Page 18

18

TILDA

I ’m not really one for devious plots or seduction. In fact, I can’t even remember the last time I tried to seduce anyone—or even wanted to. I think it was after the Convergence, tumbling into bed with another young soldier, both of us desperate to feel something besides dread. It was hollow, fleeting…hell, I can’t even remember his name.

This isn’t like that.

The night air is thick with humidity, lingering after a light rain earlier in the day. The stars above blaze against the deep, wild blue of space, sharp and vivid without the pollution of the old world, or the Celestial Curtain of the new. I’d forgotten what the natural night sky looked like, how it shimmered with unrestrained starlight.

Maybe it’s just the booze talking, but I don’t know if I can give this up. Maybe there’s a place here for Enid and me. I could bring her here, start fresh…

…try to make it work with him.

The man standing in front of me.

“Hey, Father,” I purr, extending my hand. “Care to dance?”

Reyes ducks his head and laughs, raking a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. His dark eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks back at me, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know if dancing is a good idea, Tilda.”

“Why not?” I ask, taking a step closer.

“Well,” he says, arching a brow, “if you trying to kill me wasn’t a good enough reason…”

I snort. “If I remember correctly, you also claimed me against my will. So, I think we’re even.”

His laughter rumbles low in his chest, and I feel it ripple through me. “Fair enough,” he concedes.

“Come on—it’s a wedding,” I say, holding out my hand. “You can’t give me one dance?”

The notes of Mateo’s guitar float through the night, warm and inviting. That pesky heat flares over my skin again, pooling at the site of Reyes’ bite. I thought it was only supposed to happen during the full moon, but apparently, my body missed that memo.

He studies me for a moment before exhaling, his large hand closing around mine. My pulse jumps as sensation sparks from the contact, crawling up my arm like a lick of flame.

“Fine,” he says. “Just this once.”

Reyes pulls me into his arms and leads me onto the grass, where other couples are already swaying to the music. Their faces blur in my periphery—I can only focus on him. His hand settles on the small of my back, warm and firm, while his other hand holds mine. He leads with a confidence that takes me off guard, his movements smooth and sure. His fingers graze just above the curve of my ass, bold and unapologetic.

“I didn’t know priests were allowed to dance,” I murmur, biting my lip to hide a smirk.

“Common misconception,” he chuckles, his voice a low rumble. “I blame Footloose .”

I snort. “Isn’t that movie, like…a hundred years old?”

“You’ve seen it, though,” he points out, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Yeah,” I admit. “Obviously.”

“Exactly,” he says. “And for the record, it’s the Baptists that don’t dance in Footloose —not Catholics. You know I had a whole life before seminary, right?”

“Can’t say I know much about you at all,” I say.

“Then I guess I’ll have to fix that.” He smiles, spinning me out to arm’s length before drawing me back into his embrace. The hem of my green dress flutters like water between us, and I can feel eyes on us—watching, judging.

A sworn enemy, wrapped in the arms of their Alpha Prime. But Reyes doesn’t seem to care. He’s fully focused on me, his gaze steady and unflinching.

The music shifts into a slower rhythm, and Reyes pulls me closer. His hand presses against my back, his warmth seeping into me. A bonfire crackles nearby, the golden light playing across his bronze skin. For a moment, the rest of the world fades. The weight of the night sky above us, the music in the air, the solid strength of his arms—it’s overwhelming. But in the quiet that slips into my mind, another thought takes shape.

Enid.

If I stay here too long, who will keep her safe? Who will make sure she has the insulin she needs, or tuck her in when the nights get too cold? Reyes may feel like a sanctuary for me, but Enid needs me more than I need him.

“Where’d you go?” he murmurs, his lips close to my ear.

I shudder at the sensation, his voice, his breath bringing me back to the present. “I was thinking about my sister,” I admit. “She needs me.”

“And that’s why I’m sending you home,” he says gently. “But tonight, just focus on this. On us.”

Us. The word hangs in the air between us, heavy with meaning. I don’t know what’s changed between us in the past few days, but something has. Maybe we’ve both stopped fighting it. Maybe we’re just tired of pretending.

