Page 73 of Corrupt Shadows

I fall inside the room just as his fingers slide through my hair, then pull me backward and into the doorway. He lets go and pulls his hand back over the threshold.

I look around, my lips parting. It’s a chapel. A fucking chapel, even in the Shadow Realm. A smirk plays on my lips as I watch him in the doorway. I take slow strides backward, toward the confessional. I pull a cigarette from the packet and grab the lighter.

His green eyes pin me from across the room, and purple light from a dimly lit candle flickers over his angular features and chiseled jawline. I press my back against the box. The smooth mahogany cools my skin. He can’t come in, I realize.

I reach with my spare hand and graze my fingers atop the handle, disturbing a cobweb that snaps and floats to the ground.

Eventually I’ll have to leave and he’ll punish me, but the twitch in his eye and anger settled into his features brings me far too much pleasure. I inhale the first drag of smoke and hold it in my lungs. The panic in my bones eases, and I close my eyes for a second. Until now, he’s been in control. But he can’t come in here, and the idea of taunting from behind enemy lines titillates my every thought.

His uneven breaths set me on edge, and my eyes light up. He tilts his head, his fingers a chokehold on that belt. “Get out of there, now,” he commands, his darkening stare fixated on me.

I bite my lip, enjoying that his gaze is drawn to my mouth. “What’s the matter?” I ask, catching my breath. “Can’t the big, bad demon come in here?” I take in a second inhale of the cigarette and blow a cloud of smoke in his direction.

His jaw tenses, and I have to stop myself from grinning. My heart balloons with victory. I. Fucking. Won.

“Don’t fuck with me, Evie,” he warns, and I savor the way my name sounds on his lips. “Get the fuck out of there now, or I will make you.”

“Maybe I want to pray.”

His eyelids flicker.

“Even in here,” I say to get a rise out of him, “I can still reach God.”

His shadows fill the areas around him, as if they’re rippling out from him in a thick smoke, and my smile drops. “Do you truly think me so weak,” he spits, his tone thick with rage, and his shadows slide into the chapel.

My eyes widen and I jolt back, opening the door to the confessional box.

I barely slam it shut when his shadows reach the door. I pull against the handle, white-knuckling the doorknob. My fingers slide around the brass, but the door swings open anyway. The cigarette tumbles from my fingers, showering embers over the ground. I clamber to put it out with my foot while fighting to hold the door.

Fingers grasp my ankles and wrists, then splay me against the bench inside. My magic comes out, but his shadows smother it before I can react.

A shadow slides between my legs, licking up against my lace panties beneath my skirt. Pressure builds in the bottom of my stomach, and my fingers uncurl.

His voice pierces through me. “This is what you get for playing games, witch.” His shadow binds dissipate, and I look out of the confessional doorway at Lorcan. He steps inside and rolls his shoulders.

I shrink back against the wood paneling, as if it can somehow save me. He closes the distance between us, towering in the doorway of the confessional.

Before I can take in my next breath, his hand is around my throat, pressing against the arteries on the sides of my neck.

Lightheadedness takes over, and my mouth falls open. His breath hisses against my earlobe.

“I spent centuries in Hell.” His grip tightens. “I welcome the pain of being on holy ground,” he growls. “Do you still want your God, witch?”

I close my eyes in response, and he eases the pressure on my throat, allowing me a few gulps of precious oxygen. My brain fuzzes, and I try to squirm free. “I’ll take Him over you.”

My head slams against the back panel, and his large hand squeezes tighter. He’s above me, his greedy stare sliding over my figure. “Stop pretending you are good,” he growls, his lips forming a hard line. “You are darkness, little killer. Now let your shadows out to play before I fuck them out of you.”

My magic purrs with his, tingling as if it wants to be let out to play. I keep it inside. He already smothered my shadows once. Or maybe he didn’t, and my magic just didn’t want to stop him before.

He releases his grip and takes a step back. The black candles in the chapel flicker and a couple blow out, smoke spiraling above them. He forces me onto my stomach against the bench and slides the belt around my throat.

The cold buckle digs into my skin, but he buckles it, collaring me like a pet and holding onto the strap so he can choke me at any moment. When I try to push away from him, the leather tightens enough to where it’s uncomfortable. He forces me onto my knees and stands over me. I look at his tattooed abs, then up at him. He smirks, in control again, and I almost despise him for it.

“If you’re going to force me in here,” he says, his eyes a darker color than I’ve ever seen. “Then I will make you feel the same pain.”

My stomach lurches. “Fuck you.”

His dimple deepens. “Strip,” he commands, holding the strap of the belt as if I’m a fucking dog. “Now.”

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