Page 48

My arms tighten around her, not enough to wake her, but enough to feel the beat of her heart against mine. It’s a strange feeling, and it raises something inside me that feels… off.

Foreign.

I move with her toward the bedroom, softly, careful not to jostle her.

The apartment is bathed in shadows, with only the moonlight filtering in through half-drawn blinds to guide me.

Her hair flows over my arm like a river. I can smell the faint scent of her shampoo, something sweet and innocent, like honeysuckle or jasmine. Something floral that reaches into my brain and strangles a part of me that I forgot even existed.

“Where is your Lord now, Mercy?” I whisper. “Who’s there to protect you while you sleep in the arms of a monster?”

She stirs slightly, her eyebrows knitting together as if processing my words in her dreams. But she doesn’t wake up. She nuzzles closer, her hand curling against my chest, trusting.

Too trusting.

I’m going to destroy her.

The bedroom door creaks open, revealing a stark, wide open space bathed in the cold glow of moonlight. The walls are bare, painted a dark grey that looks black in the darkness. There’s an etched metal forest scene hung on one wall, and some dark artwork sprinkled here and there.

To me, it’s home.

But Mercy? She would wake up in hell.

The air is colder in here than the rest of the apartment, the way I prefer to sleep.

It will work to my advantage tonight.

I step up to the bed, a plain, king-sized thing with black sheets and a duvet as dark as my intentions. There are no frills here, no comforts, just a place to teach her who she will become.

Carefully, I lower Mercy onto the mattress. Her body seems so small, so fragile against the darkness.

So easy to break.

I reach for the blanket folded at the foot of the bed. As I pull it over her, I’m deliberate, gentle, tucking it around her like the protector she needs. The darkness of the blanket contrasts sharply with her fair complexion, like a shadow claiming an angel.

It’s almost like a form of art.

Straightening, I stand by the bed, just watching her.

“You shouldn’t be here, Mercy,” I say. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near me.”

Why am I saying that?

Do I feel… bad?

Something has changed.

Something is changing still.

No. I can’t let her get to me.

Not after what she did.

I can’t be here right now.

I can’t let her fucking change me.

Just as I turn away, she reaches out, her fingers slipping around my wrist and pulling me back with enough strength to shock me. The touch sends a jolt through me, electric and unsettling. My eyes widen, surprise gripping me as I turn to face her. Mercy’s hazel eyes are open now, swimming with innocence as she stares up at me.