eyes closed, and Raphael saw him taking deep breaths. It took his brother hours to calm down after a spree. Too much energy in his veins. It was a high they all struggled to come back from—Diel most of all.
Twenty minutes later, Bara and Uriel walked in the room. Bara cocked an eyebrow at everyone present. “Seems like we’re late to the party.” Bara and Uriel pulled chairs from the dining area to beside the bed, on the opposite side to Michael. Bara watched Raphael hold Maria with a smirk on his face. Raphael curled further into Maria’s warm body.
“You calm now?” Uriel asked.
Raphael nodded his head. Not one of his brothers had showered. All covered in the blood and guts of the priests. Bara opened his mouth to say something, when the door opened one final time. Gabriel paused when he saw his brothers. His blond hair was wet, and he was back in his black clothes and white dog collar.
Gabriel moved a chair beside Michael. His blue eyes tracked over Maria, checking she was okay. “You need anything, Raphe?”
“No,” he replied.
Gabriel sighed as he slouched into his chair. He winced as he sat. Then his hand ran down his face.
“So, Purgatory’s done,” Sela said from the couch.
Raphael and his brothers looked one another in the eyes. He felt something in his stomach relax. A pain he never knew he carried until that moment.
“Burned to the ground,” Michael said, then, frowning, looked to Gabriel. Gabriel’s face was pale and his eyes rimmed with red. Raphael didn’t understand why. “All that wasted blood.”
Bara sighed, then leaned forward on his chair. His eyes narrowed on his brothers. “So this is codependency.”
Raphael wondered what that was. Uriel, Sela, Diel, and Michael looked just as confused as he felt.
“What’s that?” Michael asked.
Bara shrugged. “No fucking idea. Heard Miller talking about it before. Said we all suffered from codependency.” He grinned. “Sounded fancy. Just wanted a chance to say the words aloud.”
“It doesn’t matter what it means,” Gabriel said, pulling their attention. “He never lived what we lived through.” Gabriel smiled. It was the first authentic smile Raphael had seen him give in years. “We’re brothers. We have each other’s backs.” Gabriel pointed at Maria. “And the back of anyone we take into our fold.”
Raphael looked at Maria sleeping beside him. She was so beautiful. He wanted her to wake up and speak to him. He liked her voice. He didn’t like that he wasn’t hearing it in his rooms. He wanted to feel her hand on his cheek. He’d once punished her for touching his cheek without permission. Now he would order it if she would just wake up.
Sela got up from his seat and lit the fire. The room filled with warmth, the sound of crackling wood and the smoky scent of burning logs. Raphael stared at Maria. When he looked up at his brothers, they were asleep. Raphael’s eyes grew heavy, and laying his head on Maria’s long hair, he fell asleep too.
*****
It took a week before Maria was roused from the sedation. Raphael held her hand as the doctor took her from the IV that kept her under and waited for her to wake. Her finger twitched first. Her lips moved, then her eyelids began to flutter.
Raphael gripped her hand tightly as her eyes opened. They were unfocused at first, and her breathing was too fast. He saw panic flash across her face.
“Breathe slowly,” Raphael said. The minute the order came from his lips, Maria stilled and rolled her head to face him. Her eyes quickly cleared as she saw his face. Her fingers tightened in his. And it came flooding back. The warmth in his chest that Raphael only ever felt when Maria was around. Only now it was spreading through his body like wildfire as Maria smiled, her eyes filling with tears. Raphael tried to breathe through the lump that was gathering in his throat.
He had no idea what was happening to his body. But he realized he had always felt cold. Until Maria, he had been devoid of knowing what warmth even felt like.
Now he had it, he wasn’t sure he could live without the addictive feeling.
“Raph—” Maria winced as she tried to speak.
“Shh,” Raphael ordered.
But Maria didn’t obey. Raphael’s body locked still when she clutched his hand tightly. “You . . . came . . .” she managed to whisper. She flinched again and looked down to her chest. The comforter lay over her body, but the top of the upturned cross was visible. Maria squeezed her eyes shut. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the soft skin. She smiled. Raphael climbed into the bed beside her.
As he lay down, pulling her closer to his body, the door to his room opened. Just as they had done every night after dinner, Raphael’s brothers came in. And they slept, all together, like they had done for so many years as children.