“You look beautiful,” he says after a pause, his gaze dipping briefly to my dress. “Peaches, I presume?”

“Salvage,” I reply. “She spruced it up, tailored it to fit. It covers that scar on my thigh.”

I wince, realizing what I’ve said.

“Sorry—I don’t know why I even brought that up.”

“It’s okay,” Reyes says, his voice steady, grounding. “You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m here to listen if you want to.”

His words are an invitation, not a demand. The music shifts again, a fiddle joining Mateo’s guitar, the melody threading through the night air. It’s hauntingly beautiful, a song that feels like it belongs to the stars and the shadows, and Reyes adjusts our movements to match its rhythm. We sway slowly now, his hand firm on my back, guiding me farther from the crowd.

The bonfire’s glow softens as we step into the deeper dark at the edges of the field. The only sounds are the music and the faint murmur of the pack behind us, distant and safe. It’s just us here.

“It’s from just after the Convergence,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the melody. “Heavenly Host forces tried to take Enid for a blessing.”

I pause, the memory clawing at me, sharp and vivid. The shouting. The gunfire. The way my hands shook as I held my weapon, aiming at something I thought was divine.

My fingers tremble now, and Reyes doesn’t miss it. His hand moves slightly on my back, a silent reassurance.

“I fought them off,” I continue, my words heavy with the weight of that night. “It’s how we ended up in Homestead. I left her there where I thought it was safe, while I went off to fight the good fight…or what I thought was the good fight.”

Reyes’ brow furrows, his dark eyes searching my face. His grip on my back tightens slightly, steadying me, pulling me back from the brink of that memory. “But I thought you supported the Heavenly Host,” he says, his voice low, cautious.

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound too loud in the stillness. “I’ve always just been trying to protect her,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. My voice cracks, betraying the rawness I usually keep buried. “God…I’m such a hypocrite.”

He shakes his head, his expression softening. “You’re not a hypocrite. In dire circumstances, we do what we must to survive.”

His words settle over me, healing something I didn’t even know was broken. I’ve spent so long carrying this weight—this guilt—alone that hearing someone else offer absolution feels foreign. My voice comes out brittle as I try to brush him off. “Are you going to tell me to say ten Hail Mary’s or something?”

“If you think that would help.”

A soft, unsteady laugh escapes me, more reflex than choice. It loosens something in my chest, just a little. “I don’t believe in all that.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “Even if I’m the only one listening…it might do the trick.”

I take a deep, shuddering breath, letting the weight of the moment press against me. I lean into him, indulging in the heat of his body, the hard muscle of his chest. “I’m not sure if I can do this,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His hand presses just a little more firmly against my back, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “That’s okay,” he says. “Just dance with me.”

The violin soars through the night, its melody weaving through the crowd. Above us, the stars burn impossibly bright, but I can’t bring myself to look at them. All I can see is him.

Reyes Garza.

The man who marked me. The man who kissed me. The man who somehow feels like both salvation and danger, a strange, inexplicable answer to a question I didn’t even know I was asking.

My voice drops to a whisper, trembling as the words leave my lips. “Will you hear my confession, Father?”

Reyes exhales softly, meeting my eyes. “Of course,” he murmurs, his tone as steady as the hands that hold me. “Let’s go somewhere private. I’ll listen as long as you need me to.”

The night seems to draw closer, the stars above burning brighter. And as he takes my hand, leading me away from the flickering bonfire and the murmurs of the pack, I realize fate has its hands in this.

Whatever happens next…it’s going to change everything.

We move out of the crowd, Reyes leading the way. At first, I really think this is just an excuse to have sex–but to my surprise, Reyes takes me back toward the chapel, empty now. The music is muffled here, the lively sounds of the party fading into the distance. Reyes leads me to the front of the chapel, where a curtain of flowers separates the pews from a small space behind the makeshift pulpit.

It’s like the whole world is holding its breath as I wonder where tonight is going to take us.

“I haven’t done this in years,” he says, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “So don’t expect miracles.”

There’s a teasing edge to his tone, but something about it feels…nervous. Vulnerable, maybe. I wonder if he’s drunk, but I think it’s just that red wine scent filling my lungs. He grabs a chair, pulling it up in front of the curtain with a dramatic flourish. “Have a seat, and I’ll hear your confession.”

