Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(34)

Gabriel tied the band around her arm. Her veins protruded as he held her upturned wrist. He retrieved a needle from the bag and pushed it into her flesh, watching as her red blood burst into the syringe’s clear chamber. Maria didn’t even flinch. When Gabriel looked up, Maria was watching him, her blue eyes studying his face. Maria didn’t once ask why he was taking her blood. She didn’t question if his needle was clean. She simply did as she was told.

Maria clearly had a high tolerance for pain, never once wincing or flinching as the needle pierced her flesh. Gabriel wondered if the devil himself had placed this young woman in Raphael’s hands as a reward. He had never met someone so perfectly crafted for another . . . for his brother.

Pulling the needle from her arm, Gabriel wiped the small wound with an antiseptic wipe and placed a Band-Aid over the needle mark. He put the blood in his bag and got to his feet. His heart beat rapidly as he lifted his head and found Maria watching him again. “I will send someone to get you later.” He could see the hope in Maria’s eyes—hope that she would be freed. Gabriel couldn’t let her hope in vain. He wasn’t cruel. “You . . . you will be taken back to Raphael, Maria.”

Maria kept her chin held high. Her blue eyes briefly dropped, but when they lifted again, she nodded as though a silent internal question had just been answered. He saw nothing but strength and resolution in her gaze. She has resolved herself to die. Gabriel cleared his throat, pushing aside the pain this moment brought. “You are not to leave his rooms again.” It sounded like she was forbidden to leave. But they both knew what the underlying message was—she would never leave his rooms alive.

Gabriel turned, needing to leave. Just before he reached the door, Maria said, “You care for them.” Gabriel’s eyes closed at the lack of judgment in her voice. The lack of censure. Gabriel couldn’t remember the last time he spoke to anyone who wasn’t linked to their abnormal lives in the manor. He turned and met her eyes. It was the least he could do after he had damned her to death. “Those men . . . Raphael . . . you love them. Despite their natures. You try to redeem them.”

“I thought so once . . .” Gabriel went to say, but then stopped. “There’s no redemption for them. I know this now.”

Maria smiled. It was the final death blow to Gabriel’s guilty conscience. “I . . . I believe everyone can be redeemed. Even those we fear are most unsalvageable.” Maria hugged her arms around her chest as if she had been struck by a blast of cold. “I suppose as long as the people who love them don’t give up on them. As long as people push aside their fears and prejudices and endeavor to bring out the good in them, no matter how vain the effort may seem. Someone, someday, may get through to them and show them a new path, a better path. Or bring them the light they never realized they needed in their days of perpetual darkness. Wouldn’t you say, Father?”

Gabriel stared at this woman, looking so small and frail on the couch. “Why were you working for them?”

He could tell by Maria’s reaction—locked muscles and flared eyes—that she knew exactly who he meant. Father Quinn. The Brethren.

Maria straightened her shoulders. “We all do what we must,” she said, the slight shake in her voice betraying her lack of conviction. “I know you understand.”

Gabriel felt his chest pull. Because he did. He understood it fully. Though he was curious as to what his old priests had on Maria to make her so compliant. He wouldn’t ask. Her breaths were limited. Whatever demons plagued her mind were hers to bear. He had no right to intrude when he had sentenced her to death.

With a simple nod of farewell, Gabriel left the room, locking it behind him. Allowing the insufferable guilt to eat away at his soul, he rushed to his rooms. The minute he was inside, he crossed the carpet and slid his bookcase to the side. Gabriel entered the secret room he’d had built not long after they had moved in, and swiftly rid himself of his clothes. Disgust and shame ran thickly through his body. He took Maria’s blood from his bag and poured it into a vial. From the fridge, he took out another vial marked “Raphael.” He paused as he ran his fingers over each of his brothers’ names. Vials and vials of blood sat waiting for him, blood he drew weekly from his brothers. They believed it was for medical checks. They had no idea of the truth.

Lighting the church candles that decorated the wooden altar, Gabriel glanced down at the marked wooden surface, stained by years of spilled blood. He reached for the loaf of bread that sat to the side, dropped to his knees, and ripped off a chunk. Taking Maria’s vial of blood, he uncorked the lid and poured three drops onto the bread, the crimson quickly smothering the white as it sank deep. Three drops for the trinity. Gabriel closed his eyes and whispered his familiar prayer. “My soul for hers. May Maria’s transgressions transfer to me. May she enter the kingdom of heaven pure and without sin.”

Gabriel chewed the bread and, as he swallowed, felt the heaviness of the burden weigh down his chest. With a shaky breath, Gabriel took Raphael’s vial and repeated the same action on a new chunk of bread. “My soul for his. May Raphael’s transgressions transfer to me. May he enter the kingdom of heaven pure and without sin.” The copper taste of blood coated Gabriel’s mouth, trickling down his throat when he swallowed Raphael’s bread. He sat back on his haunches and stared up at the crucifix hanging on the wall. He focused on the agony on Jesus’s face as he was crucified. He focused on the nails in his palms and feet and the spear wound in his side.