Something in my expression must convince her because she nods. I watch her make her way down the aisle, stumbling slightly but refusing my help. My fierce Little Sinner.
Only when I hear the car door slam do I turn back to Richards, who’s still kneeling on the stone floor, blood bubbling from his lips with each labored breath. The knife remains lodged between his ribs, exactly where I left it.
I crouch down in front of him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at me. “Who sent you?”
He coughs, spraying blood across my face. I don’t flinch.
“You’re too late,” he wheezes, a manic gleam in his eyes despite the pain. “The ritual has begun. She’s been marked.”
I tighten my grip on his jaw until I hear bone grind. “I won’t ask again. Who. Sent. You.”
“No one sent me,” he gasps, his eyes rolling back slightly. “God chose me to cleanse her. To prepare her.”
I slam his head back against the altar, hard enough to make him cry out. “Bullshit. Someone gave you access to her. Someone told you where she’d be.”
Blood trickles from his hairline now, mixing with the sweat on his forehead. His breathing is growing more labored, the knife wound making each inhale a struggle.
“You think this is about you,” he says, a ghastly smile spreading across his pale face. “You think you’re so powerful. The mighty Lucien Devereux. But you’re just a pawn. We all are.”
I grab him by the throat, squeezing just enough to make his eyes bulge. “Who put you up to this? Tell me before I decide to make your last moments even more excruciating.”
He laughs then—a wet, gurgling sound that sends flecks of blood spraying across my face. “He gave her to me, you know. Said she was mine.”
My grip tightens. “Who?”
“Does it matter?” His eyes are starting to glaze over, death creeping in at the edges. “He promised I could have her and I’ve wanted her for so very long. Said she needed to be taught her place.”
“Vincent,” I growl, not a question but a statement. The pieces clicking into place. My father’s ultimate revenge—using her to try and break me.
Richards’ eyes widen slightly, confirming my suspicion without saying the name. “Your driver was easy to get rid of,” he wheezes. “So loyal to you, that Marcus. Wouldn’t give up the keys until I put a bullet in his head.”
Fuck, Marcus. I’d known him since I was a kid. He taught me how to drive when I was fourteen, kept my secrets, protected me. And now he’s dead because of me.
His eyes roll back, blood foaming at his lips. “She’s going to burn,” he whispers, his voice fading. “And you’re going to watch.”
With a final, rattling breath, Father Richards goes limp in my grasp. Dead.
I drop his body like the garbage it is, wiping my bloodied hands on his black robes. My mind is racing, cataloging threats, planning next steps. If my father is behind this and I’m fucking certain he is, then there’s only one thing to do.
I stand up, taking one last look at Richards’ body. Part of me wants to desecrate it further, to make him suffer even in death for daring to touch what’s mine. But there’s no time. Seraphina needs me.
And I fucking need her. I need to get her home and never let her out of my sight again.
Chapter 29
Lucien
The stench of blood clings to my skin like a fucking disease. I can still feel Richards’ final breath against my face, the way his eyes went vacant as I watched the life drain out of him. Good fucking riddance.
I kick my front door open, Seraphina cradled against my chest. She hasn’t stopped shaking since I put her in my car, her body vibrating with aftershocks of terror that make my chest ache. Her face is pressed against my neck, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts that tell me she’s still riding the edge of panic.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her hair, carrying her through the darkened house toward my bedroom. “You’re safe now.”
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, clinging to me like I’m the only solid thing in her world. Maybe right now I am.
“I need to get clean,” she whispers, her voice so small it barely reaches my ears. “I can feel him. I can smell him on me.”
The words make something primal and violent twist in my gut. I’d kill that fucker all over again if I could, more slowly this time. Make him suffer for every second he made her afraid.
