Page 2 of Unholy Vows

Layla

I needed an exorcism.

Whatever happened in that confessional could only be the result of demonic possession.

I had no idea what had come over me.

When Jess asked me to go to confession, I’m certain that’s not what she had in mind.

And who was that guy? Was he even a priest?

I wasn’t the most devout person, but even I knew that masturbating in the confessional to your parishioner’s misdeeds was problematic.

Running my hands through my hair, I let out a slow breath. The day had bled into night while I’d been otherwise occupied at church, and I quickened my stride as I moved down the sidewalk.

I needed a distraction.

I took out my phone and debated calling my best friend, Margot. She was probably on her third glass of wine by now, but she had an uncanny way of dissecting my life choices with humor… usually the biting kind.

On second thought...

I shoved my phone back into my coat pocket.

I turned down a narrow street lined with flickering streetlights and half-closed shops.

The flustered shop attendants attempted to give the few remaining patrons a gentle push out the door, but they didn’t seem to take the hint.

I caught the eye of one attendant and gave her a sympathetic smile.

She shrugged, a small grin pulling up her lips as if to say, “What can you do?”

As I walked, I tried to focus on my surroundings: the smell of rain in the air and the sound my boots made as they clicked against the pavement. Despite my efforts, my mind kept drifting back to the man behind the partition.

I hadn’t seen him clearly, just his profile, but his voice was enough. The way his smooth Irish accent danced over my skin and how his low, velvety tone had coaxed out my confession before I could stop myself.

“Confess to me.”

His words were mocking, but a dark edge ran beneath his tone. Some hidden meaning I wasn’t sure I wanted to look too closely at.

I shook my head as if to dislodge the memory. Was I seriously lusting after a priest?

A car honked, startling me out of my thoughts. I realized I’d wandered into the street without looking. The driver glared at me through the window as he sped past. I offered a half-hearted wave in apology and hurried to the other side.

I looked up, surveying my surroundings. I found myself in front of a bar. One of those unassuming ones that were dimly lit and easily overlooked. It was the kind of place where nobody asked questions. Anonymity was part of the appeal.

Exactly what I needed.

I pulled the door open and ducked inside. The bartender glanced up as I slid onto a vacant stool.

“What’ll it be?”

I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me. His eyes remained on the tumbler in his hand, his cloth scrubbing at a spot that refused to sparkle.

“Whiskey,” I said hesitantly.

He nodded and poured me a generous measure without a word.

I brought the glass to my lips and took a tentative sip. The liquid burned a path down my throat, but I relished the heat.

My gaze drifted to the small TV mounted in the corner.

There had been another disappearance.

A young woman’s image flashed on the screen. Her eyes were bright and full of life, and her smile radiated so much warmth you knew it was genuine.

She’d been happy at that moment.

I looked away, unable to stomach it.

A series of disappearances had occurred over the last few years.

All young women.

Some of the bodies had been found, butchered, and mutilated beyond recognition. But many more remained missing.

The media had dubbed the perpetrator The Boston Phantom . Despite the extensive police investigation, they had no leads. The killer was smart and skilled at hiding in the shadows.

“Rough night?” The voice came from my left, making me jump.

I turned and spotted a man sitting a few seats away.

“Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He grinned sheepishly, and I waved him off.

“It’s fine.”

“Church?”

A ghost of a smirk played on his lips, and I stiffened, my fingers tightening around the glass.

“What?”

“You have the look.”

“What look?”

“Like you’ve just been reminded of all the things you’d rather forget.”

His smirk grew wider, and for a second, I felt as if he could read my sins etched across my face.

“Do I know you?” he asked, his brows knitted in concentration. “You look familiar.”

His question took a moment to register, and when I hesitated, he shrugged and went back to his drink.

I thought that was it, but soon his gaze returned to me. He studied me as though he could uncover every secret I held if he just stared hard enough.

A sudden inhale drew my attention, and I turned to face him.

He looked like a man struck by an earth-shattering revelation.

After a charged silence, he asked, “Do you believe in redemption?”

I looked at him then, really looked. His features were sharp, but not unattractive.

His brown eyes were so dark that they appeared almost black.

His shaggy blonde hair appeared untouched by a comb, but that only made him more appealing.

He was big, too. With broad shoulders and a towering frame, he gave the impression that he belonged in the boxing ring.

“I guess it depends,” I finally said.

“On?”

“The motives of the person seeking redemption.”

He tilted his head, trying to figure out if I was serious. Then he grinned.

“Good answer.”

The bartender appeared then, interrupting our strange interaction.

“Another?” he asked, gesturing to my full glass.

I furrowed my brows in confusion, but politely declined.

The man was still looking at me curiously, and despite his non-threatening demeanor, his gaze made my skin crawl.

Downing the rest of my drink, I grabbed my things and headed for the door.

“Goodnight,” he called after me, and I gave a small wave in response.

I’d only gone a few blocks when I felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

It was the same feeling I’d had walking home that night…

Nope. I wasn’t going there.

I glanced over my shoulder, but the streets were empty. That didn’t ease my mind, though. It only made the feeling intensify.

The night turned oppressive as my pulse quickened. The sound of my boots scraping against the pavement was too loud now, and the flickering streetlights cast ominous shadows against the brick walls.

I wasn’t alone. I could feel it.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

As my building came into sight up ahead, I couldn’t keep myself from breaking into a half-jog. The wrought-iron gate stood ajar, and I abandoned all restraint as I bolted for it. I almost tripped on the loose stones at the base of the stairs, but I didn’t stop.

“Keys. Where are my keys?” I hissed as I fumbled through my bag.

I needed to calm down, but that was difficult when the darkness behind me seemed alive.

My breaths came in short, uneven gasps, and I practically sobbed when my fingers wrapped around the plastic keyring.

The keys.

They tumbled from my grasp, my hands shaking violently, and I cursed. I dropped to my knees and scooped them up before I shoved the key into the lock with enough force, I was surprised it didn’t snap.

The door swung inward, and I stumbled in, slamming it shut behind me. I pressed my back against the wood, and my chest rose and fell with heaving pants. When my phone vibrated in my pocket, I felt as though my soul had exited my body.

“Fuck, Layla,” I hissed. “You made it. You’re inside.”

I pulled out my phone and glanced down at the screen. The notification was from The Wild Hunt.

SavageHunter01: Are you ready to play Curious Mouse?