Page 92 of Turn That River Red

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

AMBROSE

Mercy sleeps with me that night, curled up in the bed at my side, her hair damp from the shower she took to wash the graveyard dirt away. I don’t have the heart to tell her I don’t need to sleep, but I stay in bed with her anyway, watching news reports on my phone with the sound turned low and one hand trailing through her hair.

I want to stay with you.Mercy’s confession keeps marching through my head. I’d been so ready to let her go, and now it almost feels like a trick, her warm body curled up next to me, the steady rhythm of her breath filling up the room.

Because she can’t stay with me, not really. I can’t have a human woman in my life. My life is too fucking dangerous for something so fragile. Something that can die as easily as her.

Sawyer does it.

Sawyer’s a fool. Even if he does seem happy. And, more importantly, so does Edie.

The video I’m watching ends; it was today’s news report from Cocana. Nothing of interest. But when the next video starts, Reverend Gunner’s face fills up my screen. It was postedtwo hours earlier by what seems to be an official Church of the Well account. So much for eschewing the secular world.

“My ward, Mercy Gunner, is still missing,” Gunner says, and I can tell even through the phone screen that the sadness in his voice is a facade. “We fear the worst, and we’re calling on all Christians, regardless of your affiliation, to offer up prayers for her safe return.”

I recognize his office behind him, the window open to show the church compound beyond.

“Three of our brothers have joined Christ at the hands of a Satanic madman,” he goes on, which makes me snort. Beside me, Mercy stirs, but I stroke her hair and murmur at her to go back to sleep.

“We fear that madman has taken our Mercy,” Gunner continues, and my skin bristles at that—ourMercy. “That he’s doing ungodly things to her as we speak.”

Well, that part’s true, at least. I bite back a smirk.

“Any information you have about this man—” Reverend Gunner fades away, replaced with that police sketch of the itinerant preacher Ambrose Echeverría, who as far as the state of Texas is concerned, hasn’t existed for nearly a century. “Please report it to the Cocana sheriff’s department. And if you see any sign of Mercy Hendricks, please, let us know.”

Mercy Hendricks, huh? I see he’s using her real last name.

Another picture fills the screen: the same one as before, Mercy in her pretty blue dress. She really does look fucking miserable.

I think about her twinkling laughter as we ran away from the cemetery earlier. What sort of Hunter am I, that I like hearing a human’s laughter instead of her screams?

Well, in addition to her screams.

The picture of Mercy fades, and three new pictures take its place: my three most recent victims. It’s been a while since I’ve attracted the attention of the media, and seeing my victimslined up like that gives me a delicious little thrill. All the suffering I caused. All the fear I’ve sowed. It’s what I was made for, and the idea that I have a whole church cowering in their beds because of me is?—

Well, it’s getting my cock hard.

“Three members of our church have gone to Christ,” Reverend Gunner is saying. “And we need your help bringing their murderer to justice. Your prayers, any information—whatever you can provide. God bless you. Truly.”

He doesn’t care about any of them. He didn’t even bury Raul on the church compound, and there’s no way he officiated Raul’s funeral. Contrary to what he made Mercy think when she was still trapped there, shedoeshave the power to bring him to his knees. All she has to do is tell the truth about what he did to her, and the good Reverend Gunner will have a good old-fashioned sex scandal on his hands.

I’m not sure my humanita realizes that she could take down the whole damn church if she wanted to.

I stop the video and turn off my phone. Mercy breathes beside me, her scent wafting around through. I can’t stop myself from reaching down to idly stroke my cock over my boxers, my thoughts half on the three murders—especially that motherfucker Price—and half on Mercy’s soft, warm body.

I lean down to nuzzle her neck and kiss her fluttery pulse. Mercy sighs and turns toward me, muttering something I can’t decipher. This is getting me worked up, truth be told.

But I also want to see how much she’s willing to tolerate my nature. If she really understands what it means to be stay with me.

“How long will it take you to wake up?” I slide my hand up under her T-shirt and palm her bare breasts, which makes her shiver. She doesn’t answer, of course. Still asleep. But her lips part and her nipples sharpen beneath my hand. She moans softly.

“Are you getting wet for me?” I’m already hard as hell for her. Sex and death, there’s no better combination. Even she discovered that earlier tonight in the cemetery.

I massage her breasts, slow and lazy, and she moans and shifts around on the mattress.I want to stay with you. I still don’t really understand why. Not why she wants it. Not why I want it either.

I run my hand over her belly and slip my fingers into her panties, which are as damp as I expect. I tease her clit for a few seconds, keeping my gaze on her face. Her eyes flick beneath her eyelids, and she mutters again.

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