Page 36 of Where the Dark Knelt (Worshipped by Darkness #1)

Chapter Twenty

Eveline

The morning after prayer, Eata sent me to the garden to pick fruit.

Today we were collecting boxes of peaches and strawberries to sell in the city.

I hated selling things… even if it was for our daily needs with the sisters.

We didn’t use much money, true, but there were things we couldn’t produce ourselves – wax for candles, toothpaste, toilet paper, pads or simple necessities like soap. Someone had to earn them.

I gritted my teeth, burying the bitterness, and forced a smile for my sister as we finished packing. When Eata called for an official taxi, we loaded the crates together in silence, then rode down the dusty road into the city.

They dropped me off in the market square, in the special area reserved for non-profit organisations – ancient monasteries like ours, or little orphanage charities with their handmade crafts.

I watched as Eata walked away into the crowds to finish her errands, leaving me alone behind the stall.

My hands automatically started unpacking boxes, arranging each peach and strawberry with obsessive care.

Fruit to fruit. Perfect side up. Perfect lines.

Perfect rows. Perfectionism took over my mind like a fever, making my thoughts blur with the intensity of focusing on something I could control.

Around me, the morning market bustled with its usual rhythms. Farmers selling their own harvest, street vendors calling out special prices, children laughing as they helped their parents.

Everyone was friendly enough, though no one paid extra attention to a lone nun arranging fruit with trembling fingers.

I bent over the crates, and suddenly a memory hit me so hard it stole my breath.

Winter. Snowfall on my burning red cheeks.

Steam rising from my mouth as I shouted about discounted apples or winter pears.

My eyelashes crusted with frost, my hands numb inside thin gloves.

Indifferent passers-by hurrying to their destinations, eyes sliding past us like we were ghosts.

Mother shivering beside me, arranging old clothes for sale, trying to hide her embarrassment behind quiet dignity.

Sometimes she left me to manage the stand alone while she ran errands.

I would shout louder then, desperate to draw attention, desperate to be useful… to help her survive the day.

We weren’t really middle class back then.

I know that now. We were right on the edge of poverty, teetering between dignity and desperation with every sale.

And after each cold day in the market, there was still only just enough money for food…

and the next day, it all began again. The endless winter.

The endless hunger. The endless pretending that everything was okay.

A shiver ran down my spine at the memory, even though the air today was warm with summer sweetness. I swallowed hard and forced myself to focus on the peaches in front of me, but my chest felt empty and echoing. What are my parents doing now? I wondered. It’s been a decade…

Maybe they’d completely given up on me. Maybe they’d stopped thinking about me the day I left. But even now, at almost thirty one, a tiny part of me still craved their approval, or even just a word – are you alive, are you happy, do you regret leaving?

And my birthday was soon.

The thought made something inside me clench painfully, like a fist closing around my heart. I snorted bitterly to myself, wiping tears before they could fall, when suddenly the sharp laughter of teenage boys cut through the noise of the market.

I looked up. Five of them stood in a loose group by the opposite stall, staring at me openly.

They were about seventeen, with shaved heads and black baggy clothes hanging from their skinny frames.

Their eyes glittered with some emotion I couldn’t read – contempt, amusement, or just idle curiosity.

But whatever it was, it made my skin crawl with unease.

Such teens still existed, even after so many years…

those who wanted to humiliate others. You could smell them from a kilometre away – that sour stench of arrogance mixed with insecurity.

I wanted to run away. I never liked children, but teenagers?

Teenagers terrified me. They were creatures without an inner compass, half-grown but already rotten in the soul, driven by impulses they didn’t even understand. Completely crazy. Dangerous.

“God, save me… keep me from these guys…” I whispered under my breath, clutching the hem of my dress as I closed my eyes, beginning to recite a prayer. They’ll leave, I told myself. They’ll lose interest if I ignore them.

“What are you whispering about, nun? Praying because you’re dripping for us?” one of them sneered. My eyes snapped open in disgust. His words slithered under my skin like maggots.

