Page 51 of Moonlit Temptation

I hesitated, then said, “Yes.”

It was the first time I admitted it aloud and couldn’t even enjoy it.

I felt the cabbie’s gaze on me. “Was that his wife in the car with him?”

“No—” I paused. My gut instinct was to say no, Saint didn’t have a wife. I’d known him my entire life, he had never been married, never been in love.

Their embrace flashed in my mind. The familiarity, the adoration.

Saint was a man of secrets—they clung to him like a finely made suits. He could very well have another life here without me knowing.

“I—I don’t know,” I finally admitted, my voice breaking on the words. A dark cloud filled my chest.

We locked eyes in the mirror as he reached back. “My sister didn’t know she was the mistress to her boyfriend for three years. Sit back, love, this isn’t my first time tailing someone. They won’t even realize we’re following.”

Oddly comforted to have a co-conspirator, I sat back in my seat. But that comfort didn’t last for long.

The crash told me where to find Saint.

It was around the back of a dilapidated house he and his lady friend were dropped off at.

Just outside a posh, pristine neighborhood stood a house that looked like it was one powerful wind gust from being blown away. It was overgrown with weeds, paint chipped down the walls, and shutters hung off their hinges.

The outside might’ve been weathered by time, but the inside, at least the room I was peeking into, was far from decrepit.

Tall, fat candles were strategically placed around the perimeter, creating a soft glow that didn’t really reach the high vaulted ceiling. It looked to be a library or study, with the walls made up of bookshelves and statues placed around the room.

I could practically smell the permanent scent of cigar smoke and whiskey that lingered in the space from where I hid in the bushes, peering through the corner of the window.

Standing in the center of the room, in a tight circle, were at least ten people in black floor-length robes.

Hoods covered their faces, while long pendants hung from everyone’s necks, catching the candlelight. I couldn’t tell what the design was from here, but I pressed closer to the window anyway.

Outside the circle stood a smaller group of people, wearing very little clothing. Undergarments, fishnet stockings, and heels, for the women. And slutty black shorts that resembled boxer briefs and thick, heavy boots for the men.

They also wore pendants, different from the ones adorned by those in robes.

What did this mean?

What did any of it mean?

A statue broke, that was the crash that led me here, but now I was held in rapture as a hooded figure stepped forward.

My breath caught in my ribcage as they took off their hood, revealing Saint to be underneath.

The gasp that escaped fogged the glass.

It was Saint, but it wasn’t. Vanished behind a mask that looked exactly like him but wasn’t. Or rather, this wasn’t the Saint I knew.

His dark features took on a chilling expression, void of anything but control. Power clung to his eyes. It was like him in business mode, but more. More intense, more dominant.

More, more, more.

Saint commanded attention by simply standing. An aura of authority clung to him by candlelight.

A scantily clad woman stepped forward with a large, old tome. She practically buckled under the weight of it before passing it to Saint, who held it with ease.

He flipped to a page and began reading from it. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I could hear the hum of everyone answering it, vibrating against the window.

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