Maria’s eyes widened as Michael sat on the chair he had recently been occupying. Sela and Diel sat on the couch, and Bara and Uriel on the chairs beside her. Gabriel was the last through the door. “Maria,” he said, smiling wide. “You’re awake.”
Raphael watched Maria’s eyes glisten. He tensed at first, thinking she didn’t want his brothers in the room. But then she smiled, and he realized she was crying because she was happy. She was happy with them . . .
“Thank you,” Maria said and met each of their watchful gazes. “Thank you . . . for coming for me.”
They all nodded.
“It was fun.” Bara lounged back in his seat. “It was the most fun we’ve had in a really long time.” He sighed. “I say we make Brethren-hunting a thing. Like an annual event or something.”
Sela lit the fire, and Raphael listened to his brothers talk. Maria curled into Raphael, placing her head on his shoulder, listening too. As she fell asleep, he kissed her forehead, calmed by her rhythmic steady breathing.
When he lifted his head, he saw his brothers watching him strangely. None more so than Gabriel. But Raphael ignored their strange looks, closed his eyes, and went to sleep too. He didn’t know what their stares meant.
In that moment, he didn’t care.
*****
Another week passed. Raphael walked through the rose bushes in the greenhouse, checking the blooms. Hearing the door opening behind him, he turned to see Maria walking toward him. Five days ago she had risen from the bed. The upturned cross on her chest had almost healed, and her strength had almost returned.
He hadn’t fucked her yet. Raphael’s hands itched at his sides. Because he wanted Maria in his bed. He wanted her underneath him . . . and he wanted her hair in his hands. Raphael wanted to wrap it around her throat. He wanted to make true his greatest dream. He wanted to embalm her and keep her in his coffin, then she would never leave him again. He would always be warm.
“I knew you’d be here,” Maria said. The sunrise was bright behind her, the light framing her head. She looked like an angel. Maria ran her hands over the newly flowered blooms. When she stopped at the white rose, Maria plucked off a stem and held it to her chest. Raphael’s lips parted at the sight.
She walked toward him, stopping as she reached his feet. Raphael towered over her. Maria was in his clothes again. He liked her in the white dresses. But seeing her in his clothes did something to his chest. It made it ache. He had no idea why.
Her blue eyes stared up at him. Maria reached for his hand and brought it to her chest. “I told you I would return,” she said. Raphael watched his hand in hers. She took a deep breath. Looking up at his face, Maria offered the white rose to Raphael. “Here,” she whispered. Raphael frowned. Maria swallowed but held her chin high. “For me to hold in the coffin.”
His heart kicked into a sprint, excitement flooding his body. Maria nodded, answering his unspoken question. “I’m giving myself to you, my lord. All of me. I want you to have your dream. I’m going into this willingly.”
Raphael stared at her. Her blue eyes were steel with conviction. With the promise he never thought she’d give.
“Are you serious?” he rasped, unable to control his thumping heart.
“Yes.” Maria stepped closer, so close that her chest touched his. “Take me back to your room, Raphael. I’m yours. Have me forever, just like you dreamed.”
Raphael grabbed her hand and brought her flush against his front. He cupped her face. “You’re giving yourself to me?”
“Wholeheartedly.”
Raphael pushed her hair behind her ear, just admiring this woman before him. As the soft strands slipped through his palms, he began to hum. Maria curled into his touch, and in the morning light, a song spilled from his lips. “Ring a-round the roses, a pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes . . . we all fall down.” As his words trailed off, Maria took his hand and brought it to her lips.
We all fall down . . .
Feeling weightless with anticipation, Raphael turned and gathered what he needed, adrenaline fueling his every move. He gathered her favorite roses, then guided Maria through the greenhouse. She was silent as she walked, and Raphael studied her face. Her head was tipped up at the rising sun. His chest clenched when she smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world. He could watch her face all day. Her outstretched hands brushed every tree and bush that they passed, letting the wet leaves kiss her skin. Winter was fading and spring was beginning to break.
But she wouldn’t get to see the new season. This glimpse of its birth would have to suffice.
