Obsession: A Rejected Mate Shifter Romance (The Mate Games #1)(22)

Purification through pain. I’d been taught this was the only way once upon a time, back before my life was altered, my soul stolen. Sunday moaned from where I’d settled her in my bedroom. The sound woke an altogether different kind of sin in my head.

Lust.

I was a glutton for blood because of something I didn’t choose, but the lust I felt for her was something I had no one to blame for but myself. Gritting my teeth against the urge to be with her, I stalked to the center of the room where I pulled up the old faded rug, revealing a trap door. My hands shook as I lifted the latch and tugged until the stone staircase was revealed. I was so close to the only kind of confession I could give anymore.

My steps were hurried, my body trembling from the opposing forces seeking to overtake me. I needed release. Any release. But this was the only one still afforded to me. The only way I could cage my demons and purge my soul.

Lights flickered to life as I descended the staircase on my way down to the small antechamber. The room was sparse, free from adornment save a simple wooden cross and a series of floggers hanging from the wall.

Running my fingertips over the implements I preferred when participating in mortification of the flesh, I selected a cat-o'-nine-tails complete with barbs at the base of each leather strip. Intended for pain, not pleasure. Made to draw blood and bring my focus to a God who had forsaken me. As he should have.

Even now, I heard that heartbeat loud in my ears. Was Sunday my ultimate test? I still wanted her, even though I worked to keep her at a distance while watching over her. Fecking hell, everything in me throbbed at the thought of her lying there in my bed.

I fell to my knees and tore my thin shirt to shreds, the tattered fabric hanging from my waist.

As I adjusted my grip on the whip, I closed my eyes and began to mouth the familiar words of prayer.

“Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum,” I began.

With each line, I brought the whip around to score my back. Each burst of pain caused my mind to clear and made the hunger recede. Over and over, I spoke the words, begging for forgiveness until my skin was slick with blood and I felt nothing but emptiness. Heard nothing but my own breaths.

Breathing heavily, I struck my flesh one final time and uttered a shaky, “Amen.”

The whip fell from my limp fingers, and I pressed my trembling hands to my thighs as I came back down from the rush of adrenaline coursing through me in response to the pain. Mind clear, chest loose, I took my first easy breath, feeling in control of myself once more. Just as I was about to revel in the silence of the aftermath of my session, the heavy thump of a heart beating echoed once again.

My eyes snapped open, and I staggered to my feet.

No. No!

It should have worked. Why hadn’t it worked?

What the fecking hell was wrong with me? Was I so lost that even my most sacred forms of repentance were useless against temptation?

It didn’t matter. I had a job to do, and that was to keep Sunday Fallon alive and out of trouble. So far, I was failing.

After a cold shower to wash away the blood on my back, the wounds already healed thanks to my vampiric nature, I dressed and readied myself to face her again. To control my urges, my hunger, my lust, and do the one thing required of me: Save her soul and mine along with it.

I stared at her sleeping form, my devil of a cock thickening behind my trousers. She was beauty personified, leading me directly into temptation. Except I would be precisely the evil she needed to be delivered from if I couldn’t stop myself from wanting her.

Standing in the corner, my tension eased as the pulse that had been incessantly thrumming in my ears became calmer, steady, and suddenly stopped feeling so foreign.

Her soft moan called me closer, and it took everything in me not to touch her when she let out a whimpered groan and said, “Oh, God.”





Chapter

Thirteen





SUNDAY





“Oh, God,” I murmured before opening my eyes. Sitting up slowly, I blinked through hazy vision, willing my gaze to focus.

A simple bedroom, one plain oak dresser, dark curtains covering the window. This was a far cry from the luxurious room where Noah had brought me. The only thing in this space that was luxe by any stretch of the imagination was the bed I woke up on. Large and soft. Like resting on a cloud. Except I didn’t know where I was. God, I had to stop waking up in strange places.

“Stay still, Miss Fallon.” Caleb’s voice tickled its way up my spine, sending an unwanted shiver through me. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

Stitches?

“What happened? Where am I?” The pain in my side brought it all back. “Kingston. Kingston tried to kill me. I knew he hated me, but not this much.” Panic had my voice tight and high.

“Calm down, Sunday. He’s not here. He’s gone.” Caleb sat on the side of the bed but didn’t touch me.

“Where is he?”

“Dead.”

“Kingston is dead?” Why did that make my heart ache?

Caleb shook his head. “No. He tried to save you.”

Why did I feel like I needed a roadmap to follow this conversation? “That doesn’t make any sense. He’s the one who stabbed me.”

“That wasn’t him. It was a hunter.”

I shook my head, trying to sit higher, to level the playing field as this priest loomed over me. “A hunter? But . . . I saw him.” The memory of Kingston shoving me back and driving the blade into my stomach flooded my mind. Along with another, fuzzier image of him on his knees beside me. His face tight with fear . . . for me. But even if he wasn’t the one who actually stabbed me, Kingston still hated me. Why would he care enough to come back and make sure I was okay? I shoved the questions away, in no state to sort through all the conflicting emotions they stirred to life, let alone try to answer them.