Page 5 of Wicked Believer
“Yes,” I admit, my voice turning cold. “Yes, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
She inhales another slow, pained breath, though we both know it’s only confirmation of what she already believed.
She knows who I am,whatI am, explicitly, and somehow, she’s still chosen to love me.
It astonishes even me.
She opens her eyes, swiping away the errant tears and smearing a bit of her mascara as her gaze sparks with fury. “I didn’t ask you to do that. I wouldn’t have wanted that.”
I scoff. “Don’t lie to yourself.”
She looks away from me then, biting down on the inside of her cheek as a flicker of doubt passes over her features. “Did he ... did he suffer?”
“Not nearly long enough, if you ask me.”
She winces, then nods, like she takes some form of comfort in this, though the reason is beyond me. She could read any number of the coroner’s reports on file with my legal team, but I’ve spared her the details—shown her mercy—and we both know she’s not fully prepared for the true answer.
The one where her father’s continued torture falls to me.
For now, and the rest of eternity.
She straightens, brushing herself off. “How long do I have?” she asks, glancing around in clear recognition that this is yet another gift I have given her.
Bribery isn’t beyond me, even if the money I paid to bring her here will no doubt go to her father’s so-called ilk. The Righteous. Or so they call themselves.
Despite their increasing threats, they’re nothing more than a bloody thorn in my side. I will handle them. Personally. Given time.
“Take as long as you need, little dove.”
With my permission, she spends the next hour flitting about the quaint space, placing items in and out of a box that Dagon retrieved for me. Somewhere halfway through, I note that it’s all the photos she’s taken as I finally lower myself enough to sit upon the meager excuse of a sofa, waiting.
I could watch her until the ends of time and never tire of it.
By the time the box is nearly full, according to my Patek Philippe, a few hours have passed, but it feels no more than a blink. The price of immortality is steep. My fiancée has yet to learn that particular lesson.
Though she will. Shortly.
Suddenly, Charlotte clears her throat, and I glance up to find her standing barefoot at the top of the stairs, her black mourning dress replaced by a tight all-white gown that’s two sizes too small. Her delicious breasts strain against the sweetheart neckline.
I growl, my cock instantly thickening. “Whatever game you’re playing at, I like it.”
She blushes, smoothing her hands over her generous hips. “It’s my purity gown. I just ... wanted to see if it still fit.”
“Purity gown?” I lift a brow as my gaze rakes over her.
There is nothing pure about the thoughts I’m thinking.
From the coy grin on her lips, that was exactly her intention.
“It’s this sort of father-daughter dance, where you pledge to your dad that you’ll stay a virgin until marriage.” She shrugs.
“How incestuous.” A devious grin twists my lips. “Well, we both know how that turned out, don’t we?”
I move toward her, prowling across the open living room to where she meets me at the foot of the stairs. I capture a lock of her hair in my fist so quickly her eyes widen. I twist the smooth strands around my fingers, gripping them in my palm, and roughly use it to tug her toward me. “Are you feeling particularly pure right now?”
“With you?” She bites her lower lip, shaking her head. “Never.”
She barely manages to get the word out before I have her pinned against the banister beneath me. My mouth is on hers in an instant as I bite and lick my way past her lips, forcing her open for me. She moans sweetly, wrapping her arms around my back so that her nails scrape into me. She tastes like Heaven. Like milk and honey, and the warmth of the sun on my face for the first time in months, though I don’t remotely know how that’s possible.