Raphael stayed by her side as they passed the fountain and Maria stopped to dip her hands into the water. He stayed by her side as she crunched gravel under her feet as they walked the path that led them to the house. And he stopped in the doorway to the mansion and watched as she inhaled one single last breath.
Exhaling deeply, Maria turned to Raphael. “I am ready, my lord.”
Raphael held out his hand. Shivers raced down his spine as her cold fingers wrapped around his. This is how she will feel, he thought. In a few hours, she will be permanently cold. Raphael frowned, realizing he would miss the warmth of her skin. But the flicker of sadness left him when he thought of what he would gain. Her forever by his side. Unable to leave, always this young and this beautiful.
Eternally his perfect little rose.
Raphael led Maria toward the stairs. The staff were milling about, preparing breakfast. Raphael heard his brothers in the dining room. Maria pulled on his arm. “Can I see them?” she asked. “One last time?” Raphael nodded his head and opened the doors to the dining room. He would give her anything for the gift she was giving him.
“Raphe, Maria.” Sela lifted his mug of coffee in greeting. But then Sela’s eyes dropped to the roses in Raphael’s hands. One by one, his brothers focused in on the flowers.
They knew what they were for.
Raphael looked at Gabriel last. His older brother’s face had gone deathly white. “Hello,” Maria said. “I just want to say thank you.” She cleared her throat as they all listened to every word she said. “Thank you for all that you have done.” Her cheeks blushed, and Raphael felt his groin stir at the sight of her pink skin. She was his weakness in every way.
Maria lowered her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she lifted her head again, her eyes were filled with tears. An odd ache pulled in his gut. “I have loved getting to know you all these past several weeks.” She quickly wiped a falling tear off her cheek. “You welcomed me to your table. And you stayed beside us”—she smiled up at Raphael—“when I was hurt and healing.” Maria lifted her chin, her tears drying. “I haven’t had family in a very long time. Thank you for giving me a glimpse of what that feels like again. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.” Maria tucked her hair behind her ear and squeezed Raphael’s hand, which hadn’t let her go. “It has been a pleasure to know you all.”
The table was silent, until Bara raised his glass. “It has been a pleasure knowing you too, Sister Maria. As short and fleeting as our time together has been.”
Maria smiled at Bara, then turned to Raphael. “I’m ready now. Shall we go?”
Raphael nodded and began leading her out of the room.
“Maria?” Gabriel’s voice stopped them in their tracks. Maria turned back. Gabriel was on his feet. Raphael felt a rush of annoyance surge through his body at Gabriel’s interruption. But Maria stepped forward. Gabriel’s mouth opened and closed as if he didn’t know what to say.
“I chose this, Gabriel. This is my choice,” Maria said.
Gabriel met Raphael’s eyes. Raphael felt a sinking sensation in his stomach at the look on Gabriel’s face. He didn’t know what the look meant, but it made his skin feel cold all the same. Maria pulled Raphael from the room. Her eyes drank in every picture they passed, every ornament and piece of furniture. “I adore this house,” she said as they reached his door. “It feels like home.” Maria looked deeply into Raphael’s eyes. “You feel like home, Raphael. You are my home.” Raphael’s heart started pounding again. But it wasn’t down to the promise of what was to come, but the look on Maria’s face, the words from her soft lips.
Maria pushed through the door and began to undress. Raphael put down the roses and watched from his place across the room. His lips parted and his breath came quick. Naked, she turned to face him. Raphael’s muscles tensed at how perfect she looked. The upturned cross on her chest only made him more possessive of her.
Maria held out her hand. Raphael walked toward her, a moth to an open flame. “I’ll take your lead now, my lord,” she whispered. “I give myself over to you, heart, body, and soul. I give you my life.”
He exhaled a shaky breath, then led her into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet of the bath, and the room billowed with heat and steam. With Maria’s blue gaze watching him, Raphael shed his clothes and walked to where she stood. Tilting her head higher with his finger under her chin, he kissed her lips. It was a soft kiss, one that he felt down to the marrow of his bones. She was all he could ever ask for, the perfect star of his ultimate dream.
He carried Maria into the bath, pulled her back to his chest, and began to wash her hair. Rose petals swam around them, kissing Maria’s pale skin. “I like this,” she said, breaking the silence. “I like bathing with you. The petals, the vanilla and rose of the bath oil.” She sank back against Raphael’s wet skin. “Feeling you behind me, keeping me safe in your arms.”
