Page 166 of Priest and his Anarchist

“Because!”he roars so loud I wince, my hands fighting to cover my ears. “Because why, Luna Nox!”

My legs turn to jelly, the walls around me caving in.

The dripping of water.

The smell of decaying bodies buried within the concrete.

The house he built deep in the crux of the earth’s core, where he sat, waiting for me. His nakedness open. His smile wide. In a house, there was a couch, and on that couch, there was a man, and that man was Danny Dale, and beside Danny Dale was Jeremiah, and in Jeremiah’s hands was Moses. Small child. So small. Like me.

Like me.

His hands on my body, tearing at my underwear. They were old. I only had three pairs. I’d wash them when they’d soil. Or after they’d be finished. His weight on top of me.In this house there were three bad men, and I killed them all.

“Why do you love him so much, Luna!” he yells, spit flying out of his mouth.

I scream so loud my throat bleeds. “Because I’m justlike him!”With a stream of tears, I look up to find him smirking back down at me with pride, a strange sense of accomplishment.

“Well done. Now the real work will begin.”

My head bows between my shoulders, my heart fracturing in my chest. I’ll never get out. Even with Danny, Jeremiah, and Moses dead, someone else will fill the spot.

He moves closer, and the closer he gets, the more I pull away. Leaning down, he meets me at eye level. “We’re not so different, you and I. Aside from our differences of views, you were the one we saw first. You were the one.” The rings around his eyes darken as he draws close. The smell of earth and metal hover around him like his own personal cologne.

“Did you ever talk to him about me?”

I swallow. “I barely know you.” I thought I knew everything about him. He was the son of a Kiznitch. He was the son of—my head spins. “He was your dad, wasn’t he?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Kohen was your father.”

In a sad tale of twisted fate, I hate that it makes sense. That Corbin was a victim in yet another one of Darling’s acts. Not that Kohen was one of the main brothers of Kiznitch, since he doesn’t have much to do with them all. From what I know, he’d broken into the cabin and tried to take—Darling—me—whatever. It just so happens that Priest was faster.

“Don’t you know?” He shifts around my body, looking me up and down. “Oh, Darling. He meant to kill you both. He was just lucky that you were a twin.” He stops, and the fear I thought I’d worked through grabs me by the throat, tossing me around like a rag doll. “He wanted her. He fought for years to bring that side of you out because he couldn’t bear to look at you and see her. He hated you, Luna. He loved her, yet…he was still willing to lose her.”

My cheeks flush and the fire beneath the surface slowly spreads.

“He figured out that you, in fact, didn’t have a disorder but that you were two different people after he killed her. He thought you were both when he did the act.”

His words penetrate the wall I’ve kept up. The Fathers of the EKC were nothing short of brilliance. Mad, powerful, ethical. My annoyance with Priest came from him not being his father. Not being Nate. They would never, and if he was saying these same words in light of Bishop or Nate, I wouldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t second-guess. I’d know it was a lie.

With Priest…I am not sure. Because it makes sense. Because through the confusion of my own emotions, I’ve allowed myself to get lost back in the fantasy that he loves me, but does he do sowith the thought that he’d killed me and not her? I’d heard she pretended to be me with him a few times toward the end. Vice versa would make sense.

My heart breaks for the final time.

I have no reason to believe he knew who I was. None.

“You know I know this to be true because you know how…”

I did. God, but I knew how he knew.

Grabbing me from my arm, he forces me to my feet. Turning to look over his shoulder he pauses, tucking me under his arm. I follow his line of sight to the audience behind the glass. A dozen people sitting in their seats, probably happy to even get an invite. There aren’t whispers. There is no fear. Simply because what this is, what Corbin is, doesn’t exist to anyone. He is simply the mechanism beneath the surface. No one takes apart a watch to see how it works, you simply trust the face. That’s what this is.

Corbin smirks, squeezing me. “I got my girl back.” He looks to the side before back to the audience. “Sic ’em.” The sound of blood-curdling screams are cut short when the door to the only exit closes, encasing us inside.

He reaches backward for me, and I look between his hand and his face.

“You can drop the act now. Come.” Act…like a dark cloud on a sunny day, it dawns on me what he means. The confusion of his back and forth tosses me in place.

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