Page 1 of Wicked (Dark Delights #5)

Isaac

He blew out a breath. There was no point in laying there and staring up at the darkened ceiling, so he pushed himself to his feet and strode to the wardrobe in the corner.

His apartment was tiny, utilitarian, but it was all he really needed.

He’d lived on the grounds of the Paladin Guild’s headquarters since he was a child, and he’d lived alone since he was fifteen.

It was unusual, but when Commander Sloan realized he didn’t play well with others, they granted him an exception to get an apartment alone, and he’d lived there ever since.

After he dressed, he strapped his knives to his belt and looped his sword around his back. Hunting would alleviate the itch. Maybe he could even get in and out without Sloan finding out. He didn’t like that Isaac often went hunting without his squad.

It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t control when the need arose.

He locked his door and marched through the quiet halls of the apartment building, slipping into the stairwell and taking them two at a time to the ground floor.

Outside in the warm, night air, the rubble of the administrative building drew his gaze.

The front half of the building had collapsed two days ago during a demon attack, and they were still picking up the pieces.

None of them had ever expected demons to use explosives , and their wards were useless without the walls they were written on.

It had taken hours after the battle to free all of the bodies, and his fingers were still raw from digging through the rubble with the other survivors.

The children of the orphanage and dormitory were staying in a safe house until the perimeter wall was rebuilt.

Sloan had doubled the guards, since HQ was without its holy wards, but as far as he knew, they hadn’t been directed to stop cars from leaving—yet.

Everyone was being carefully watched, and he had to stop and log his name with the guards at the broken gate.

No one was unaccounted for. Too many people had changed sides, and Sloan wouldn’t risk anyone else slipping from the fold.

“Little late night hunt, Paladin Morrow?” the guard asked.

Isaac offered him a tight smile. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep. Might as well get some work in.”

“Don’t blame you. Have a good one. Stay safe out there.”

“You got it.”

There was a chance Sloan would find out he’d left in the middle of the night and… disapprove. But that was a problem for the future.

He just wanted to sate his hunger.

He drove impatiently, taking his foot off the gas multiple times to slow down his speed. Endangering others was selfish. Selfishness was a sin. His hands twisted around the steering wheel, frustrated.

The nearest cemetery was twenty minutes from HQ. He eased into the deserted parking lot and slammed the brake, wrenching off his seatbelt and grabbing his sword from the backseat.

“Don’t keep me waiting,” he called out to the silence as he strode out amongst the headstones.

No darkness was absolute in a city like Los Angeles. Light pollution followed almost everywhere, giving the headstones a sickly yellow glow. The hum of cars on a distant highway was audible, and sirens rang out somewhere nearby.

A rustle of sound caught his attention. Too quiet for most to notice, but he wasn’t fooled. Something was nearby. Leaving his sword in its sheath, he drew his knives instead. He wanted to get close for this kill. Wanted to watch the life leave the monster’s eyes.

It pounced from behind, using a headstone to give itself a height advantage, but he was ready.

Isaac turned, bringing his blades up, and stabbed the creature with both, letting its momentum carry it overhead.

It slammed down onto the ground, shrieking in pain, and Isaac laughed, adrenaline soaring through his veins.

He pinned the creature’s slender neck with one hand and raised a knife.

The monster had coal black skin and sharp teeth, its bony limbs stronger than they looked.

Claws pricked his arm, but he didn’t care.

The pain sparkled behind his eyes as he brought the knife down into its chest. Black blood bubbled up around the blade as the demon went slack beneath him, and Isaac wished for only one thing.

He wished the blood could be red. Red was such a satisfying color.

There was no time to enjoy his kills like this when he patrolled with his squad. They didn’t understand why he liked to risk getting so close, didn’t understand the thrill he felt when the body beneath him went still.

Paladin blades, engraved with holy inscriptions and sharpened with holy oil, were the only known weapons that could kill a demon.

The beast’s body decayed before his eyes, breaking down and turning to dust as he freed his weapons and stood.

The black blood coating the steel dried and flaked away as his gaze roamed the cemetery, debating which direction to go next.

With the demon gone and his body thrumming with excitement, he chose a direction at random and began to walk. He’d stop either when he was sated or when the sun rose—whichever came first.

