Page 49 of Where the Dark Knelt (Worshipped by Darkness #1)

“There are drinks and food here if you’re hungry, miss,” he said gruffly, then added, almost awkwardly, “Desmond will be here soon. Thank you for your patience and, uh… God bless you?”

Before I could reply, he closed the door behind him, and the room fell silent.

I walked slowly towards the window. The view spread out before me in breathtaking vastness — the racetrack winding its way around green fields and sunlit asphalt lanes marked with bright paint.

Down below, it looked like a million people had gathered, flags of different countries rippling through the sea of spectators.

It really was an international race.

A wave of guilt washed over me. I had doubted him, hadn’t I? I had accused him of making his money through questionable means. But seeing all of this… the scale, the professionalism, the crowds cheering in anticipation…

Having spent my entire life working miserable jobs for soul-crushing corporations, it had always seemed impossible to me that money could be earned by doing something you truly loved. For me, money was about survival, not passion. Seeing him live so differently felt… shameful.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear the door open behind me.

When I turned, Desmond was already inside, clad in a sleek black leather racing uniform with protective plating. The number 666 was emblazoned across his chest, along with the word BLADE beside his name. I guessed it was the name of his motorcycle.

“Hello… ashpetal,” he said, his deep voice rumbling softly through the quiet room. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He nodded towards the corner, where a massive bouquet of gray-red flowers sat in a black vase. They looked like roses scorched by fire, their petals glowing faintly from within with a pulsing ember-like light. Or perhaps I was hallucinating…

“They’re for you,” he said gently. “You can take them with you later. Or I can have them delivered to the monastery.”

“This is… unnecessary,” I murmured, feeling my cheeks burn with confusion and vulnerability.

He came closer and set his helmet down on one of the seats behind us, meant for observing the race. Then he wrapped his arms around me, his eyes scanning my face with quiet anxiety, reading my trembling lips and tear-stained eyes immediately.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice softer now.

I bit down on the inside of my lip, trying to ground myself.

“I got a letter… it was supposed to reach me ten years ago, but it got lost. And… I think my father is dead, Desmond. I tried to call him just now, but the number is blocked. Maybe he gave up his phone and went deeper into service of God in his church, or maybe he’s already gone.

I… I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Do you know anyone else you could call to find out?”

I shook my head, feeling tears sting my eyes again. “No… if I did, I would have called them already.”

He exhaled heavily and pulled me closer, removing my hood and stroking my braids tenderly. The gesture broke the dam inside me, and tears spilled silently down my cheeks as I pressed my lips into a thin line, trying not to sob.

“I’ll find out what happened to your father,” he said firmly, his chest vibrating with determination against my body. “But I’ll need some time, okay?”

“Okay…” I whispered, my voice thin and defeated. I didn’t have the energy to argue. I simply buried my face against his leather jacket, breathing in the rich, heady scent of leather mixed with his own warm musk.

“I have to go to the race now, ashpetal,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my temple. “I’ll win it for you. Watch me.”

He kissed me softly at first, then deepened the kiss with sudden, consuming hunger. His hands slid down to my waist, gripping me firmly as he pressed me back against the glass window overlooking the racetrack. His powerful body surrounded mine, and a needy whimper escaped me before I could stop it.

God… how I wanted him.

I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. But the temptation was overwhelming, threatening to pull me into his dark, forbidden gravity.

“You’re so sweet, little saint…” he whispered into my mouth, his forked tongue flicking against mine.

I felt the metallic brush of a piercing, new, judging by the faint healing scent of it, and I gasped sharply.

Heat pooled low in my belly, and my clit throbbed insistently at the thought of that piercing against my skin.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away, leaving me trembling and cold in his absence.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he pressed his finger gently against my lips, silencing me with a soft, fleeting kiss.

He grabbed his helmet from the seat, gave me one last searing look, and left the lounge without a word.

I collapsed into the nearest chair, covering my burning face with my hands, shame and desire twisting in my chest until I felt dizzy with it.