“What a terrible thing you’re saying, boy…” I hissed through clenched teeth as he reached out to touch my chest. My hand moved on instinct, slapping his away so hard his wrist snapped back.

His grin only widened. “What, you won’t let me touch you? Do I have to pay? You serve God, right? He’s a man, so we’re gods too. Serve us, nun. Serve the gentlemen.”

The others cackled, egging him on, as he reached for his fly, unbuttoning it with disgusting slowness.

My throat closed in horror as I realised what he planned to do, here in broad daylight.

The vendors around us went silent, eyes flicking away.

No one moved to intervene. They just continued arranging their stalls and counting their coins, as if violence and humiliation were too common to interrupt their routines.

I took a trembling step back from the counter, scanning for an escape.

Run, my mind whispered. Five against one.

Even if they’re skinny teenagers, they’ll overpower you.

I swallowed hard, my knees locking in fear as his pants fell to his ankles, leaving him in stained boxers, his hands sliding obscenely over his crotch.

My stomach heaved in nausea. I shut my eyes, praying so hard my lips went numb. God… forgive me… I hate them. I hate people. I hate humanity for what it becomes when no one watches them.

I flinched at the sound of crates crashing, fruit splattering on stone. But the noise wasn’t directed at me. Confused, I peeked through tear-blurred lashes.

Chaos. Complete chaos.

All five boys were sprawled across the dusty market stones, screaming in pain. Their faces were bloodied and swollen, unrecognisable under dark bruises blooming like violets beneath their skin. Strawberries and peaches lay crushed around them, their sweetness turning bitter with the smell of iron.

Standing over them was a tall figure in black. His helmet gleamed under the sun, and something about his posture – relaxed, amused, but radiating bone-chilling violence – made recognition dawn in my gut before my mind caught up.

He turned his head slightly toward me, and though I couldn’t see his face behind the dark visor, a tremor of memory shivered down my spine.

I knew him painfully well.

Desmond came to save me from these teens.

I burst into tears. My hands were shaking so violently that I thought I might collapse. I just stood there like an idiot, sobbing, tears rolling down my cheeks as I stared at the boys lying on the ground, unmoving, their blood smearing the stone beneath their heads.

“What have you done, Desmond… God forgive his sinful soul…” I whispered, my voice breaking into hiccupped sobs.

He cocked his head to the side, almost curiously, the sleek black helmet covering his face completely. But… on top of it… were cat ears.

Cat ears.

For a second, through my tears, confusion sparked in my chest. Was he completely out of his mind? Or was it just some twisted sense of humour? But it was definitely him. I would recognise his energy anywhere… even if yesterday he was a stranger who left me breathless in a different way.

Had he been following me? Did he come because he heard my screams… or my prayers? Did God send him to save me? The thought made my stomach twist painfully.

I swallowed down a sob and took a tiny step back, wanting to run, to flee from the blood, the market, from him. But he rounded the counter before I could move, stepping over scattered peaches without crushing a single one, and pulled me into his arms.

Yes… it was him. The warmth of his body pressed against mine.

The scent of his skin wrapped around me like a protective cocoon, familiar despite only knowing it for a single night.

And it was so strange, so impossibly strange, that now…

I felt safe in his arms. Even though yesterday he terrified me…

and satisfied me… even though I didn’t know him at all.

My tears soaked into his black t-shirt as I sobbed against his chest, my shoulders trembling with each broken breath. He stroked my back in slow, calming motions.

“Come on, babe,” he murmured, his voice muffled by the helmet. “I’ll take you to the monastery.”

I licked my dry, salty lips, tasting my tears, and nodded, letting him guide me.

My mind drifted back to yesterday, to the beach, to his kisses, his touch, his tongue inside me…

I felt heat crawl under my skin at the memory.

Shame prickled through me. I hadn’t expected him to reappear.

I thought it was just one night… a single fleeting moment to bury in my prayers and pretend it never happened.

I wanted to run away from him. But I wanted more, too. God… why did I want more? I wanted to resist. I should resist. But it was as if my will dissolved whenever he was near, this perfect blond creature with emerald eyes that I couldn’t even see now, but felt gazing straight into my soul.