Page 29 of Of Heathens & Havoc

He slowly turns, glaring at each member of the group in turn. They shift uncomfortably, nodding and dropping their gazes.

“But she’s already been named the sacrifice,” one of them ventures at last.

Saint glowers at him until he shuffles backwards a step.

My brother lowers his voice to a growl. “No one touches Mercy.”

He waits, as if he thinks someone will contradict him. I stare up at him, this boy who used to be my closest friend, the one who made me feel safe and wanted, who included me when he went out with friends, even though they were a few years older, and kissed it better when I fell down and scraped my elbows. He looks like a stranger, his form that of a man instead of a boy, with his wild hair tumbling around his broad, muscularshoulders and a shadow of a beard darkening his jaw. But I know the boy who picked me up every time I fell is still there. I know by the defiant clench of his jaw and his unflinching glare, the one he gave anyone who had an unkind word to say to me growing up.

When no one speaks, he turns to me, his burning gaze skating over my bare skin. A flicker of heat flares in them when they rake over my clenched thighs and scraped knees. Then the muscle in his jaw ticks, his nostrils flare, and he rips off his black robe like it personally offended him. He gathers it up into a thick ring of fabric, then stops and looks at me like he’s trying to decide my fate.

My thighs are slick, my flesh swollen and aching, a dart of pain throbbing through my clit with each heartbeat. I find myself holding my breath, waiting for something I can’t name in my dizzying state of panic.

“Please,” I whisper, a shiver racing through me, making my nipples stiffen painfully inside the thin cotton bralette I wore to bed.

His eyes catch on the points, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. Then he crouches in front of me. “I’m going to put this over your head,” he murmurs gently. “Don’t freak out on me, okay, little sister?”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak, as he eases the fabric over my head, then drops it over my shoulders. A shudder of pleasure wracks my body at the warmth and protection provided by the oversized, colorless garment. I shove my arms into the sleaves with eagerness bordering on desperation, hugging it to myself and breathing in the dark, dangerous scent that doesn’t match the boy I knew. It’s the smell of a man, spicy and a little wild, like crushed pine needles and rain and something just slightly animalistic.

Without a word, Saint bends, scoops me into his arms, and carries me out of the room. His strong arms cradle me as he ascends the stairs and steps into the church. Despite everything, or because of the horror of the night, my arms cling to his neck as if he’s my savior instead of the man carrying me from a sacrificial altar where he meant to violate me in the most primal, damning ways.

I have to force myself not to bury my face in his neck, breathe in that scent that’s so intoxicatingly masculine. Instead, I focus on the tattoos inked on both his arms, disappearing under the sleeves of his t-shirt. I can’t make them out clearly in the moonlight, and my fingertips trace over the unfamiliar lines and the bulging veins in his forearms, as if to memorize the new map of my brother. He’s not just my brother now, though. He’s a man.

My heart is buoyed by the thought that he protected me, that this brave man stood up for me even after everything that happened between us. Now that he rescued me from the Hellhounds, I’m afraid he’ll only grow to more godlike proportions in mind.

Which is not just blasphemy but heartbreaking, considering he seems to hate me now.

He turns his head, his mouth pressing into the juncture between my neck and shoulder. My skin is raw from the other man’s bites, making it so sensitive I have to bite down on my lip not to cry out. “If you don’t stop that, I’m going to forget you’re my little sister,” Saint murmurs, sending a flush of heat over my skin.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, yanking my fingers away and tucking them between my knees. The tender place at the juncture of my thighs throbs with at the familiar pose, the one I find myself in more nights than I want to admit, trapping myhands so they won’t wander to the places that need them so badly.

A few minutes later, Saint steps into my room and flips on the light. He glances around, and a scowl takes over his face before he kicks the door closed behind us. “You have not changed.”

He dumps me unceremoniously onto the blanket I crocheted, kicking a few of my ruffled pillows through the gauzy dust ruffle under my bed. He catches sight of Raphael and pauses for a second, then lets out a scoff that says bringing a teddy bear to college makes me too pathetic to be worth a comment. I want to grab the bear he gave me and shove it under the blankets, hide it from his scorn, but I can’t endure another cruel taunt.

When he turns to go, I curl into the fetal position and press a fist to my mouth, determined not to be more pathetic than I’ve already been tonight. Still, the thought of being alone to sort through the night’s trauma is too much. I don’t care if it’s an estranged brother who hates me. I just want some human company after being stripped of my humanity so thoroughly by the Hellhounds, turned into a faceless animal for them to torment and inflict their sick fantasies upon.

When Saint walks away, I choke on the sob barreling up through me. He pauses at the door, dropping his head forward against the wooden surface, his fingers already closed around the knob. His long hair swings forward around his face, but I can’t see it anyway. All I can see is his back—and the resignation in his posture as he slowly turns.

My heart tears in two. I don’t want to be an obligation to him, a burden.

“You can go,” I say, my voice shaking as I draw a long, slow breath, trying to get myself under control.

He crosses the room in three long strides, grabs me by the throat, and lifts me up, pushing me back on the pillows. He pulls one knee up onto the bed, leaning over me, his fingers tight around my throat. His fiery eyes burn into mine with a fierceness that makes me shy away and drop my gaze, but he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes. They soften when he sees the tears swimming between my lids.

“So fucking innocent,” he murmurs, his hand stroking back down from my chin to my throat, gentle this time.

“Please,” I whisper, my fingers wrapping around his wrist. I don’t know what I’m asking for, just that I need him tonight.

“If I stay, I’ll be damning us both,” he says, his voice husky with truth. “I’m already gone, but you…” He runs his thumb over my lower lip, staring at my mouth with a hunger that makes my flushed thighs quake. “There’s still a chance for you, little lamb.”

I grip him tighter, my pulse fluttering at his touch. “Stay,” I whisper, searching his amber eyes. “Please. Saint… I’m sorry.”

His mouth tightens into a cruel line, and his fingers flex around my throat. “You’re sorry?” he asks incredulously.

“I am,” I cry, a tear spilling down my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Saint. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“You sent us to fucking juvie, Mercy. You told the judge we killed Eternity.”

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