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Her back. I squint to see various lines and scars running over her back. But these aren’t from growth spurts or from having supernatural origins. They’re from being flogged. A low grumble sounds in my chest like a warning. “Do I need to ask who did this to you?” I manage to say. “I’ve taken care of it,” she says coldly
“Darling, your body would bring any man to their knees where they would be in the right position to worship you. It’s a body carved by god yet meant for sin, and it would become anyone’s salvation.”
“Christ, woman,” I swear gruffly. “You could drown a man.”
Some might say he speaks straight from the devil, but I’m discovering I like what the devil has to say.
