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I took the name of the monster who made me, who stripped me bare straight down to the dark heart of me, and made it mine. Priest.
I didn’t mind the waiting. Predators never do.
Beatrice Lafayette saw everything through rose-tinted glasses, sometimes literally because she had a habit of wearing ridiculous sunglasses shaped like hearts and flowers. I saw everything as it was and would be. Waiting to die, tinged in the grey rot of time. She was not for me.
This is going to be gooooood
And through it all, we watched each other, Bea and me, locked together in this death in a way I felt echo into the future of our lives, linking us in a way I’d never be able to forget. I knew then, as I’d only been curious about it before, that Beatrice Lafayette was going to be mine.
If something evil wanted Bea, they’d have to get through me first, and I doubted they would expect someone who could match the depth of their moral depravity blow for blow.
I would just spend the entire fucking night staked out on the beach beside their house, watching in the dark, protecting my obsession from whoever sought to take her from me. In fact, I hoped they dared to try, because my fingers were itching for the hot touch of blood, and my knives, too, were thirsty.
Good lord I’m melting over here.
Not all love stories play out in the light. Some of the best romances occur in the veil of shadows.”
“Either that’s a knife in your pocket or blasphemy turns you on.”
He gazed down at me hungrily with a question in the quirk of his brow. “I don’t know how you do this to me.” “Do what?” “Make me feel,” he said, as if that in itself wasn’t tragic. “I’d thought I hunted down all emotion to extinction.”
“Okay,” I drawled. “My shadow wants to be ruined, I’ll ruin you.”
If there was a God, it was there in the way that angel looked at me like I was salvation itself.
How the fuck had I ended up obsessed with this girl? She was something out of a fairy tale. The only role I should have played in her life was as the villain, but somehow, she’d cast me as the hero. How fucked up was that?
“You’re strong enough to make a dead man walkin’ feel, Bea. You remember that you’re ever in a bad place and I can’t get to you fast enough, yeah? You remember not even the reaper of The Fallen can scare you, and then you motherfuckin’ defend yourself.”
I was a weapon, the sharp edge of a blade and the blunt force of a fist, and Bea was a silk heart.
“I see you, Priest, even when you don’t want to be seen. You cannot be invisible to me. Religion teaches you to covet the divine, to swallow it wholesale down your throat like communion. To seek it out for absolution. To me, you are divine, and my pursuit of you is anything but unholy.”
“Show me how beautiful it can be to be broken.”
Zeus Garro, one of the only men I’d ever admired, embracing me hard to his chest like a long-lost brother returned from war? That moved through me like an earthquake, the tectonic plates of who I was shifting and grinding to accommodate this new sensation.
I lived and died by this girl with the haloed hair and angel eyes. I’d give her the fucking world if she wanted it, but somehow, she only wanted me.
