Page 78 of Unholy Obsession

I blow out my candle and press my palm against the center of my chest, right over my heart. It feels raw like someone crackedme open with a chisel. There’s this weird ache, not a bad one, just… sharp. Bright. Too big for my ribs.

I take a step back into the shadows, my heartbeat buzzing under my skin like I swallowed a hive of bees. I watch as people line up to greet him—Father Blackwood.

He steps down from the altar, still wrapped in all his holy finery: billowing white robes, a blue sash-thing draped around his neck, and his collar glinting under the soft, flickering candlelight.

He looks pure. Untouchable. Like a true conduit to the divine.

And I?—

I’m a fucking ink stain on a white page.

It’s easy to forget this part of him when he’s Mr. Kinky Dom, pinning me down and making me beg. When his teeth are on my skin and his voice is a growl in my ear. But this—this—is who he really is, isn’t it?

Bane deserves better than some two-bit slut.

The words slide into my head like they’ve always been there, waiting.

They taste like acid. And truth.

I step further into the shadows, my body vibrating with too much energy. My skin feels tight like it doesn’t fit right. I scratch at my arm—just a little—but the itch doesn’t go away. It’s under my skin, crawling, scurrying, like raccoon feet tap-tap-tapping across my brain.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

Ow!

I hiss and look down. There’s blood. A thin red line runs down my forearm like it’s trying to escape.

What the fuck are you doing, Moira?

I stare at the blood for a second, but it doesn’t feel real. None of this does. The candlelight. The hymn still echoing in my head. Bane’s velvet voice.

I shouldn’t have come. The bishop said he shouldn’t be seen with me. She said I was bad for him. I’m a stain on his reputation. A mistake.

You don’t belong here.

I scratch again, harder this time, my fingers digging into the same spot like I can rip the feeling out. But it’s still there. It’s always there.

I bounce on my feet, my heart racing like it’s trying to outrun me. My thoughts spiral—fast, faster, like a tilt-a-whirl with no brakes.

What the fuck was I thinking, coming here like this?

I’m a mess. A goddamned disaster. And now I’ve dragged it here—to his place of work. His job. His sacred little world.

I’m ruining it.

Like I ruin everything.

That’s all you fucking do, Moira. Ruin things.

I should leave.

No. I should…

My thoughts skitter, each faster than the next.

I pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen before I can even think. Text Bane? No. Call someone? Who? Domhnall? Ha. Yeah, right.

I shove the phone back in my pocket, neck straining as I try to stretch out the horrible tight-skin feeling.

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