Page 51 of Two Sides of Sin

I pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “Cain and I… we share a face, June. We share DNA. But we couldn’t be more opposite when it comes to this.” I gestured vaguely between our bodies. “For him, sex is just another way to exert power. It’s a transaction.”

I didn’t say it was her. I didn’t have to. She leaned into my touch, her heart finally slowing down to a hypnotic thrum against my chest. “You’re nothing like him,” she breathed.

The sound of a dog barking broke me out of my haze. Voices followed—distant but approaching fast. June’s eyes went wide, a frantic “shit” dying on her lips as she looked towards the rock where her clothes were piled. We were dead centre of the pool.

I hooked my arms under her thighs, locking her legs firmly around my waist. “Hold on,” I breathed.

With powerful, silent kicks, I moved us to the heavy curtain of the waterfall. We breached the wall of crashing water, the cold spray stinging for a second before we emerged into the hollowed-out space behind the cascade. It was a hidden sanctuary, a breathtaking shelf of rock slick with moss, shielded by a translucent, thundering veil.

June let out a tiny, breathless giggle. I pressed a finger to my lips, pulling her back against the shadows of the rock. Through the shimmering sheet of water, we watched a couple and their golden retriever wander into the clearing.

I couldn’t look at them for long. Not when June was right here.

The cool air in the cave had sent a shiver through her, and I watched, mesmerised, as her nipples peaked into hard points. Beneath the crystal-clear surface, the sight of her, the curve of her hips, the perfect weight of her ass. It was a direct assault on my remaining sanity.

I wrapped an arm around her middle, pulling her flush against my chest, and pressed my palm over her mouth. “Shh,” I whispered into the shell of her ear. “Be quiet, or they’ll hear us.”

She pressed back into me, the frantic beat of her heart striking my chest like cornered prey. I used my feet to nudge hers apart, widening her stance until she was open for me. My cock was a weapon now, stabbing into the small of her back. I slid my length down until I was tucked between her thighs from behind. I wasn’t going inside, but the friction was electric and felt too good. I pressed the head of my cock directly against her clit, the slickness of the lake water acting as a lubricant.

I started to move. A slow, punishing grind. Up and down.

June’s head fell back onto my shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut. She was fighting back, her ass thrusting against me, seeking the pressure. I picked up the pace, my hand still over her mouth to catch the gasps. The sensation was overwhelming—the cold roar of the waterfall outside and the brutal, blinding heat of us colliding in the shadows.

She buckled against me, a muffled cry vibrating against my palm as she peaked, her body shuddering in the throes of an orgasm that she rubbed out right against me. The sight of her coming was my undoing. I let out a low, choked groan, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip as I delivered one final, heavy thrust against her. I felt the release explode out of me—hot, pulsing, and desperate—vanishing into the churning water of the pool.

We stayed like that for a long time, tangled together in the shadows, our breath coming in inconsistent gasps. The hikers were just meters away, but in here, we were in a different world entirely.

I loosened my grip on June, my hand sliding from her mouth to the back of her neck. I rested my forehead against hers, both of us panting. We slipped back through the wall of the waterfall, the sudden rush of the sun-warmed pool a shock after the chill of the hidden cavern.

The clearing was empty now. I let go of her waist, floating onto my back and letting the buoyancy of the rock pool take my weight. June followed suit, her dark hair fanning out around her like spilled ink.

We drifted there in the centre of the pool, two shadows suspended in light. For a moment, the Ritual and the ticking clock of the lunar cycle couldn’t feel further away. There was just the sky, the water, and the girl who made me want to be a man instead of a monster.

Chapter 38

Cain

The clock on the mantelpiece ticks with a periodic precision that sounds like a mechanical heartbeat—the only one in this room that isn’t heavy with the staggering burden of mortality. I dip my fountain pen into the inkwell, the black liquid shimmering like oil under the desk lamp. One more sigil. One more line of the incantation.

Tomorrow is June’s twenty-first birthday.

I can smell the change in the air already. A metallic scent that precedes a storm. Our eternal freedom is finally within reach, a shimmering horizon no longer obscured by the fog of waiting. Years of discipline, of hiding in the shadows of this stagnant town, of playing the part of the cold, eccentric recluse, it all funnels down to the next twenty-four hours. But as the alignment nears, my skin feels tight, a prickling paranoia crawling up my spine that has nothing to do with the Ritual and everything to do with my brother.

Julian isn’t excited. I can feel his dread from across the hall, a low-frequency hum of anxiety and disapproval that sets my teeth on edge and vibrates through the floorboards. He’s lost himself. He’s let his eyes fall away from the true purpose of our existence, blinded by the soft, useless light of human affection.

I’ve been watching them.

The Ritual requires a steady hand and a detached will. Julian is currently a man possessed. He thinks he’s helping her, but he’s really just anchoring himself to a sinking ship. I’ve spent the last few days monitoring the security feeds, watching the way he hovers over her, the way his hand lingers on the small of her back. He’s not guarding a sacrifice; he’s guarding a heart he’s already stolen—and in doing so, he’s putting decades of planning at risk. I distrust him now. More than I ever have. He is no longer my twin; he is a stranger I can no longer calculate.

Do I feel guilty about having to kill her? No. Does that make me a monster? Perhaps. But a monster with an eternity of perspective is still a god compared to a man with a lifetime of regret. Julian has centre-staged June in his life far more than the Ritual ever required. I tried to warn him that he was building a house on sand, that a wolf doesn’t love its prey. But Julian has forgotten he’s a wolf. He thinks he’s her saviour. He thinks that by marking his chest with her name, he can somehow bargain with the shadows.

It’s a fool’s hope.

I know I’ll have hell to deal with once the blade is drawn and the Ritual is sealed. Julian will break, his heart has grown too soft, a bruised fruit clinging to a dying vine. I see the way he looks at me—the simmering resentment, the lethal protective instinct directed at me.

If the lore holds, June will be back in some form, eventually. Maybe in a decade, maybe in a millennium. I almost hope Julian does forget her. That he moves on and lets her live her next life away from our poisonous hands. But knowing him, and knowing myself, that will never happen, we will haunt her soul across every cycle of her life.

I will be the one to hold the knife. I will be the one to bear the weight of the act so he can keep his hands “clean” in his own delusional mind. But make no mistake—his soul is just as stained.