Rissa. He couldn't get that woman out of his head. She invaded his every waking thought, even though he'd never seen her face. She'd taken a pretty big risk to get them that molecule, not to mention the pain she suffered every time she did her job,yet she asked for so little in return. She simply wanted a friend and a name.
He closed his eyes and flexed his now-working toes. He'd been willing to take a bullet for her. He would even be willing to die for her, but he wasn't sure he was willing to give up his commitment to God for her. He'd made a promise, and God had kept His end of it, but seeing her in his bed, looking completely at ease? Could he truly resist the desires she created? Would God take back all He'd given?
Because his mother was doing well, living comfortably on the upper north side. She remembered little of the night his father had tried to kill them both. A blow to the head had knocked her unconscious and clouded her memories of what had happened right before. He'd been granted hisonerequest. Sixteen years ago, Sinclair had begged God to remove his mother's suffering and keep her safe. God had done that. In exchange, Sin had spent three years changing himself from a heathen to a proper young man. Then, just before he'd turned eighteen, he'd given his life to the Legion and vowed to take part in nothing that could distract him from his purpose.
Regardless, he needed Rissa's mind to help them protect the church. He needed to protect her, too. Tossing the empty soda bottle in the trash, he made sure the door was locked, then peeled out of his clothes. Sliding under the covers, he propped his pillows against the bed and lit a cigarette, staring up at the ceiling while his body unwound.
Sucking in a long drag, he prayed with the exhale. "God, I have a feeling this isn't going to be easy. I know I don't have the right to ask for anything else, but if You could help me find my way through this, that would be great."
As always, there was no answer. Instead, his mind was stuck on those beautiful silver eyes and how they'd shined so brightly under the neon lights.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The next morning, Sin headed to the church as soon as he woke up. This time, he skipped the cathedral, heading straight to Benedict's official office. Walking through the back halls of the Legion, he passed multiple priests. Their attire made their position clear. There were Signifiers in formal robes with their brightly colored collars. Ordanes wore fashionable suits meant to make moving around the city easier. Then there were the Centurions.
Around every corner seemed to be a pair of priests in the rubberized exo-armor of the Legion. Theirs was black, where Sin's was a deep, midnight blue. The difference in color was subtle, yet meaningful. As he passed, some nodded their heads in greeting. Others stared at him with fury. That, more than anything else, made it clear news had already spread.
When he finally reached the massive golden door to the Praetor's office, it was unguarded. Considering the increase in security along the halls, that was almost surprising, but Sin knew Benedict did not want to be treated like a king. He was simply a tool to help guide his flock. He'd said it many times before.
Sin knocked on the door, expecting a long wait. A few seconds later it opened from the inside, and a woman stepped out. Her suit marked her as an Ordane, and she tipped her head at Sin respectfully, but didn't immediately invite him in.
"Legate Sinclair," she said politely.
"Ordane," he replied, unaware of her name.
She smiled. "It's Esther. You're actually why I'm here. I'm supposed to summon you to speak with the Censor."
Yeah, that meant they'd already heard about the events of last night. "I intend to see him right after I speak to Benedict. I'm required to report to the Praetor before anyone else."
"So you're here to report the slaying of another priest?" she asked, seeming confused.
"That my angel was attacked by one, yes," Sin assured her. "And that he was killed in the process of upholding my vow to God. I'm also very curious as to why a priest of the Legion was running with five armed punks who were clearly either a part of a gang or a hired hit group. Had he fallen from grace?"
"I see," she said, offering him a smile but not an answer. "I will make sure the rumors of you cornering a priest in an alley are corrected." Then she licked at her lips. "You should also know he's not doing well today."
"Thank you, Sister Esther. I won't keep him long."
The woman stepped the rest of the way through the door, then gestured for Sin to enter. Once inside, he eased the door closed and then headed up the carpeted hall to the door at the end. There, he knocked again.
A weak voice from the inside beckoned him, "Come."
"Praetor," Sin said as he entered.
"Ah, Sinclair," Benedict greeted him. "From my lips to God's ears. Your timing couldn't be better."
The old man was reclining in a plush chair with his feet propped on an ottoman and a blanket draped over his legs. Still, he wore the formal robes of his office, but Sin knew Benedict felt anything less was an insult to God in this room. He also looked pallid, and today, the man's voice didn't hold the power it normally did.
"How are you feeling, Praetor?" Sin asked as he moved to kneel beside the chair.
Benedict offered his ringed hand. "Like I'm getting old."
Obediently, Sin kissed the ring and then rose to take the chair beside him. "I'm sure you've already heard about my predicament."
"Mm," Benedict mumbled. "I've heard aboutapredicament, but I'm not sure it's yours. Please, my boy, tell me what really happened yesterday?"
"As I was escorting the Ingénue to City Hall for her duty, I noticed a man following us. Not sure whether it was my own paranoia or merely coincidence, I changed direction, moving my charge to use an alternate route. That revealed additional watchers. Taking protective measures, I guided my angel toward a more remote location, which revealed four definite followers. As you know, the Ingénues have been getting attacked for the information in their minds. Due to my knowledge of the criminal history against these women, and the general area we were in, I aimed for a defensible position. Once there, we were attacked by six people dressed as city punks. Each one had some form of face covering, from masks to bandanas, and all of them brandished weapons. One made the intent to harm my angel clear. I defended her."
"Uh-huh." Benedict lifted a brow. "And how did that go?"
