Raphael (Deadly Virtues #1)(75)

She felt his erection leaking against her thigh. What had they done to him? The confusion he must feel. Only finding pleasure through pain. Raphael’s eyes closed again and his hips began to buck. He tried to find friction against her leg, but he grew frustrated, growling and . . . Maria gasped when she saw tears falling down his cheeks. “I can’t,” he whispered.

“You will, demon.”

Maria froze at the sound of a odd, deeper voice spoken from Raphael’s own throat. A voice she knew mimicked Father Murray.

Demon.

He’d made Raphael believe he was a demon.

How could they? They were children. Children in need of help, not exorcism and punishment. Their fragile minds had been destroyed, purged of anything good and pure.

“Come, demon. Release your sinful seed.”

Raphael tried. He tried and tried to come, his hand no longer tight around her throat, as if he couldn’t even muster any strength to try. Unable to watch it anymore, Maria reached down Raphael’s soaking chest and took hold of his length. It throbbed in her hand, so desperately trying to find release and break the hell Raphael was in. He hissed as she worked her hand up and down, faster and faster, until his mouth parted and he bellowed out his release, coming onto Maria’s naked body. Raphael collapsed against her. He struggled to catch his breath. Maria cradled him to her, holding him close so he would know he was safe.

Minutes passed, and Raphael didn’t move. Then he stirred. Hs legs moved, his chest lifted off hers, and he slowly lifted his head. Maria braced for his anger. But when weary and sorrowful golden eyes met hers, she felt as if she had taken a spear to the chest. Raphael stared at her. His lips parted. His eyes dropped, and Maria understood. He was embarrassed.

In her heart, she knew he wouldn’t talk about Father Murray or the Brethren, or tell her about his dream. Maria was sure he wasn’t capable of expressing feelings. He never had done; he didn’t know it was something other people shared.

Maria placed her hands on his face. “Raphael,” she whispered, her soft words like a crash of thunder in the room. He didn’t lift his head. “Raphael,” she tried again. “Look at me.” Raphael squeezed his eyes shut, then let her guide his gaze to hers. Fighting to smile, his semen still running down her thighs, Maria kissed his lips.

They were quivering.

In that moment, Raphael wasn’t a killer. She wasn’t a nun. They were just healing balms to one another’s open wounds. “Let’s get you clean.” Raphael struggled to his feet. He never let go of Maria’s hand the entire time. Maria followed him to stand, then when he didn’t move, his body seeping tiredness and sadness, she led him into the bathroom. She sat him on the chair beside the bath and turned the faucet. Raphael still kept hold of her hand. Maria glanced back at him. He was crouching forward, his glazed eyes on the floor. Shivers racked his body. His hair was wet with sweat.

Maria fought back her anger at Father Murray and went to Raphael. She got to her knees. He reluctantly met her eyes. “Let’s get you in the bath, my lord,” she said softly. His eyes flared some at the use of that name. But he didn’t move until Maria got to her feet and led him to the large bath.

Raphael sank into the water, and Maria moved in behind him. Taking the washcloth, she began to clean the sweat from his back. Raphael’s head was bowed as she washed every inch of his scarred flesh. As she dipped her hand into the water and cleansed the cage over his spent penis.

Raphael didn’t even react to her touch. Maria’s blood traveled thick and fast through her veins, fueled by disgust of the Brethren and a man she had considered a friend.

And Father Quinn. He had done the same to Gabriel. Which other priests had hurt the remaining brothers of the Fallen? Did she know them too? How had they been able to do this for so long without being caught?

A pit caved in Maria’s stomach when she wondered if it was still happening. Did Purgatory still exist? Were there innocent but troubled children being raped and tortured in the name of a God that would never encourage such atrocities?

Maria was snapped from her thoughts when Raphael’s hands moved to her hips. Maria paused and simply let him have this moment. When Raphael raised his head and his haunted stare clashed with hers, she saw love . . . felt it pulsing from him in waves. But she didn’t dare say the four-letter word that was on the tip of her tongue. She wasn’t sure he could hear that quite yet.

“You took care of me,” Raphael finally said, his voice hoarse from the turbulent emotions and the screams of his nightmare. He swallowed, and Maria watched the bobbing of his Adam’s apple with rapt attention. There was no strong man to be found in that moment, but a wounded and scarred boy, lost in a troubled man’s body. “No one . . .” He cleared his throat. “No one has ever taken care of me before.”

If Maria’s heart had been made of glass, it would have shattered with those sorrowful words. Maria dropped the washcloth and held Raphael’s face. “I will care for you. I will look after you for as long as I am here.” The words were hard to say, but Maria knew the ending of her life was non-negotiable. She had made peace with the gift she would give Raphael. She would show him that he could be loved enough that someone would make the ultimate sacrifice to demonstrate that love. Maria smiled to soothe the confusion on Raphael’s torn face. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Raphael let Maria dry him and lead him into the bed. He threaded his arm around her and laid his head on her naked breast. They were silent, and Maria thought he was asleep. But then, holding her closer, he whispered, “I won’t let you ever leave me.” Seconds later she heard his soft inhales and exhales, feeling his warm breath against her skin.