Page 67 of Their Will be Done

If she only knew the shit the Brotherhood was accusing Gabriel of.

Oh, wait. She’ll never know. She’s dead.

There’s no warning. One minute I’m glaring out at the black thunderstorm—the next everything blurs with angry tears.

I push away from the window sill and stalk back to the fire. Trinity the Wimp is yelling at me to stop, but I shove her in a mental closet and lock the fucking door.

Wine sloshes over the rim of the glass when I rip it off the side table. I tip my head back and swallow it all down in one go. Then I pour myself another from the decanter.

I even stare at Gabriel’s pack of cigarettes for a moment, wondering if they’d help suppress the sudden swell of immutable fury roaring through me, but I dismiss the thought.

Weed. That’s what I need.

I drain my glass, and press my hand to the back of my mouth as I pause, waiting for everything to come right back up again. It’s red wine—what a fucking mess that will make of this pretty carpet.

A bitter laugh bursts out of me instead. I consider drinking straight from the decanter but then I remember I’m not a fucking animal so I pour myself another glass.

“That’s enough, child.”

I gasp in shock, spilling wine over my hand and—yup!—ruining the pretty fucking carpet. Spinning around, I stare at Gabriel with a slack mouth as he comes closer.

He takes the glass from my hand and urges me into the chair before perching on the arm. His head dips as he massages the back of his eyelids and lets out a long sigh.

“What’s wrong?” I blink up at him, my hand reaching for him before I can snatch it away again.

That doesn’t go unnoticed. Gabriel’s eyes latch onto my hand where I keep it pressed into a fist in my lap. The shadows on his face seem to deepen.

“I’ll have to reschedule tonight’s dinner.”

For a second, I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about.

“Oh, this?” I nod, licking my lips. “Yes, of course.” My tongue feels like it’s growing thicker inside my mouth. Starting to regret the wine now, even if it did put out the fire raging inside me.

You can soak shit in alcohol, but ultimately that just sets the stage for a world-class explosion.

“I know I allowed it, child, but you shouldn’t drink in excess. Or at your age.”

Irritation flickers inside me, threatening to ignite my earlier anger.

Yeah, and a celibate priest shouldn’t have condoms in his fucking drawer, but here we are.

I think I’m going to puke.

I stand, making contact with Gabriel on my way up. In an effort to veer away from him, I stumble over my own feet. If he hadn’t caught onto me, I’d probably have fallen into the hearth.

His hand is on my hip. Strong fingers dig into my flesh.

Into the drive hidden behind my underwear. He frowns, and moves his thumb over the device. I twist away from him, blinking furiously as I try to sober the fuck up.

“I have to go,” I state, holding up a finger. “But can—may?—I use your bathroom first?”

He frowns hard, and reaches for my hip again as he gets to his feet. “What is that?” he asks.

“Bathroom!” I yelp out, and then hurry away from him. I saw another door leading off his bedroom—it’s either a walk-in closet for the hundred-plus clerical robes he needs, or it’s the bathroom.

It turns out to be a bathroom.

I slam the door shut behind me, and because of that I don’t make it to the toilet. Instead, I puke into the basin.

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