Page 69 of Priest and his Anarchist

I’ve thought about the day I was going to die. Often. I could never decide whether I was afraid or excited. I didn’t want to die.But I could never find the urge to live—until that day I was given to Bishop. I found a purpose. No longer lost, I thought I’d found my place in a world where everyone has a purpose.

He releases, and I surface, swiping the water from my face. My lungs burn as if each inhale is gasoline. Fucking crazy bastard!

Priest flicks the cap off a small bottle with a tag attached around the rim.

My teeth grind together. “When will you kill me?”

Priest doesn’t answer, staring through me as he pours the liquid into the bath.

“When will you get it, Lost One…” Vaden adds, and the sound of his nickname is almost too painful for me to hear right now.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, my agitation almost unbearable.

“What?” Vaden asks as if surprised. His head tilts as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Lost One?”

“Yes,” I say, unable to keep out my sarcasm. “The person who used to call me that wouldn’t sit aside and watch Priest try to drown me.”

Priest’s chuckle draws me back to him, and I hate myself. I hate that even after all this time, even after everything I’ve gone through, it doesn’t mean anything because all it comes down to is the power of a King.

This particular King.

“Madness. You and I both know that if I wanted you to be dead, you’d be dead.” Lavender and cardamom fill the steam as it rises.

I relax back into the tub. “Ditto.”

“I want to ask you a few questions though.” Priest rounds the tub, and as relaxed as I am from the salts and whatever else he poured—honestly probably poison—I stiffen as he disappears behind me.

“And you’re going to answer my questions with honesty, or I’ll punish you.”

I swallow. I can’t imagine a lifetime where I’ll ever want to find out what Priest does as punishment because I know what he does for fun.

Coolness spreads over my scalp as he pours shampoo onto my head. His fingers find their way into the dirty strands, the water leaving streak stains over my shoulder.

“Where’d you go after those years with me?”

He must feel me tense because his fingers stop. I’m not ready to touch on how they feel buried in my hair or how every time they curve over my scalp, my mind wanders off to a place I don’t want to visit.

“Answer me, Luna.”

My mouth slams closed, and the water around me turns to acid.

“You’re not going to tell me, huh?” The warmth of his body disappears. Footsteps echo over the floor, the tension in the air thickening.

“Just answer him, Luna…”

“Shut up, Vaden.” I keep my tone level, unable to tip the scale.

One day, there will be a house. And in that house, there will be a sofa. And on that sofa, there’ll be a—my eyes open when I see a flash of orange.

No. Not that.

“Do you know how many times we had seen each other?”

I don’t answer, my eyes slowly peeling open and onto Priest sitting at the end of the tub, his fingers at his belt. Sure, his body is tight and defined, but there’s something else about it. It’s strong. Thick. His muscles don’t bulge out in a way that screams I lift heavy every day and my whole personality is protein and gym bros. Me strong, you weak.

No.

This is a body created by pure genetics. This is born, not made.

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