Page 45 of Priest and his Anarchist

Dad snickers. “Touché.”

Fog forms around us, obscuring my vision and filling the earthy scent with jasmine and something spicy. It distracts me a moment because my eyes land on him.

Shit.

Hidden in the shadows of a dark cloak, his broad shoulders separate him from the others. Either Vaden or War are on either side, one of them is slightly shorter than the other, and I’m guessing that’s War, since he was always a little off the mark in height.

Long fingers curl around the edge of the hood as he slowly lowers it to the back of his neck. We’re not seated far, so it’s easy to make out the finer details.

He tilts his head sideways, as if hearing someone talk, and the tiny hairs on my neck swell. Panic clenches its fist around my airways, but before it takes hold, I notice the faint tattoo on the surface of his neck. It’s so delicate that I can’t distinguish what it is.

Stalked by the persistent thud in my head, my legs turn to jelly. Great. I’m about to drop. No doubt people will notice.

An arm catches my fall. “You’re okay.” Mom smiles, twisting the strands of my hair around her finger before tucking them behind my ears. “If you’re obvious with how much he affects you, all that time was for nothing.”

My breath hikes. I’d never spoken with Mom about Priest. “What?”

Her lip twitches. “You think I don’t know the kind of love that rests in those eyes, baby girl?”

I blink, unable to give her anything else.

She shuffles into me further, probably noticing I won’t let her out of it. “I know. I smelled him on you the second you stepped through the door.”

Okay, it’s official. My mother is creepy. As if I needed more evidence to prove that fact. I’ve heard the stories about her when she was my age…

“Well it’s not love,” I murmur beneath my breath, turning to the stage.

“Oh, not yet.” She pats my thigh. “For right now, it’s obsession.”

I don’t know how much time passes until the ceremony is finally over. All I know is my skin burns, and the desperation to run is unbearable. Dad said it happened in three stages, the final one being the most important. Whatever that meant. I didn’t care and didn’t need to because it had nothing to do with me.

Every time I blink, my lids get heavier. Blood courses through my eardrums, and when I reach up to swipe the sweat off my forehead, everything around me dissolves into darkness for a moment.

I find the carvings again, focusing on little weird babies joined at the umbilical cord, but when the air around me thickens and the warning bells inside my head sound like the scream that tore out of me that night, I already know it’s because he found me.

Tracing my way over his leather boots, up the sway of his robe, and to the border of his hoodie, everything around him fades into the background until it’s only him and I. His soft lips and strong jawline cut through the shadows from his hoodie.

Moments pass, the air growing tighter.

He moves forward, and my body uncoils. Until Vaden brushes past.

I distract myself by landing on Halen.

She skims the hood away from her head. “Luna?” I don’t ask why I never saw her in all the years Priest had me locked away in his haunted mansion. Not that Halen and I were friends because we weren’t. I’d go as far as to say that she hated me at times. Theolder we got and the more time she spent with me, she slowly warmed, but there was always a twinkling of hatred in her eyes whenever she looked at me.

“Halen.” I follow the line behind her. “Stella and…River.”

“You’re back?” Halen whispers, shifting her hood back on. The weight of my guilt is crushing when I realize I’d spent a good chunk of my time thinking she knew about me being under the thumb of this royal asshole.

River squeezes my hand in passing before following them down the pathway.

“You want to get out of here for a bit?” Mother raises a brow at me as people start talking and finally filter out the exit.

I sigh in relief. “God. Yes.”

There have been times in my life when I’ve second-guessed my mom and everything she did and continues to do, but when you are loved by insanity, you learn to make excuses for their behavior because nothing they do will make sense. You can’t compare one to the existence of the mundane. We live a life of chaos and fire, so chaos and fire is what we become.

Finally, when I feel nature’s lungs nip at the exposed areas of my skin, a shiver rushes through me. Riverside Cemetery reminds me of a place I once knew. It was similar. Beauty on the surface, but when you dug too deep, you’d find yourself at the Devil's feet.

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