Page 71 of Beneath the Watching

“A ball pit?” I asked. This was to be a bakery, not a nursery school.

“How about cage fighting? I know where to get celestial steel,” Jack offered, not helpfully.

My hand dragged down my face. “I’m going for cottage core, not karate core. What’s wrong with you?”

Jack’s chest heaved as he attempted and then failed to hold back a loud guffaw. “Just fuckin’ with you,” he said when he calmed down.

I threw a crayon at him just as Stefan walked into the room. “She doesn’t want cage fighting in her bakery,” Benjamin remarked, picking up his empty plate to bring to the kitchen. He’d eaten at least six broccoli cookies.

Stefan stared at him in disbelief before scowling and ignoring him. “I have a surprise for you,” he said, bending down to meet my lips with a quick kiss. “We’ll go after I tend to my congregation.”

He’d been ignoring his clergy duties in favor of dealing with Kiara’s situation and working closely with Lucian and Ilya. His assistant, Frederick, had been filling in. “Do you want me to come?”

“No, you can stay here with Benjamin and Jack,” he said. “Unless you want to?”

Lifting myself from where I’d been sitting cross-legged on the floor, I answered, “I want to, I need to get out of here.”

Days upon days of being confined to Stefan’s wing of the castle was wearing on me. There was only so much I could do, and I needed a break. My new friend Tiffany dropped by every now and then, but I still needed a change of scenery.

The walk to the church was refreshing and I lifted my face to the sun every time there was a break in the trees. I couldn’t wait until the day I could just run around outside without a care.

“Are you going to feed me again?” I asked Stefan, with a smirk, as he finished getting ready. We were now in his church office and the sight of the communion glasses jogged my memory.

He turned around, fidgeting with the black clerical collar set in the neck of his deep, red button-up shirt. “Would you like me to?” he asked, eyes gleaming and filling with a deep orange tint. “It's difficult to feel holy with you here.”

“As if you were ever holy,” I commented. “Why do I suspect there was something going on with that communion?”

Stefan’s smile spread into a grin, but he didn’t answer me right away. He crossed the room, putting his Bible and notes down on a desk and then grabbed me by the hips. “Because there was. I couldn’t bear the not knowing.”

He pressed a chaste kiss against my lips as I struggled to figure out what he meant. “What’d you do?”

“I altered the wine,” he replied gathering back up his items.

“And?” I prompted, following him from the room.

He swiveled his head. “And nothing. It didn’t do a thing.”

We entered the chapel, and I followed him down the aisle as he went to unlock the doors. Settling on a pew, I stopped him when he passed back by me. “What was it supposed to do?”

A tiny thrill ran through me, thinking about how he went to such lengths for me. I knew it was manipulative and messed up, but I loved the feeling of being so important that someone would break out all the stops for me.

Stefan slid between the pews, moving to the row in front of me. He flicked a hand, lighting the candles situated throughout the space and then gripped the upper edge of the wooden bench. “I was trying to open you up; I couldn’t read you. You naturally shield yourself to a degree,” he cocked his head. “It was torture.”

Giving him a small smile, I sat back as he walked away. His sermon taught that the heart is deceitful, more than anything else, and not to be trusted. I didn’t miss the glimmer in his eye when our gazes snagged, and I had to stare at my lap for several seconds while I swallowed my giggles.

It was fascinating, watching him lead the church through carefully placed words and artfully ambiguous phrases, all combined into one fiery diatribe. It was as if the people longed for the fear and the guilt, lived for the sole purpose of being damned under the weight of their real or imagined sin. The sheep eagerly frolicked toward their slaughter, hanging on to his every word. His very image was sinfully handsome, deckedout in an elegant suit, his hair beautifully styled, and his lips naturally red. Physically, he represented much of what he preached against, and I loved it.

My love was a handsome and debased lyrical genius.

As I sat listening to Stefan preach, I heard the voice. The Sentient entered my consciousness smoothly, softly.

As you speak, so shall it be.

My skin tingled at the words. “What do you mean?” I whispered.

Ask and you shall receive.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered again. My arms felt prickly, as if a weak current of electricity were sparking just under the surface.

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