Page 85 of Turn That River Red

This is what I wanted. To escape the church. And then, later, to escape Ambrose. I thought I didn’t have the means to do either. It turns out, he’ll give them both to me.

So why don’t I want to say yes? Why am I standing here in a graveyard, holding his hand and not wanting to let go?

Gunner doesn’t deserve you.

Ambrose’s words ring in my thoughts. A truth I’ve always thought, deep down, even though it felt blasphemous. Certainly everyone else in my life told me the opposite—and told me Jesus agreed with them.

But it still always felt like sin.

“Mercy?” Ambrose leans closer, tilting his head a little. I part my lips on instinct, even though he doesn’t kiss me. “What do you say? Will you promise not to go back to the church?”

The wind gusts, low and howling, and I think it blows me into him. At least, that’s what it feels like, as I fling my arms around his shoulders and press my lips to his.

“Mercy,” he murmurs against my mouth, against my cheeks, kissing me and speaking to me at once. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll help you?—”

I kiss him again because I want him to stop talking. I want him to devour me like he did before. I want to spread my legs for him and invite him in.

I want to choose the devil over God.

“Mercy,” he growls, nipping at my neck with his teeth. “If you keep going, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from fucking you.”

His words shoot straight through me, and I stop, breathing in the dark scent of his skin. My body’s on fire, and I can feel his arousal digging into my thigh.

I want you to fuck me, I think, even though he’s a monster and a killer. But I can’t bring myself to say it. I want him to take me, to absolve myself of this sin.

So I keep going, mashing my lips to his in a hard, fumbling kiss. Ambrose makes a sound like an animal, like the Great Beast itself, and digs his hands into my waist. He hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his hips, our mouths never breaking. I thread my hands through his hair, pulling on it the way he pulled on mine, and his kiss turns into a bite, hard and sharp.

I jerk back with a gasp, and Ambrose grins at me. “Don’t pull my hair if you don’t want a little roughness.”

My clit throbs at the thought?—

And I pull his hair again.

Ambrose growls and drops to his knees, throwing me hardenough against the ground that my breath shudders. But not so hard that he hurts me.

“I warned you.” He shoves my dress up around my waist, shoves my thighs wide. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

A million possibilities flash through my head. But I settle on the one I mean the most.

“I forgive you.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

AMBROSE

For a moment, all I can do is stare down at Mercy, her body throbbing with heat in the graveyard grass. Her eyes gleam, still damp with tears, but she writhes her hips against me, slow and distracted, like she’s not even aware she’s doing it.

She forgives me.

“Say it again,” I order, because I’m still not sure I believe what I heard.

Mercy looks right at me.

“I forgive you,” she whispers again, her voice breathless.

It’s all I need to hear. I wrench her arms overhead, pinning her down so I can kiss her like I’m going to consume her. She moans against me, jerking her hips up, and I kiss down to bite at her neck. Her breasts spill out of the top of her dress, and I bury my nose between them, breathing in the confused melange of scents—her fear, her lust, her grief, her doubt, all of it. All those things that make her human.

“Don’t fucking move,” I growl, pulling myself up to kneeling.

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