The way her eyes were brighter.
In the beginning the reverence he had for her in his heart was viciously guarded by his greed and jealousy. He’d lash out at anyone who’d look at her, would beat anyone who’d come near her, would kill anyone who would dare touch her. When his selfishness won over his self loathing he’d go to her as she’d pray in the chapel. He could manipulate her attention using the cheap tricks of his wit, just to see her, hear her, smell her as she’d pass by him.
There was no word for the greatness of his pleasure when the blush came upon her at the sight of him.
Her heart had been stirring towards him since she first met his dark gaze upon her. But what once was a dry fear in her had grown into something akin to a smothering obsession. A reverence all of its own.
The fear of him could not outlast her wants.
Slipping in her heart was the purity of her affection for him.
She had seen in his manner the lethal danger of his temper. She had heard of the evil wrought by his hands, suspected and sensed the fraying grasp in his mind on his humanity. Something gripped at the pit of her stomach when she would catch his eyes full of fiery rage. Something intoxicating about the call of his consummation she’d see there called to her, beckoning with the velvet hand of Death.
But she couldn’t help but notice the depth of his empty heart, nakedly revealed at the very moment her grasp started slipping.
The softness of his warm fingers upon her own as he handed her back the communion she offered him.
He had whispered his fear in her ear stealthily, lips a hair away from her skin and his chin bent down to her collar, she could feel the heat of his breath through her wrappings on her neck.
“The devil doesn’t partake in Eucharist.”
How fragile it was, that heart buried beneath the weight of all of his sin.
“You don’t look anything like a devil, to me.”
But that wasn’t the whole truth— another stone added to her heart as she spoke. Because while it was true she did not find him a devil, she knew that the power she felt he held over her was unlike anything any man could awake in her before. It was supernatural. Heavenly, even.
But she knew that even angels fall, and who knows what becomes of them when they do?
A war waged within her as she kneeled at the pew beside the alter that night. She could feel the pull of powerlust as she began to repent of the perverseness in her heart when she thought of him. Saw him. Felt him. But even as her mind recited the words her flesh felt alive with even the thought of his eyes roaming over her, his lips gliding against her, his scent rubbing off on her.
The storm rapt upon the stained glass and the candles flickered. Her whispered prayer grew frantic as the sound of steps echoed through the great stone hall, each step sparking in her soul along within her spine as they grew closer to her.
“Praying for my soul again, sister?”
His murmur carried to her as a siren song, as a demon’s taunt.
Her eyes squeezed shut and her hands grasped the beads at her chest tighter.
“Not yours. Today I contend for my own.”
It was by miracle alone that her voice sounded stronger than she felt. She felt breathless. His steps stopped beside her. She felt paralyzed, save for where his fingers found her jawbone and gently lifted it. His touched burned her. Her skin was on fire, she was sure of it. She felt set ablaze.
It was his voice. His deep, wretched, velvet voice pulled her gaze to him alone. Her eyes followed his wrist to his elbow, then to his shoulder, to the crook of his neck, his throat. There was blood there, and it was obviously not his own. Her purity twisted inside her.
“And what on this earth does your soul have to fight for, my love?”
Down through his lashes his gaze pierced her, flicking back and forth between her searching eyes and her soft mouth. His thumb slowly rubbed back and forth on her lower lip, and she gasped for air at the sensation of it.
As she panted, chest heaving, his thumb paused a sliver away from where her tongue lay. Time seemed to stand still as their gazes locked.
It was all so electric. Searing. Off-limits.
She couldn’t fight the pull any longer.
She relaxed her jaw, tilting her head up, opening her mouth a fraction wider to offer to him,
Lightning struck the chapel.
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