Page 17 of Unholy Vows
Malachai
T he church swallowed her whole.
Standing among the decrepit ruins of the abandoned place of worship, Layla stood out like a goddess of old. A siren summoning me nearer, enticing me in just so she could devour me.
And fuck if that thought didn’t have my cock hardening against my jeans.
Hidden in the rafters and cloaked in shadows, I watched as she drifted closer to the confessional. Her long brown hair swayed behind her as she pulled her coat tight around her shoulders.
Almost as if it could protect her.
From me.
I almost chuckled at the thought.
Nothing could ever keep Layla from me.
Layla stepped into the nave, her head swiveling as she scanned her surroundings.
Smart girl.
She knew not to trust the quiet.
But even the sharpest instincts couldn’t shield her from herself.
She was too curious.
Too tempted.
Too… mine.
Her boots scuffed against the floor as she approached the confessional. She hesitated for the briefest moment, and my tongue darted out, wetting my lips in anticipation.
I shifted silently on the beam, barely breathing. If she had looked up, she might have caught a whisper of movement.
But she didn’t.
Her attention was firmly locked on the booth.
The second her hand reached out and gripped the handle, something sharp and vicious flared inside me.
The feeling was euphoric… and lethal.
This was the moment Layla would choose.
Either it would all become too much for her, or she would allow herself to sink into my depravity, embracing her own darkness and setting it free.
Layla yanked the door open. Harder than necessary. Dust exploded around her, making her cough, but she quickly recovered.
Then she saw them.
All of them.
The hundreds of intimate moments I had stolen for myself.
I couldn’t see her face with her back to me, but the tension tightening her shoulders told me what she was looking at.
I could almost feel the shudder ripple through her as realization dawned.
I never left Little Sinner.
Layla stumbled backward, catching herself on the wooden frame of the confessional.
But she didn’t run.
No.
My girl was vibrating as she remained rooted to the ground. And it wasn’t from fear. It was from fascination, excitement, even.
The camera shuttered silently inside my head. Another perfect image of her, caught in that second of pure, exquisite surrender to the game.
Then she did something that almost shattered my carefully constructed plans.
With trembling fingers, she slid her panties down her legs, bunched up the delicate scrap of fabric, and pinned them to the wall.
My cock throbbed against my jeans. The urge to punish her for that act of defiance nearly overwhelmed me.
I bit my bottom lip to stifle my groan.
All in good time.
Besides, there was something to be said for letting the prey believe they had teeth.
Layla turned away without looking back. I watched her leave, the scent of her fear and desire lingering long after the echo of her footsteps faded.
Swinging down from the rafters, I landed silently on the cracked concrete floor. The sight of the confessional sent a pulsing wave of frenzy through me, and I closed the distance in three strides.
Inside, I freed the tiny red thong from the pin and rolled the delicate lace between my fingers before bringing it to my nose and inhaling deeply.
Her delicious scent filled my nostrils, and I savored the warm feel of the fabric against my face, still heated from her skin. A low growl rumbled from my chest.
Not from anger or desire.
From satisfaction.
Now she understood.
She belonged to me, and there was no escaping the slow, sweet violence of my obsession.
On my way home from the church, my mind drifted to the other task still waiting tonight.
BeastMode458 .
I’d allowed him to go unchecked for far too long, but now that Layla had finally accepted her darkness, I wouldn’t let anyone else think they could take her from me.
The rectory came into view as I rounded the corner. I jogged to the front door, eager to escape the rain that had started falling once more.
Inside my room, I tossed Layla’s panties on my bed, letting them sit there like a talisman, while I turned my attention to the blinking laptop on my desk.
I had already pulled up The Wild Hunt, and I navigated to The Prowler’s Circle, clicking through the various profiles until I found the one I was looking for.
I leaned back in my chair and cracked my knuckles one by one, releasing some of the tension coiling tight in my gut.
I knew I should let it go. I’d deleted his post, and I’d been satisfied with his little tantrum when he figured out I’d bested him.
But the thought of some mouth-breathing stranger thinking he had a chance with my Little Sinner clawed at me like rusted hooks.
I needed to know who he was.
I needed to end him.
My fingers danced over my keyboard as I typed furiously, pulling up everything I could on the account: IP address, email records, and aliases.
Normally, this type of hunt was easy. Almost offensively so. Most people were lazy and careless, leaving tiny breadcrumbs across the internet for anyone with basic IT knowledge to find.
But not this bastard. No, he was slippery.
His email was registered to an anonymous holding company, and every IP address was rerouted through international VPNs. Shell companies layered over shell companies until all I was left with was a hollow trail and my own frustration.
I slammed my palms on the desk, the sharp sting causing a satisfying burn.
Who the fuck was this guy? If he was smart enough to set all this up, why couldn’t he figure out who undercut him?
Something wasn’t adding up.
I stared at the screen; the cursor blinking at me as if it were mocking me.
“And here I thought I was the predator.”
The laugh that tore from my throat was sharp, bitter, and slightly deranged. I was a hair’s breadth away from picking up my computer and hurling it across the room.
Instead, I closed the laptop. There were better ways to channel my frustration. Besides, nothing worth doing was ever easy, and I would savor the thrill of the hunt that this fucker presented me.
This wasn’t over.
Not even close.