The race started, and I noticed he was performing under number 6, which struck me as odd.

My old obsession with numbers decided to reappear today.

I had always fixated on numbers, giving them magical meanings, something that irritated people around me, but for me, it made life easier, brighter, more harmonious… even a little more mysterious.

But the three sixes on his jacket… that was too much. Maybe it was just a joke on his part, or his lucky number, but no one ever denied that it was the number of the devil.

All the racers stood lined up, and as soon as the third red light came on, everyone accelerated, taking off from the starting point at such insane speed that it was hard to even watch them.

Adrenaline jumped in my blood, and I couldn’t take my eyes off my blond.

He rode at the front from the very beginning, his body tightly pressed against the black motorcycle as he revved it to the maximum.

As it turned out, the race was utterly exhausting.

There were several hundred laps – no less – and watching it felt like a test of my own endurance.

Every sharp turn, every time an opponent came dangerously close to my demon, I found myself trembling.

Fear gripped me so tightly I could barely breathe.

Such intense emotions burned through me that I realized I had never felt anything like this while watching any race before.

In a way, it felt thrilling, almost intoxicating…

but at the same time, it was terrifying beyond words.

On the final laps, I was in the most anxious state of them all… His name was leading on the board and few more laps later, and on the final one, just before the finish line, his opponent almost caught up with him.

But then something happened. They skidded slightly, and right at the finish line, they collided.

Seemed like his opponent had lost its control over the bike.

Both flew off their motorcycles as the crowd erupted in a terrible scream.

I shouted too, my heart clenching as I watched the chaos unfold – screeching metal, sparks, flames, cries.

His opponent flew much further away with his bike, rolling across the track like a broken toy, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Desmond began to rise… slowly, shakily… Oh my God… I prayed under my breath, hoping both would be okay, my feet moving before I could think. I ran toward the track, panic overtaking me.

It turned out to be farther than I expected, and pushing through the crowd wasn’t easy.

By the time I reached the edge of the track, the medics had already moved the riders behind the barriers for examination.

Desmond was sitting on an exam table, doctors working on him with careful, precise movements.

His protective uniform and helmet had saved him, leaving only scratches on his hands and arms as they bandaged him.

When he noticed me, he smiled and raised his hand in a small wave.

The other rider was nowhere to be seen, perhaps he was injured worse and had been taken straight to the hospital. Or he was already dead because for a human it was not possible to get out of this… alive.

I stepped forward, and the people parted to let me through. As I walked past, I could hear them whispering:

“What’s a nun doing here?”

“Did she come to do the funeral rites?”

“Oh God, what horror…”

Their murmurs chilled me, but when I saw Desmond’s smile, my heart melted with relief and tenderness.

The doctors allowed me to approach, and as soon as they finished bandaging his hands, he jumped down from the table and pulled me into his arms. Gasps rose all around us, and my face flushed deep red.

Oh God, what was he doing, hugging me like this in public?

This was unacceptable. Everyone was staring, whispering about how crazy he was.

He ignored them, holding me close as he led me away from their prying eyes. My voice trembled as I asked, “Are you okay?” But he didn’t answer. He just held my hand tightly as we walked through the dim, echoing corridors of the racetrack building.

Finally, we stepped out into the air again, and he still said nothing, only guiding me with a silent determination. I followed him without question, trusting his hand gripping mine.

We got into the same car that had brought me here, and as soon as we settled in the back seat, the driver rolled up the black tinted divider, giving us privacy.

“What’s going on?” I asked, my voice small in the heavy silence that settled between us.

He clung to me, burying his face in my neck, inhaling deeply. His breath against my skin sent a wave of warmth and goosebumps down my body.

“Desmond…” I whispered softly. My left hand reached for his hair, fingers burrowing into the soft strands. I felt something crusted and sticky – dried blood – and a pang of unease shot through me.

“You need to go to the hospital… are you kidding me?” I whispered harshly.

“I’m fine, already…” His voice was calm, almost lazy, like nothing had happened.