“But Gatsby and Daisy—”
“They sound great, but what do we know about them? What can they do about this? They’re more than three hours away, longer with traffic. How far gone are you going to be by then?”
“I don’t know,” she says quietly.
“Well, you fight it,” I grit out. “You fight that bastard, and meanwhile, I’ll…” I rise from the pew, fists clenched. “I’ll dosomething. I’ll figure something out.”
Cathy rises, too, a wistful smile on her face. “Iamfighting. And I won’t stop. But there’s nothing you can do to fix this. You’ve already given me everything.”
She slips her arms around my waist and moves close, leaning her head on my chest. I wrap her up and hold her tight. There’s more strength in her grip than I expected—the god’s strength.
I have her here with me. But she’s still not free, and it’s my fault. My throat tightens, tears stinging my eyes. I refuse to let those tears out, though. Last thing she needs is me losing my shit.
“Dry clothes,” I say abruptly.
Cathy leans back and quirks an eyebrow at me.
“We’re both covered in mud and blood. There’s gotta be something else around here—a giveaway bin of clothes, maybe some choir robes. I’ll check, and you can go get cleaned up.”
Cathy looks down at herself. “Yes. I’m definitely on board with that.”
I decide to go through a door to the left of the pulpit platformand snoop around. There’re a couple narrow rooms back there, on each side of the baptistry, and sure enough, one of them has a bunch of the choir robes I saw people wearing when I visited. They’re a weird plum color, and the buttons only go down to the waist, but I’d rather Gatsby and the others see Cathy in that than the transparent tissue of a dress she’s wearing. Plus she’ll be warmer, drier, and more comfortable.
After grabbing two choir robes that look about the right size for us, I head to the women’s restroom in the lobby.
I don’t know what I expected to see, but it sure wasn’t a nude Cathy standing in front of the sink, wiping dried blood off her neck with a wet paper towel.
“The rain didn’t wash it all off.” There’s a tremor in her voice, tragedy in her eyes. It’s starting to really register—what those bastards did to her. Her town, her church. Her own family. She’s hurting. But at the same time, she’s so goddamn beautiful—the curve of her spine flowing into the roundness of her ass cheeks, the slope of her stomach down to her pussy, her long legs.
Shit, I’m being an asshole. Anasshole.
I will not get a fucking hard-on.This is not the time, Heathcliff, you selfish bastard. Not the time.
“Here.” I hold out the choir robe stiffly.
She gives me a pitiful little frown. “I could use a hug.”
If she hugs me, she’ll feel how hard I am. She’ll know what a horny ass I can be at the worst times. “No hugs.”
“Okay.” She sighs, turns toward me, and lifts her arms, gathering her hair up, twisting it, then letting it fall down her back. Which leaves her tits on full display.
Jaw clenched, I look away.
“If you won’t give me a hug,” Cathy says softly, moving nearer,“will you give me something else?”
“Clothes.” I wave the choir robe a little, still looking away from her.
“Heathcliff.” She’s in front of me now, gathering the damp, grimy fabric of my T-shirt in her hands. “Heathcliff, I don’t know if I’m going to be myself a day from now, let alone an hour from now. I have this feeling, this itching in my bones, this crawling sensation under my skin—it’s the banshee, Heathcliff.”
“A death prediction?”
“I can’t be sure, but I feel unsettled. Like the god is rearranging my insides, and it’s uncomfortable.” Her palms stroke my pectorals. “My dad and Aunt Nellie—theykilledme, by intent if not with their own hands. And there’s a god in my head, and the banshee squirming under my skin.” Her whole body gives a violent shudder. “I’m brimming with horror and unease and wretchedness, Heathcliff, and I need to feel somethingelse. Something good.”
I bite back a groan as my dick jumps, pressing against my pants. “What abouthim? Cernunnos? If we do this, he’s going to watch.”
Cathy’s slender fingers cup the back of my neck, and she gives me a fierce, reckless look. “Let him watch. We’ll pretend he doesn’t exist.”
Her face quivers right after she says it, and I suspect Cernunnos said something to her. But the next second, she tightens her grip on my neck, her expression resolute. “Come on, Heathcliff,” she urges. And then, with a sudden, malevolent smile, “Haven’t you ever wanted to fuck a girl in a church sanctuary?”