“I like it too,” he whispered. Maria stilled, then turned her head. Raphael watched as she tried to read something in his gaze. Her hands pressed against his cheeks. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself when I’m not here.” Raphael’s stomach fell. “Tell your brothers about the nightmares.” Maria bowed her head. “Stop inflicting pain on yourself.” Her eyes shone. “Be happy. Try to be happy. You deserve it, Raphael. You deserve it more than you know.” Her hand tightened on his face. “Promise me.”
Raphael nodded. “I promise.” Taking Maria’s wrists, he stood and lifted her from the tub. He wrapped her in a towel, relishing every moment and calming his racing pulse with the vanilla and rose scent on her skin.
He led her to the chair and dried and brushed her hair, singing the song that kept spilling from his mouth. “Ring a-round the roses . . .” When her hair was clean and smooth, Raphael picked up the discarded roses and took them to the bed. He ripped the petals from the heads and scattered them over the mattress. He moved to the coffin and did the same—two beds of roses for his little Maria, his very own rose.
Maria watched him with a small smile on her face. She watched as he went to the stereo and pressed play. A single song on repeat. She closed her eyes. “Abide With Me.” Maria’s smile widened as she listened to the harmonizing voices. “My favorite song.”
Raphael bent down and kissed her cheek. “Your favorite.”
Maria’s eyes opened, and Raphael held out his hand. Just as her hand met his, Maria pulled him to face her. His head tipped to the side in curiosity. “My name was Sophia,” she whispered, cheeks flushed with pink. “Sophia Wells.” Raphael inhaled a shuddering breath. “I just wanted you to know that before . . .” she trailed off. “I am Maria. Sophia died when she was sixteen. But now there are no more secrets between us. You know me inside and out. I wanted to walk into this with nothing left unsaid.”
“Sophia,” Raphael murmured and cupped her face. She wasn’t a Sophia to him. She was Maria. Would always be his heavenly little Maria. As he stared into her eyes, Raphael thought of himself as a young boy. A name drifted into his head. A name he hadn’t thought of in years.
“Raphael, what is it?” Maria asked, holding onto his wrists.
“Adam,” he said, voice hoarse. Clearing his throat, he murmured, “Adam Connors.” He didn’t offer any more of an explanation. He saw by the tears building in Maria’s eyes that she knew what that name was—the name of a little boy who died years ago, when he was taken into Purgatory and was born anew.
Raphael now had no more secrets either. The slate between them was wiped clean. It only made this moment more perfect.
Maria let him take her hand and followed him to the bed. He went to lift her, but she dropped her hand to his cock. “Without this.” She traced the cage that made him endure such pain. “If I can have one request, it would be for you to make love to me without this.” Her hand traced up his stomach and his chest. “Just you and me. How it should be. Perfect.”
Raphael closed his eyes, but he found that he wanted it too. He wanted to take her bare. He unfastened the latch that kept his dick encased, and the cage fell to the floor. When Maria ran her hand down his length and his cock hardened, there was no pain. No ache or suffocation, just the feel of Maria’s soft fingers wrapped around him. He groaned. He had never felt anything like it. He didn’t think he would like it . . . but it was . . . He had no words.
“Perfect,” Maria whispered, and Raphael lifted her onto the bed. She lay on the bed of red roses, her blond hair a halo around her head. Raphael paused to capture the scene in his mind. He had never seen anyone look more beautiful than she did. She held out her arms. Raphael climbed onto the bed and slowly covered her body. He stared into Maria’s eyes, committing her to memory, just like this.
Then his lips were on hers. He kissed her. He kissed her and kissed her until her hips began to roll. Raphael groaned at the feel of his unsheathed cock rubbing between her legs. He broke from the kiss and moved his dick to her hole. The music played around them, Maria’s warmth wrapped around him, and, keeping his focus on her, he pushed inside her. Maria’s eyes grew leaden as Raphael groaned, taking her raw. When he filled her to the hilt, he paused. He stilled, eyes closed, relishing the feel of taking her without the cage. It felt . . . Raphael couldn’t explain. He was a sinner. He was going to hell. But he was sure this was how heaven would feel. Warmth and bliss and whole-body pleasure.
