Page 138 of Safe Word

And that was why he had to fall.

Because only one of us could stand before God and call himself worthy. Only one of us could touch her soul without destroying it. And when his blood slicked the canvas and his breath shook its last, the balance would tilt – and she would be mine, body and spirit. So I could cleanse her of every stain he’d left behind. A sanctified gift. Balance restored. And offered up to our Lord, so He could witness the soul I’d made worthy.

So He could forgive me.

The host called out the start of the fight.

As expected, Cain moved first, because pride always lunged before faith.

His fist cut through the space like a thunderclap, grazing my jaw and snapping my head sideways. A ripple of heat tore through my neck, and for a moment, the crowd’s roar became nothing but static in my ears.

I grinned beneath the angel’s mask.

Pain.

Blessed and beautiful.

It bloomed down my jawline like a benediction. It was the hymn of war; the first nail in the cross.

My turn.

I lurched forward, twisting at the hips, and my knuckles drove into the soft spot just above his waist with a sound that was not a punch, but a prayer answered. Bone flexed beneath my fist – a dull, hollow thud reverberating through my forearm.

He grunted – barely – but I allowed it. A pained tremor rippled through his frame; the momentary falter in his breath.

We circled, predators orbiting one another, twin stars locked in each other’s gravity of violence. The next exchange came fast – a hook from him, a block from me, a low strike to his side. The mat beneath us drank the sweat and blood, the soles of our boots slipping as the ground tried to claim us with each move.

Every hit was a psalm. Every bruise a prophecy.

His fists were heavy, each blow calculated – but so were mine. We matched each other, at first. But I had the strength of God urging me on. Already, my purpose was honed into something he couldn’t match.

The crowd roared for spectacle, but they didn’t understand: this wasn’t a fight.

This was exorcism.

I ducked under a swing and drove my elbow into his shoulder, sending him staggering back a step. But the bastard recovered too quickly – and slammed a fist straight into my ribs, hard enough to knock the breath out of me.

He was fighting like he was performing an exorcism of his own.

I laughed. Aloud.

Because I could already taste it – the inevitability of breaking him. I could already imagine the glorious moment when his knees gave way, and the fight bled out of his body. The thought of his bones fracturing beneath my knuckles filled me ecstasy I could only compare to holiness.

He swung again. I caught his wrist mid-air, twisted, and drove my knee into his gut. The breath tore from his lungs with a satisfying whoof, and I watched him fold, just slightly – just enough for the madness in my chest to purr with—

A scream cut through the chaos, clean and bright.

It rose above the bellows and roars, a single note of divinity ringing clear amidst the din.

I knew that voice. That quivering cadence.

My head snapped towards it, vision tunnelling to a single, searing point.

And there she was.

Her scent was delayed in reaching me.

Honey. Orange blossoms. Sex.