I stare at him for a beat, the absurdity of it all catching up to me. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as I can be,” he says, disappearing behind the curtain. His hulking silhouette is faintly visible through the flowers, backlit by the soft glow of a camping lantern. “I told you I’d listen.”

The curtain sways gently between us, the faint scent of wildflowers filling the space, overwhelmed by the scent of my mate. This isn’t what I expected when I asked him for a confession. I thought it was all some elaborate setup to get us alone, an excuse to give in to the tension building between us since the day we met. But now…

Now, I’m about to tell him the truth. The real, raw truth.

I sit down, my knees brushing the edge of the curtain. “So, what—there’s no script for this or something?”

“There is,” he says, his deep voice softening. “But I doubt you’ve been baptized, so we’re already playing fast and loose with tradition. Typically, I’d start with ‘In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.’”

“Yeah, no,” I mutter. “Not saying that.”

He chuckles again, the sound low and rough. “I figured. But I’m not giving orders tonight, so say whatever you need to say. I’m listening.”

That word— orders —lingers in the air between us. I know what it means. I know what I’d be compelled to do if he commanded it. For a second, I wish he would. It would make this easier. Clearer. Hell, I’d rather he just tie me up and force it out of me than sit here in the dark, peeling myself open one layer at a time.

I take a deep breath, my voice barely above a whisper. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The silence on the other side of the curtain stretches, heavy and expectant.

“This is my first confession,” I continue, my words faltering. “And I’ve…killed. Not a lot, but enough that I’m sure I’ve earned my spot in hell. I used to think it was righteous, you know? That I was doing the right thing. But lately…” I trail off, my chest tightening. “Lately, I’m not so sure.”

“I’m listening,” Reyes says, his voice low and steady.

I exhale shakily. “I think I’ve been on the wrong side since the Convergence. I thought people who were Blessed were just…complaining. I didn’t understand what you all went through, even though…I guess I knew enough to stop it from happening to Enid. And the rebels…” My voice cracks. “I thought you were wrong. I really thought I was the good guy.”

“That’s not a sin, Tilda,” he murmurs gently.

“But it was wrong,” I snap, my hands curling into fists in my lap. “It was a deadly difference of opinion. You know I came here to kill you, don’t you?”

The silence stretches again, this time weighted with something darker. My stomach churns. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, measured.

“I know,” he says. “The Heavenly Host put a bounty on my head a long time ago.”

“They told me they wouldn’t deliver Enid’s medicine unless I…” My throat tightens. “Unless I took care of you.”

His laugh is bitter, hollow. “‘Took care of me,’ huh?”

“Reyes, I didn’t mean?—”

“I forgive you,” he says, cutting me off.

The words hit me hard, knocking the air out of my lungs. Relief floods in first, but it’s quickly followed by anger. Resentment. Something raw and unnameable twists in my chest, and I glare at the curtain, at the faint shadow of him on the other side.

“I wasn’t asking for your forgiveness,” I spit out, my voice trembling with frustration.

His tone sharpens, dropping into a growl that sends a shiver down my spine. “Then how about God’s?”

I freeze, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. My hands tremble in my lap, my fingers digging into the fabric of my dress. “Please,” I whisper.

Reyes exhales slowly, the sound deep and deliberate. “Then kneel.”

This time it’s an order–one I can’t resist. My body moves before my mind catches up, and I drop to my knees in front of the chair, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. The curtain is all that separates us, but it might as well be nothing. The tension between us hums, alive and electric.

I hear him move, his footsteps soft against the grass as he steps around the curtain. His knees hit the ground in front of me, and his hands find mine. They’re warm, calloused, grounding me in the storm of my own emotions.

“You deserve forgiveness, Tilda,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly soft. “And as far as I’m concerned, you have it.”

A tear slips down my cheek, and I hate it. I hate that he’s seeing me like this—raw, exposed, vulnerable. But his hands tighten around mine, and I realize he’s not judging me. He’s not angry.

He’s just…here. Steady and unflinching.

Mine.