Page 47 of Unholy Fate

Then slowly, incredibly, a proud smile crept across his striking features. “You’ve got fire, Evelyn. I knew you did,” he said, almost reverently.

I stood over him, panting, my chest heaving with exertion and spent fury. I watched in morbid fascination as Ian’s fingers tightened around the splintered wood protruding from his chest.

“This wound... It barely missed my heart,” he breathed, his voice a pained rasp, laced with a chilling admiration. He held my gaze as his form shimmered and faded at the edges, like mist under the morning sun. “I need to heal. But remember this, Evelyn. Wrath is one of ours, love. A sin worthy of Hell, and you’ve got it in spades.”

With one last infuriating cocky smirk, Ian disappeared, his form dissolving into nothingness. And I was left alone, surrounded by the shards of the shattered cross and only the ugly truth for company in this waking nightmare.

The broken splinters slipped from my numb fingers and clattered to the floor. The adrenaline faded, leaving me weak. I sank to my knees, the bitter taste of betrayal and the searing heat of anger threatening to crush my already fractured psyche.

I curled into a ball, my body wracked with sobs so violent they shook my very core, anguished cries escaping my lips like a broken dam.

“Why?” I asked brokenly to the empty room, my plaintive plea bouncing off the cold, unyielding walls. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

The remaining innocence and belief I had just moments ago was now ripped away and torn to shreds, leaving me raw, defiled, exposed. A battered husk of the faithful, devoted woman I used to be.

I jolted awake with a strangled gasp, my face wet with tears. Early morning light filtered through the curtains of my familiar bedroom. But the vivid dream lingered, Ian’s taunting words ringing in my ears.

Curling into a tight ball, I buried my face in the pillow to muffle the fresh sobs that poured out of me. Grief for the innocent, trusting little girl I once was before my uncle shattered my world and stole what I could never get back. Mourning the unblemished faith I’d cherished before a demon unmasked the ugly truths I’d buried deep.

As I wept, I clung to my rumpled bedsheets, doubled over from the pain lancing through my heart and soul. How could I ever be whole again, knowing what I knew now? How could I possibly heal these jagged wounds that evil had carved into my very being?

Eventually, my body gave out, exhaustion and grief taking their toll. I slept, if I could even call it that, fitful with nightmares and flashes of memories I desperately tried to outrun.

The incessant pounding in my head and a gripping cramp low in my stomach jolted me back to consciousness. Rubbing at my eyes, I blinked blearily, trying to shake off the remnants of theunrestful slumber. As I sat up, I groaned, my body stiff from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position.

“Ugh,” I said, running a hand through my tangled hair, wincing as I shifted on the bed. The cramping low in my stomach intensified, and I immediately knew what it was.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my head pounding mercilessly as I stood up. My period had started, of course. As if the morning couldn’t get any worse. I plodded to the bathroom, my steps heavy, as if wading through quicksand.

I scrubbed myself raw in the shower, but the images of the night remained burned into my mind, no amount of soap or water able to wash them away. My skin still damp, I put a pad in my underwear and pulled on a soft terrycloth robe, a comfort against my skin as I trudged back to my room. When I stepped inside, I froze, my heart leaping into my throat.

Aziz lounged casually on my bed, his deep brown eyes raking over me, his lips curving, a sensual and hungry expression on his face. “Good morning, sunshine,” he purred, as if he belonged there.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, hands planted firmly on my hips, though a tremor of anxiety betrayed my attempt at a confident front.

He sat up, slowly, sensually, and I cursed myself for noticing the way his muscles rippled under his shirt. “I missed you,” he whispered, husky and intimate.

“I didn’t miss you,” I declared, a surge of triumphant energy coursing through me.

“No?” he said, lifting an eyebrow, a cocky grin on his face as he reached out, running a finger along my shoulder.

My heart boomed in my chest as he slid his finger across my collar bone and down to unfasten the top button of my pajamas. Was he undressing me?

“I think I should show you how much I missed you, Evelyn,” Aziz said, and the hungry gleam in his eyes had a strange effect on me, both terror and deep seated excitement.

That feeling alone sent waves of shame through me, and I cried out mentally. I wanted, needed the strength to resist, even if God wasn’t willing to help me.

Aziz moved his finger lower, undoing the next button. “You don’t really want to say no,” he whispered. A third button popped free.

In a flash, I remembered something important, something that would save me from whatever Aziz had planned. Finding fresh resolve, I raised my chin and pushed his hand away.

“Sorry, I’m on my period,” I said, but when I saw the look in his eyes, my heart sank. If anything, rather than looking disappointed or disgusted as I’d assumed and hoped, he looked evenmoreexcited.

“Really?” he said, his voice low and hungry. “Nature’s lube. Even better.”

He reached up and undid the last button, my plain linen top opened revealing my breasts beneath. I let out a gasp as the cool air touched my skin.

“I don’t want this,” I said, shaking my head and backing away.

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