Isaac hunted until dawn, gleefully watching demon after demon bleed out and go limp on the end of his blades.

The other paladins treated this like an honorable burden, like hunting monsters was a grim and thankless task they would be rewarded for after they died.

Isaac didn’t know what awaited him after death, but he planned to enjoy himself along the way—as much as he was allowed, at least.

The demons slunk away as the sun rose, and like them, Isaac heaved a sigh and made his way back to his car.

If Sloan or Father Hawley knew he’d been out all night, they would have questions.

They would have judgments . He’d rather avoid an inquiry.

They didn’t trust him, and he didn’t blame them, though he chafed under their overbearing direction.

They didn’t like him going off on his own, though they allowed it sometimes—when he asked for permission—because he got undeniable results.

Whether he would be punished for an unsanctioned hunt during such a tumultuous time for the guild relied on the whims of his masters.

He hadn’t asked for permission this time.

The urge had demanded to be sated. Finding one of them to approve the hunt would have taken too long, and they might not have even allowed him to go so late at night.

If they punished him, so be it. It was worth it at the time, and he ignored the way his stomach squirmed with anxiety now. The damage was done.

He drove straight back to HQ and arrived before the sun had crested over the horizon, just a dim, golden-gray glow at the edge of the world. With a flash of dismay, he noticed the lights in the church were on. That never boded well.

With deliberate calm, Isaac parked his car in his usual spot and got out. The itch was gone, and his body was relaxed. He finally felt like he could fall asleep—but when he turned toward the apartment building, his steps faltered.

In jeans and a crisp black shirt with a white collar, Father Hawley waited by the front door, watching him. His bald head was highlighted by the golden glow of the exterior light, and he held a travel mug in one hand.

Prickling with unease, Isaac had no choice but to walk over and greet him.

“Father,” he said coolly. “I didn’t expect you. ”

Hawley nodded sagely, his hazel brown eyes studying Isaac intently. “I know. Walk with me, Paladin Morrow.”

No .

He bowed his head in defeat and fell into step with the priest. There was no hiding where he’d been. He still wore his knives on his belt, and even if he weren’t, lying would only make things worse. Hawley always knew when he was lying, somehow.

“How many did you kill?” Hawley asked as they passed the prison.

They had one lone prisoner locked up inside—the one responsible for the demons finding and attacking HQ. The council hadn’t decided what to do with him.

“Three,” he answered belatedly.

“And how did you kill them?”

They were demons. It shouldn’t matter. All that should matter was that they were dead. But he knew Hawley’s real motivations by now. It wasn’t about the demons at all. It was about Isaac. He wanted to know if Isaac had given in to the darkness inside him, if he’d indulged his bloodlust.

“I killed them quickly,” he lied, hoping it sounded smooth enough to be believable. “I was just restless. I’ve been restless since the battle here.”

They were at the church now. Hawley opened the door and ushered Isaac inside. Internally, he recoiled from the quiet, gleaming interior, but his feet moved forward despite his misgivings. He knew better than to disobey.

He drifted to the front of the room, stopping in front of the pulpit where he was always instructed to go. Behind it, a large, golden cross hung on the wall against a green velvet curtain. As a child, he used to wonder if it was real gold. Now, he knew nothing was ever what it seemed .

Hawley circled him. “Tell me your sins.”

His stomach plummeted. “I have no need for a confession, Father,” he said.

“Tell me your sins.” There was steel in his voice this time. Isaac was meant to obey his authority no matter what.

Gritting his teeth, Isaac knelt down and glared at the floor. “I killed them slowly.”

“And?” Hawley barked.

Isaac flinched. What else was there? How much could he have sinned in the last few hours? “And…” He thought hard. “I enjoyed it.”

“ And ?”

Isaac froze. What else was there? What else had he done wrong?

Hawley rounded the pulpit, and Isaac knew what he was fetching without looking. “Remove your shirt.”

Isaac wanted to scream. He killed the demons; he did his job. So what if he enjoyed the act itself? He jerked his shirt off so hard he nearly ripped it, gripping it in his lap to hide the way his hands trembled, and Hawley approached him with a grim expression.