Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(42)

Maria found it difficult to breathe. Mother Superior had always told her she would make a good nun because of her empathy toward others. Right now, as she looked at the man on the bed who was being torn apart by his dark dreams, she knew her Mother Superior was correct.

As Raphael let out another horrific cry, Maria made herself return to the closet, heart in her throat. He wasn’t ready for her touch, for her comfort. She had to let him lead. He had to come to her when he was ready. And she would be waiting.

Everyone, even the most sinful of men, deserved to be cared for. That was exactly what she would do.

So instead of offering Raphael the comfort he so desperately needed, she squeezed her eyes shut. Her legs gave way and she sank to the floor. Maria curled her arms around her bent knees and let the tears fall. Because she knew that kind of pain. She knew the demons that came crawling into one’s consciousness in sleep. The nightmares that felt so real one relived the horror and agonies of dark moments over and over again.

As Raphael let out another tormented groan, Maria laid her head back against the doorframe and cried. She had lived with the pain of her past for years, no one to understand how it consumed her, threatened to destroy all the progress she had ever made. If she was an empath, it was born from experience and personal trauma.

As Raphael’s screams and wails carried on long through the night, Maria wondered if maybe he would understand. Wondered if he could feel sympathy for others or whether that was a part of his soul that was lost. Could he love? Was he capable of that emotion?

When the rooms finally quieted, Maria rose and tiptoed to where Raphael now slept soundly, his sheets haphazardly wrapped around him, preserving his modesty. His brow was damp, and dark circles pitted beneath his eyes. Maria unconsciously reached her hand out, her fingers grazing the soft strand of dark hair that forever fell over Raphael’s eyes. She pulled her hand back, but didn’t move. Her feet were planted to the ground. There was an ache in her chest that compelled her to keep vigil beside this man, this killer.

Because Maria had never met anyone like him. She’d never met anyone who shared the ailment of nightmares that seemed so real they were debilitating. As Raphael rolled to his front, Maria’s eyes fixed on the scars that littered his back. She closed her eyes and could feel the burning of her scars too.

Is that why I’m here? Maria silently asked God. Because I understand? She opened her eyes and looked at Raphael. One dweller of dark, one dweller of light, brought together to collide? To share the burdens of their pasts . . . to heal?

As warmth flooded Maria’s chest, she knew it was the truth. She climbed back into her bed, and she found sleep.

Her duty to Raphael would begin come morning. She didn’t dwell on the flicker of excitement in her heart. She simply placed herself in God’s knowing hands, and fell asleep.





Chapter Eight


Maria awoke to the sound of food being brought into the rooms by a member of staff. She blinked into the lightening room. She stretched her muscles and sat up, just in time for Raphael to appear at her doorway.

His dark hair was damp; he must have already showered. His golden eyes were bright, and if Maria didn’t still have the evidence of dried tears on her cheeks, she would never think that she’d witnessed his nightmares.

Maria’s blood spiked in temperature as she dropped her eyes the minute she broke through her sleep and remembered the rules. “My good little rose,” Raphael praised. Maria felt that praise deep in her bones. “But you can meet my eyes until you’ve eaten and showered.” Maria did as he said. “Come.”

She followed Raphael into the room where they had eaten last night. A domed dish was waiting for her. Raphael was holding a mug of coffee in his hand, the strong, comforting smell settling some of her nerves. He must have already eaten.

As with the previous night, Raphael pulled her chair out for to sit. She ate quickly and in silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. She did it every day at the monastery. Raphael cleared aside the dishes, then offered his hand and guided her into the bathroom. Raphael moved her hair from her shoulder and said into her ear, “When you come out, the rules will apply.” Maria nodded, closing her eyes against the shiver his warm breath brought to her neck. “Do you remember what you are to do first?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Then go.” Maria’s legs were weak as she showered. A new dress was waiting for her in the bathroom, casually hung over the door. After washing her body thoroughly and shaving it of all its hair, she changed into the dress.

Maria’s pulse beat a heady rhythm as she opened the door. As promised, Raphael was waiting for her. He sat on the red chair and wore the same black silk pajama pants as the day before, his chest bare. He rose from the seat and silently stood behind it, waiting. Maria dropped her eyes and sat down, hands on her lap. Raphael immediately began brushing her hair; “Ring a-round the Roses” quietly hummed from his lips. The haunting sound echoed deep in her heart, sending shivers down her spine. Maria’s body was tired, but her mind was wide awake as she wondered what would happen in the coming hours.

She breathed in and out. Whatever awaited her, she was ready. God was with her.

The hot air from the dryer traveled through her tight shoulders, relaxing the muscles as Raphael’s soft singing voice created a soundtrack. She closed her eyes and relished the moment. When Raphael had brushed the final strand of her hair, he came around to face her. She kept her eyes down.