Page 2 of Drag You Down (Bloody Desires #2)

The smell of blood, the sight of it, makes my body warm and my heart beat faster.

The taste of it on my lips draws a moan from me.

Wondering what this man might look like beneath his clothes makes my body react in other, equally shameful, ways.

It’s all sin.

He hums, and he gets to one knee in front of me. His dark slacks end up in the puddle of blood. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, little lamb. We all have urges. The question is how we contend with them.”

He’s so close to me that I can smell his cologne over the metallic scent of blood.

“I’m a good person,” I whisper. “I don’t… I’m not one of the…” I try to shake my head, but the man grips the back of my neck and forces me to stay still.

“What’s your name, little lamb?” the man asks.

I shouldn’t tell the Devil my name. There’s power in it, I’m sure. I’ll hear him calling for me, tempting me in my dreams.

But my mouth opens, and I say, “Levi.”

“Levi,” he repeats. He leans forward and kisses my forehead gently. He’s getting closer and closer, touching me more and more.

My heart hammers in my chest until I’m sure it’ll beat right out of it.

“Call me Gabriel.” The words are casual, but the implication is far from it.

Like the archangel.

“You can’t steal a name like that,” I say, and while I try for fierce denial, my voice is weak. My limbs are weak, too, and I can’t bring myself to pull back.

“Steal it?” He’s the one to draw away, only enough to look me in the eye again. He doesn’t stop touching me. This time, he brushes a few strands of my hair behind my ear. “Maybe I’m only borrowing it.” He chuckles. “At least I’m not claiming ‘Lucifer’ or ‘Azrael.’”

I recoil from him, those names enough to free me from his thrall.

“The Devil,” I repeat, and I stand up so quickly I almost slip in the pool of blood. “Begone! Find another soul to tempt. I’m stronger than you.”

But I can’t look him in the eye.

“Strong, yes,” he agrees, following my lead as he rises as well. “But untempered. You need somebody to guide you into beauty, to show you that your temptations are wondrous.”

My breath becomes ragged.

I have somebody to guide me already. Father Zachariah makes sure I’m on the correct path.

He teaches me how to resist temptation.

I bend down to pick up my groceries, but the Devil steps into the space directly behind me, my body brushing against his shins.

I freeze. “The Devil can only take those whose wills are weak, who have sin in their hearts, who dare to defy God,” I say. The words are limp, nowhere the fierce declaration they are in Father Zachariah’s sermons.

But there’s hope for me yet.

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

All I have to do is resist.

He grasps my wrist, gently but firmly, and urges me to my feet. I end up facing him, unable to take my eyes off of his beautiful face. “You still have blood on your mouth,” he murmurs. “It’s hardly the blood of Christ, little lamb.”

I unconsciously lick my lips, and I taste it again, familiar and terrible and so sinful.

I shake my head. “It was a mistake. It won’t happen again. I’m not like the people of this city. I’m not.”

I’m protesting too much, I know. The more I argue, the more he’ll know I’m lying .

“And what are the people of this city like?” A smile quirks onto his lips. “Deplorable? Deranged? Do they have hate in their hearts?”

“They’ve lost faith,” I say. “They bare their sinful hearts to the world; they defile their bodies and their souls for a simple moment of pleasure. They lie and cheat and steal, and they’ll drag everyone down to the depths of depravity with them.”

It’s the truth of the world, the reason Father Zachariah guards us and keeps us safe at home.

But I was the one sent out to sully my soul.

I understand that we need the supplemental groceries.

Our meager garden can only produce so much, and it isn’t as though we can have a cow or even sheep in the middle of the city.

On the days between deliveries, one of us must venture outside of the sanctity of our home.

Somehow, it’s almost always me who goes out.

The other men have proper work. The women need to care for the children.

My sister Eve rarely steps foot outside.

She calls me brave for doing this for us.

She also envies me, a sin she’s confessed on multiple occasions.

Maybe that’s why she isn’t allowed to go.

“Does having faith prevent you from entertaining those thoughts?” He’s smiling, but it isn’t a pretty smile. “From indulging in them? Or does it punish you for simply having them?”

“I don’t indulge!” I protest. I pick up my groceries and stand, and I’m conscious of the fact that I’m going to be late, that the eggs are probably cracked and the apples must be bruised. “I don’t have thoughts like that. I don’t.”

“Everyone does,” the Devil who would have me call him Gabriel says. “The measure of a man is not to be taken by his thoughts, but by what he does with those thoughts.” He gestures back to the body with his free hand. “‘Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity, and the rod of his fury will fail.’”

He’s quoting scripture at me. Is he implying the man sowed injustice?

I look at the dead man, whose blood must be getting cold and sticky by now.

Then my brow furrows.

“Why are you here?” I ask the Devil. “I was looking for a way around the traffic blockade. I didn’t hear your footsteps following me.” I stop, then realize something. “…You were already in the alley.”

“Investigating a commotion.” He shrugs. “I found something better.” Those dark eyes focus on me again. Eyes so dark, they could be the pits of Hell. “I found you.”

I tighten my hold on my bags and shake my head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. The man was still alive when I arrived, and those wounds are too fresh. The killer wouldn’t have been able to get far.”

“You were here before I was,” he remarks. “Should I be worried about you being the murderer?”

I bristle, but I’m suddenly aware of how isolated I am here, in a dark courtyard with the light of the setting sun getting dimmer and dimmer.

Soon, there will be nothing to stop the shadows from wrapping around my ankles.

He really is the Devil, to mock me, to terrify me.

“I’m leaving,” I say, straightening my back. “The Devil holds no power over me.”

Before I can turn, he yanks me hard, pulling me flush against his front as his hand goes to the small of my back. His lips find mine, tasting me, tasting the blood, and his tongue slides over the seam of my mouth.

I gasp, and he uses that slight parting of lips to worm his tongue inside.

I shudder and try to break the kiss, but his hold on me is firm, and all I can do is take it.

All I want to do is take it.

No, that’s not true. I want to do more than simply take it. I want to give in to it, too, to properly taste another man’s lips for the first time.

My cock throbs traitorously.

Why not now? I’ve already done this much.

What’s one more sin?

What’s one kiss?

I surrender to the Devil, even as I loathe myself for doing it.

By the time he lets go of me, I’m breathing hard, and my cock is tenting my pants. I don’t dare look down to see if he’s having a similar reaction. I don’t want to know. It’s enough to know my own sin is suffusing me, affecting me, tainting me.

“You should get home before dark, little lamb,” he murmurs. “But don’t worry. I’ll find you again.”

“You won’t,” I say, but I don’t believe it.

I turn away from him, rushing back out to the main street. The traffic commotion is long gone, and foot traffic has returned to normal. I see a few police officers directing people, and I consider telling them about what I saw.

They won’t believe me if I tell them the Devil killed a man.

They’d assume I’d done it. They’d drag me back to their police station and question me.

It’s getting dark, anyway, and I can’t handle the idea of being trapped where the light can’t reach me.

I hurry back home instead.

I’ll be in enough trouble for being late and ruining dinner.

As I enter the apartment complex, I run my tongue over my lips again, tasting both the Devil and the dead man’s blood.

This truly is the taste of sin.