Page 13 of Penance
Draco
T he darkness is heavy.
It’s weighing down on me.
Is that… guilt?
Something else?
Mercy lies draped across my lap, her chestnut hair spilling over my thighs and gathering like a dark pool on the couch cushion beside me. Her breaths are slow and steady—calm.
She doesn’t twitch.
Her eyes are still behind her fluttering eyelids.
There are no nightmares, even if she’s in the presence of a monster.
When was the last time she slept without her pills?
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I watch her. Reaching out, I slide two tattooed fingers under her jaw and follow it back to her ear, tucking a stray strand of hair behind it.
She doesn’t move.
Her breathing doesn’t even change.
I can’t remember the last time I watched her sleep so soundly. And I have been watching her sleep for such a long time.
She’s so fucking perfect. It only makes me angry.
My gaze traces the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips. The soft sound of her breathing is addicting, intoxicating.
It’s like blood in the water, and I’m a Great White.
I could wrap my fingers around her throat right here and now.
I could strangle the life out of her before she even woke up.
No.
No, not yet.
She’s mine, and she’s growing our baby inside of her.
I shift slightly, the wood deep in the couch creaking under my weight as I slide to the side. Mercy stirs, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but somehow she stays asleep.
I freeze, waiting, but she nuzzles against my leg with a soft moan, and it’s only a few seconds before her breathing is deep and even. Satisfied, I begin to move again, a slow, careful dance as I ease her off my lap.
It takes longer than it should have, but before long I stand up off the couch, leaving Mercy behind. Turning, I kneel in front of her, staring at her innocent face. My fingers trace down the smooth skin of her arm, and I shiver at the feeling.
She’s so different from me, than this thing I’ve become.
She’s like porcelain, fragile and pure.
I’m like concrete, rough and scarred.
And when porcelain meets concrete, it shatters.
There’s no other way this can end.
She’s everything good in the world, and I’m the darkness lurking at the edges.
What will our child be?
A mix of us both?
If I could choose, I would want it to be like her—soft, kind.
The thought makes me pause, and I shake it away.
I can’t think about that right now.
I can’t let my thoughts go soft just because she came to me.
My eyes never leave her face as I prepare to lift her. I study the slight flutter of her eyelashes, the way her eyebrows crease in towards one another just a little bit.
It’s only been a few hours, but I already want to touch her again.
She’s so fucking beautiful.
So mine.
No, not yet.
I have to keep my dick in my pants, for now, anyway.
“Soon,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Soon, you’ll beg for me, Mercy.”
Her eyelashes flutter again, as if she hears me, as if she understands. But she doesn’t wake up.
Trusting. Innocent. Mine.
I just stare at her, smiling.
This is what power feels like. Not the showboating, entitled bullshit we see from wealthy men in suits, or uneducated, self absorbed politicians. It’s this—the ability to hold another’s life in your hands, to shape their reality, to mold their mind like unsculpted clay, to make them yours.
I will be her God now, and I will make her worship me like I deserve.
My hands slide beneath her, one cradling her shoulders, the other supporting her knees.
She’s tiny, waifish, and I lift her easily. Her head rolls gently against my chest, her breath warm and steady against my neck.
I’m holding my entire world in my hands—my child, and the girl who will give it to me.
It almost makes me feel… something.
I can’t put my finger on what it is, though.
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.
“Draco?” Her voice is a whisper in the darkness, but it hit’s me like a knife to the chest. “Don’t leave me alone. Please.”
Damn her.
Goddamn her.
“Mercy.” Her name feels strange to my tongue. “I was going to let you sleep. I’ll take the couch.”
She takes a shaky breath, shaking her head.
“Please. Please stay. I can’t be alone right now.” Her voice breaks, and I hear a soft hiccup that she tries to suppress. “I’m scared, Draco.”
“I’m not leaving,” I tell her. “I’ll be right out in the living room. I’ll still—”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head.
“Please stay.”
I stand there, torn between the cold, calculating part of me that demands I walk away and the unfamiliar warmth that’s spreading through me at her touch.
What the fuck?
What the fuck do I do?
This isn’t part of the plan.
“Please?” she says again.
My hands clench, the tattoos etched into my skin stretching taut.
I don’t belong here, in this room, with this… innocence.
“Okay.”
I’m giving in to her.
Why am I giving in?
My knees touch the edge of the mattress, and I slowly lower myself onto it, the frame creaking softly under my weight. I crawl in behind her, close enough to be present, but far enough away that I can’t feel her warmth.
It doesn’t last long.
“Thank you,” she says, and then she’s moving, sliding along the mattress and pressing herself against me until her back molds against my side.
I don’t pull away, don’t retreat. I stay, so that she’s not alone.
What are you doing, Draco? The voice in my head is a low hiss.
I should be on the couch, planning my next move, not laying here, drawn into her like a moth to a flame. Yet, here I am, letting her cuddle up against me, using me for my warmth and my protection.
What the fuck is happening?