Page 23

Chapter 23

EZEKIEL

M y head is reeling, pulsing hard beneath my skull, and my stomach twists in knots as I climb the stone staircase up to the only floor I haven’t been to yet. There are no signs of blood up here. It’s much cleaner than the lower levels.

Let’s fucking change that, shall we?

I don’t give a single fuck if they can hear me coming. I want them to. I want that filthy fucking priest to shake in his boots, knowing his corrupt plans are all going to shit because of me.

I want him to know that he’s about to die.

The concrete floors downstairs are long gone as I walk along the polished checkered marble. The walls up here are painted black, so I suppose it is easier to hide the evidence of their sins. The smell of incense fills the air, and I follow the scent like a fucking bloodhound.

I unlock the first door, pushing it open to see a woman sitting on the end of a stretcher bed, looking up at me, fear swimming in her bruised eyes. She’s wearing a dress, rags , much similar to Airlie’s, and I’m starting to realize a trend here.

Father Grimsby has favorites.

I raise a finger to my lips, gesturing for her to keep quiet, and then I hold my hands up to either side of me, showing her that I am unarmed. These victims aren’t the ones who should be afraid of me.

“You’re safe. You’re safe. I need your help. Nod if you understand,” I whisper. The woman straightens her shoulders a little, nodding her head in answer, as her eyes roll over my blood-covered body. “Do you know where they are?” I ask, and her shocked expression changes from one of panic to hopeful in a matter of seconds.

Her bloodshot eyes flick to my left, followed by a slight nod of her head, silently confirming that she knows exactly who I mean by they .

I didn’t notice any other stairs, which means that this must be the top floor. Airlie has to be in one of these rooms. I feel sick as dread coils inside my stomach.

“I need your help. They have my girl, and I think they’re going to kill her. I can’t save everyone on my own. Can you help me?” Her eyes widen in surprise, and she nods. “Good. I need you to get everyone out. Tell them not to wait for you and to go straight to the dock outside. Tell them not to make a single sound. Their lives depend on it, do you understand?” I ask, and she stands, just as eager to leave this wretched hell behind. “There are children, young children, and they will need to be carried. We can’t risk them falling behind. Nod, if you understand,” she nods, tears brimming her tired, beaten eyes, and I reach out, passing her the keys.

Her movements give me pause as she raises her index finger and holds it against her lips. She moves behind me, turning around slightly, and gestures for me to follow. I don’t have time to fuck around, and I’m sure she knows this place better than I do, so I have no choice. Control has always been hard for me to relinquish. And given the severity of the situation, I can’t afford to be double-crossed, not like last time. Then again, I have the worst fucking luck when it comes to any and all my plans, so handing over control is probably for the best.

We leave the room, the woman in the lead as she tip-toes to the opposite end of the dark hallway. She looks up, pointing to the two medieval-style maces hanging criss-cross on the stone for decoration. I reach for them, careful not to make a sound so nobody is alerted that she’s out of her room.

I don’t want any more innocent blood spilled.

The maces are made of iron, with spikes as sharp as knives on the rounded end. It would bludgeon their faces clean off their skeletons with the right swing, and I intend to do just that. The corner of my mouth tilts into a grin. I don’t know why I didn’t think to use these before.

I look down at the woman, not a word spoken between us, and I think it’s because they’re close. The woman turns, facing the door to our right, then looks back at me.

My girl is in there.

Walking over, she puts the key in the lock, and before she twists it, she shares another glance that asks if I’m ready.

With every fiber of my fucking being.

I square my shoulders, and the rage simmering within my core mutates into a chronic thirst for their blood as adrenaline and the urgent need to save my girl propels me across the threshold. The woman is long gone as I take in the sight before me. My tainted heart stops, flying straight to my throat, and everything moves in slow motion.

Seven dark figures surround an altar, hovering over something . Their candlelit shadows flicker against tapestry and stone, and all I smell is blood.

My siren’s blood.

I catch a glimpse of red hair hanging long over the side of what I assume is a table of sorts, and that’s all the confirmation I need. Without hesitation, I step forward, placing one bare foot in front of the other, and like a man possessed, I raise my weapons and start swinging.