Raphael began to move. Opening his eyes, he memorized the feeling of Maria’s hands roaming along his scarred back. Her cheeks were flushed as he rocked inside her. Her blue eyes were bright, and her skin glowed with a sheen of sweat. She was perfection.
Shivers accosted his spine. Kissing her lips one last time, Raphael gathered her hair in his hands. Soft, silky strands caressed his palms. And then he began to twist. He twisted and twisted her hair until it was a rope of golden silk. Maria’s lips parted and she exhaled a slow breath. Then she lifted her head. Raphael’s hips jerked, and he pushed faster, his movements guided by the harmonized voices that filled the air.
He wrapped the hair around her slim, pretty throat. Once, it went around, his thrusts becoming deeper. Twice, it circled her neck, her pale skin flushing underneath. Gripping the hair tighter, he wrapped it around one more time, stalling for a mere second to see the picture beneath him. Maria, as captivating as Mary herself as she looked into his eyes, a smile on her face, cheeks pink and her hair around her neck.
Maria laid her hand on his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered and completely obliterated Raphael’s world. “I love you, my lord. I love you, Raphael. You are so, so worthy of love.”
Raphael groaned and pushed into her deeper. Her hand dropped to his holding her hair. And she guided him to pull. To pull her hair tighter and tighter. Raphael’s breathing grew labored as Maria’s hair closed around her throat. Her eyes widened as he pulled it as tight as his strength would allow. Her cheeks grew red as the air was starved from her lungs. Raphael thrust harder and harder, until Maria’s hands clasped around him and her back arched. He felt her pussy clenching around him, a silent moan on her parted lips. Maria’s eyes began to close as her hair deprived her of life. Raphael’s hands shook as he pushed and pushed into her, feeling the gathering pressure in his thighs and lower spine. Then, as Maria’s eyes fluttered closed, a final smile on her lips, Raphael came, roaring out his release as he smothered her throat with her hair. Raphael rocked into her until his heart began to calm. When his heavy eyes focused on her face, he stilled.
Maria’s eyes were closed, her hair pulled tight. He leaned down and kissed her lips. They were still warm. He rubbed his cheek against hers. He could feel the heat from the flush on her face. Raphael’s heart was a symphony in his chest as he looked at her and rasped, “I love you too, little rose. I’ll love you forever. You were designed only for me. The greatest gift I could ever receive.”
Keeping hold of the end of her hair, he laid his head on her chest, wrapping his arm around her waist. And there he lay, for the first time in his life completely content. He lay there until he caught his breath, playing with Maria’s hair in his hand. Moving from the bed, Raphael gathered her in his arms and walked her to the coffin. He laid her down on the bed of white roses, brushing her hair on the silk pillow with his hand until not a strand was out of place. He placed a small bouquet of white roses in her hands . . . and he smiled. He unraveled the thread from around his finger and laid it on her chest, over her heart.
He would have his little rose forever. She would never ever leave him.
Finally, someone to call his own.
As he stared down at her in the coffin, roses in her hands and hair, something inside him locked into place. A feeling so overwhelming he had to hold on to the coffin’s glass side to remain standing.
Maria . . . his Maria . . . She had shifted something in his dark soul, created something that was never there before. Eradicated some of the pain. Something cracked open in his chest, and he gasped at the new sensation flooding through his veins. He reached for her unmoving hand and, when he took a deep breath, for the first time in his life Raphael felt like he could breathe.
His little rose had brought him life.
Her life, for his.
*****
Gabriel lashed at his back so hard that his vision began to blacken. He thought of Maria with Raphael. Dying. An innocent soul who deserved to live.
So he lashed himself again, wondering when it would all end. The evil, the death his brothers so craved. What his life had become.
When his back was a bloodied mess, he put down the lash and ate Maria’s blood with a lump of bread. He would not let her sins be judged when she passed. He would take them on himself. She would enter heaven pure.
He had failed in saving her life, a fellow person of God, an ally of his faith. But he would not fail in saving her soul.
He would not fail. As the bread and blood passed down his throat, he felt her sin fill his already damned soul . . .
He would not fail.