Seduced by Darkness (The Seduced Saga)(5)

My jaw clenched and I tried to stay calm, but what the f*ck? "You hung out with him while he took a bath?"

She glared at me. "It wasn't like that and you know it. You're missing the point entirely. I understand him a bit more than I did before, and he didn't deserve to die."

"We'll have to agree to disagree about this."

She stood still, too still, then turned and stormed away before I could say anything. I hoped she wouldn't tell Alaric. I didn't like the old bishop, but I didn't want to fight him to the death, either.

My skin felt feverish and I knew I would say or do something I'd regret if I didn't get out of there.

The air outside bit my skin, cooling me as I inhaled deeply. I made my way into the woods then shifted into my wolf and ran.

The sun had already risen full in the sky by the time I returned from the hunt. I felt invigorated, alive and a little unwilling to shift back to human, but I still hadn't figured out how to fix things with Rose, so I went to the only person I knew who could offer me advice I might consider taking.

Father Patrick sat at his desk in his large room reading an old leather-bound book when I found him. No ebooks for this guy. He seemed like a man who came from another era and time. His door hung open, but I knocked on it anyways, not wanting to startle him.

He looked up, a flop of white hair covering one eye, and smiled as he took off his silver reading glasses. "Derek, it's good to see you. Come in. Can I get you some tea?"

A pile of old books sat on the corner of his desk and a chipped tea cup rested on its saucer in front of the book he'd been reading. Everything else in his room was tidy. A twin bed with a dark comforter tucked in neatly, several bookshelves with his private collection, a reading chair with lamp in one corner with his desk in another and a spare chair for visitors. I took the spare chair. "I don't suppose you have something stronger?" I asked.

"Ah, one of those kinds of days. Well, I think I can round something up, yes." He poured me some tea from the teapot I hadn't seen before and took a bottle of clear liquid from the bottom drawer of his desk. "One shot or two?"

"What is it?"

"Something special I got a long time ago. It's got a kick."

"Two."

He accommodated and handed me the tea cup, then put a dollop of the 'special stuff' in his. I assumed it was some backwoods moonshine, but I didn't care. I downed it in one long gulp, feeling the burning of the tea and the liquor creating a trail through my body, lacing me with heat as it settled into my bones. I instantly felt more relaxed.

"I've never been to confession," I told him, surprised my words weren't slurring.

"This isn't a confessional, son, just a place for you to tell an old man what's on your mind, if you so choose."

"I killed someone, and I don't really regret it. But Rose found out and she's pissed. More pissed than I've ever seen her."

I waited for him to show some shock, disgust, outrage, something, but he sat and sipped his tea, waiting for me to continue, so I told him everything that had happened on that mountain in Italy. I described how Ryder's body looked as it fell down the hill, blood trailing behind him in the snow. How it felt to see his life leave him. How I'd do it again if I had to, because he was dangerous and shouldn't be alive.

"I could apologize to Rose, tell her I was wrong," I said at the end.

"But you're not sorry. You don't believe you were wrong."

"Do you think I was wrong?"

He thought for a moment. "That's not for me to say. I don't judge others, lest I be judged in like. We've all done things that could be considered wrong to others that were right for us to do. You are the only person who can say if what you did was just and right. None other can judge you."

I shifted in my chair, my head spinning from the drink. "What do I do about Rose?"

"Did you ask her what she learned about Ryder? Have you considered getting to know the man you killed?"

"Why?" I really didn't want to know him anymore than I already did.

"Because you might find he is more like you than you realize. I think Rose just wants you to see the whole picture, to gain a deeper understanding of the person you sentenced to death. To think past revenge."

I left Father Patrick's room more confused than when I'd entered. I didn't want to get to know Ryder. I'd find a different way of winning Rose back.



I started with flowers picked from the back garden and made a trip to the kitchen to see if our chef, Greta, had any of her gourmet chocolates in stock.

The portly chef stood with her back to me, facing the stove as she stirred something in a giant pot and hummed an unfamiliar and haunting tune in a rich alto.

"Greta?"

She turned, smiling wide, her white teeth bright against her dark brown skin. "Derek! How lovely you here." She waved a spatula at me dripping with a red sauce. "Tonight we dine on special Indian recipe passed down through family."

"Sounds wonderful." Greta was new to our school, and brought with her a paranormal ability that made her an exquisite cook. She'd quickly become one of the favorites in the school, winning each of us over from the first bite.

She squinted at me, her dark eyes narrowing. "But you no here for tasty? You need something else, yes?"