Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(30)

Raphael backed Maria against the wall with his body. Maria felt the heat from Raphael’s back seep through her shirt as he tried to block her view. His scent surrounded her, invading her senses like a conquering army. She closed her eyes in shame and confusion when, somehow, it seemed to calm her frayed nerves.

“Gabriel, get back,” Raphael threatened.

Maria frowned. Gabriel? Raphael? She recalled the men around the table. There were seven of them all together.

Seven.

Just like the archangels.

“You’ve broken the commandments,” Gabriel said. “Why? Why would you do that? You’ve . . .” Something seemed to occur to him. His eyes widened and flickered to Maria, then moved back to Raphael. “The rosary you found,” he said, and Maria stilled. The rosary? Gabriel came closer still. Raphael backed into Maria until he couldn’t move anymore. She struggled to breathe with the weight of him pressed against her. But Maria idly noted his body wasn’t as tense around Gabriel as it had been the others.

He trusted him. Raphael trusted this priest.

“Where did the rosary come from, Raphe? Tell me.” Gabriel came close enough to study Maria behind Raphael’s wide chest. Gabriel closed his eyes. He seemed to be fighting a battle of some description on his face. “The hair.” Maria couldn’t help but hear the strained sadness in his voice. “Her hair . . .” Maria glanced down at her long hair, now clean and smoothed out by Raphael’s hands. What did Gabriel mean? “Raphael . . . they knew about that preference.”

Raphael didn’t say anything. Maria dropped her eyes, lost as to what was happening. But this close to Raphael’s back, the only sight that met her were the marks she had seen in the shower, now in full, close view. Her stomach fell on seeing his back completely ravaged. The flesh was littered with red mark after red mark. There wasn’t a piece of skin that wasn’t touched. His face was perfect, his chest, but this . . . It was where Raphael’s imperfections lay, clustered into one masterpiece of mutilation. She wondered what horrors were trapped under the heavy scarring of the rough skin and scarlet welts.

The rush of empathy she had felt toward him when she saw him in the shower returned, so thick and fast that she fought the need to reach out her hand and place it on his scars.

They are like mine, like Jesus’s stripes. Just as that image came to mind, she glanced at the upturned cross that still hung in his ear. Saint Peter’s cross. An image of humility and heroic martyrdom. But neither of those things bore any relation to the apparent evil that ran in Raphael’s veins. The malevolence that smothered his soul. But the lash scars . . . the pain he must have endured to get them . . . Why had someone hurt him in such a way?

Maria felt too much. She always had. She couldn’t bear to see another person in pain. Even this man . . . even the man who wanted to kill her.

“I’m taking her with me,” Gabriel said, pulling Maria’s attention from the nature of Raphael’s soul to a fellow follower of Christ.

“No,” Raphael snarled.

“Raphe, you’ve defied the commandments. You’ve put us all in danger. Do you understand that? Can you even comprehend the severity of your betrayal?”

It was obvious from Raphael’s livid expression that he didn’t, or he simply didn’t care. “You’re not taking her,” he spat. Gabriel’s eyes immediately filled with sadness, with pity.

Gabriel didn’t look back at the men behind him as he said, “Restrain him and take him to the cell in the Tomb.” Raphael’s body went rigid as the redhead, the blond man, and the man with long brown hair reluctantly took hold of his arms and pulled him away from her.

“No! NO!” Raphael tried to fight the men off, but they held him captive and removed him from the room. The man with the collar got to his feet, watching Gabriel with cautious eyes.

“You good?” Gabriel asked him.

“Yes,” he replied with gritted teeth.

Finally, the man with blood staining his lips followed the others without a word.

Gabriel held up his hands. “I won’t hurt you. I promise. But please, follow me.” Maria didn’t really have a choice. She followed the priest out of the dining room, across the vast foyer and to a locked door. A day room was on the other side. Gabriel handed her a bottle of water. “I need to speak to Raphe. I’ll lock you in here. No one has the key but me. You’ll be safe.”

“You’re not like them,” Maria said as Gabriel turned to leave.

Gabriel looked over his shoulder and gave her a sad smile. “Don’t let the clothes deceive you.” He ran his hand over his shirt. “I’m more like them than you know.” With that he left the room, leaving her alone. Maria curled up on the chair. The blue and white floral wallpaper in the large room seemed to close in on her. Clutching the bottle of water to her chest, she prayed to God for guidance. What was she meant to do? Stay and try to minister to Raphael’s darkness? Or beg to leave? To escape this strange and dark place?

I’ll leave it to you, Lord, to show me the way. Whatever you decide, I will obey.

As Maria endeavored to remain calm, she couldn’t get the sight of Raphael’s back from her mind or the echo of his words in her head . . . She is mine . . .

She is mine.





Chapter Six