The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(13)

KINGSLEY COULDN’T SPEAK AT FIRST. WHAT WAS there to say to that? What do you say to an otherwise reasonable person who suddenly looks at you and says he saw a unicorn on the side of the road or met Saint Peter while out for a walk?

“You found her. You’re certain?”

“I have never been more certain of anything in my life. And that includes my call to the priesthood. It’s her. Black hair and green eyes. Green hair and black eyes.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Her eyes change color in the light. Green to black and back again. When I first saw her, she had streaked green dye through her black hair. She’s violent and foul-mouthed, and she told me I was an idiot. Not only did she say that to me, it was the first thing she said to me.”

“Wild, is she?”

“I’d go so far as to use the word feral.”

“Feral. A wild cat, then. With claws?”

“Sharp ones. Sharp mind, too. Very intelligent. Cunning. Quick and clever. Almost fearless.”

“My type of girl. Where did you meet her?”

“I was sent to pastor at a small parish in a town called Wakefield in Connecticut. She’s in my congregation. I recognized her the second I saw her. You would have, too.”

“What’s she like?”

“Dangerous. She doesn’t even know how dangerous.”

“How dangerous?”

“She…” S?ren stopped and laughed. “She made me make her a promise.”

“Made you? No one makes you do anything.”

“She did. I needed her to agree to something, and instead of being cowed like every other person I’ve ever attempted to terrorize before, she refused to accept my terms. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“I promised to break my vows with her.”

“Is that so? Which vows? Poverty? Obedience? Will she make you buy expensive things and tell the pope to go f*ck himself?”

“She wants us to be lovers.”

“Are you?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Kingsley repeated. “So you plan to?”

“She made me promise I would.”

“So, why haven’t you?” Kingsley asked. He tried to keep his voice light, airy, amused. But he’d never had a more serious conversation in his life. If this girl was real, if she was the one he and S?ren had dreamed of, and S?ren had found her, that meant something. What it meant, he didn’t know. But something. Something that terrified him and aroused him all at once.

“Because,” S?ren said, “I’m a priest. And she’s a virgin.”

“A dangerous virgin? I didn’t think such a being could exist.”

“You’ll believe it when you meet her. But that’s not all you should know about her.”

“What else?”

“She’s f ifteen.”

Kingsley inhaled sharply.

“Fifteen. Are you insane? Do you know what they do with priests who—”

“Which is why I haven’t done it. As much as I’d like to.”

“Beautiful, is she?”

“Kingsley, you have no idea…”

Kingsley heard pure aching need in S?ren’s voice. He hadn’t heard desire like that since the last night they’d spent together.

I own you…you are mine…your body is mine, your heart is mine, your soul is mine… S?ren had whispered that in Kingsley’s ear as they’d f*cked on the cold hard f loor by the small hermitage fireplace. You want me? Kingsley had asked, taking every inch of S?ren into him. So much, S?ren had said. You have no idea how much.

“I should meet our little princess,” Kingsley said.

“Not a princess, a queen.”

“Take me to her, then.” Kingsley didn’t actually want to meet her. He felt sick again at the thought of it. This was a dare. You saw a unicorn? Prove it, then. You say you’re Christ back from the dead? Show me the wounds.

“I can’t,” S?ren said.

“Why not?”

“She’s in police custody.”

Kingsley laughed.

“Now I know why you’re here. Your Virgin Queen has gotten herself into trouble. You expect me to help her?”

“I’m asking you to. Begging you to if I must.”

“Even when you’re begging, it sounds like an order.”

“Would you rather I ordered you to help her?” S?ren asked, stepping away from the window. “I can still play the game.”

“It was never a game to me.”

S?ren turned and faced him, his eyes cold and steely. “No. It was never a game to me, either.”

Kingsley sat down on the black-and-white sofa. He crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned his head back against the fabric. He rubbed his temples with his fingertips. God, what a night.

“Do I want to know what she’s in police custody for?”

“She stole five cars. Her father apparently owns something called a chop shop.”

“They steal cars, chop them up and sell the parts. Good money in it.”

“He made her steal for him. The police caught her in the act. Her father ran for it.”

“I hope they catch him and give him the chair.”