My mace connects with the back of a skull, successfully pulverizing it as I wrench back my weapon, and the tall figure falls back, hitting the floor with a thud. Brain matter and blood splatters, covering not only me but also the surroundings.

The cult , all wearing clerical costumes beneath black Ferraiolo capes, soulless monsters tilting their heads to look at me, blood coating their lips and falling down their chins. I catch a glimpse of one of the men, standing with a golden chalice held tight in his hand, way too slow to register what’s about to happen to him.

To all of them.

They’re drinking her blood.

An audible exhale escapes me.

“You’re all fucking dead!” I scream, my throat hoarse and raw with emotion as I swing for the nearest cunt posing as a man of God, my eyes honing in on his face.

Pieces of minced flesh and shattered bone fly haphazardly across the room, and as my weapon comes down, I swing the other, held tightly in my grasp. It’s as if they’ve finally joined that party and have stepped out of whatever trance they were in because resounding male screams echo through the room.

“ No, please. Pleaseeee!” is all I hear from the man lying on his back, cowering in the corner like the fucking weak piece of shit that he is, before I raise both arms and swing, his head history as both weapons collect either side of his face.

My eyes are red, and I wipe them with the inside of my right arm as chanting and prayers for salvation replace any signs of fear, each seemingly accepting their fucking fates.

They’re not even going to bother to fight back?

“Where the fuck is your God now? Do you think he is going to save you? You sick, twisted fucking scum!” I say, as one by one, my weapons meet flesh.

And I don’t stop until their pulverized heads are embroidered across the religious tapestry.

With blood dripping from my face and into my eyes, I glance down at my girl.

“Baby,” I almost cry.

My voice is unrecognizable as I rush to Airlie’s side, my bloodied hands shaking from the undiluted adrenaline and fear that quickly replaces it. Her hands are nailed, fucking nailed to a cross. Her fragile, naked body is laid out on stone. My eyes drop to her hands, bruised purple from blood loss and movement against the nails, and my chest feels like it’s about to collapse.

Her pale skin is even paler, her beautiful pink lips now a shade of violet as my eyes search her face for something, anything that tells me my girl is okay. I hold two fingers against her neck to check her pulse. She’s breathing, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, but she’s lost a lot of blood. The nails protruding from her palms seep with crimson, and I look down at the silver buckets filled with her blood.

“Airlie, baby, stay with me. Don’t you dare die on me! You can’t fucking die on me! ”

Panic and sheer desperation fuels me, and I advance on one of the bodies that lay on the floor at my feet. I start ripping off pieces of material from his deservingly slaughtered corpse, then run to the stoup and frantically wash as much blood from my hands as possible. I return to Airlie’s side, and my breathing stops as I struggle to pull the nails one by one from her hands. She cries out, her eyes opening wide before they turn on me.

“It’s okay, baby, shh… It’s me. It’s me. I’m so sorry. You’ll be okay. Try not to move,” I soothe, but I have never felt more terrified of anything in my entire life than I do seeing her like this.

“My stranger,” she sobs, half delirious, and the smile on my face is nothing more than a mask.

“That’s right, baby girl. It’s me. You’re okay. We’re gonna be okay, you and me,” I choke, my marred fingers struggling to pull the nails from deep within her flesh.

I don’t ever want to hear her cry like this again. I vow to kill anyone who causes a single fucking tear of sadness to fall from her eyes once we’re out of here.

Her body slackens, a wave of exhaustion hitting her as she cries quietly. I remove the last of the nails in her palms and wrap them tightly to stem the bleeding. There are no signs of bruising other than the damage caused to her hands and feet, but the blood that coats her inner thighs gives me pause. Those sick fucking bastards better not have hurt her.

I lean over, pressing my lips to her delicate skin—first, her eyes, then her nose before placing them gently on her lips. My bloodied hands hold either side of her face, but I don't care.

I need to touch her, feel that she's okay.

“You're mine, Little Siren,” I whisper against her lips.

She looks up into my eyes, a roller coaster of emotions playing behind them. “Until death,” she replies, and I know I've rubbed off on her.

“And in every life that follows, baby,” I whisper, her eyes crinkling at the corners, and then I place a final kiss on her cheek before tending to the wounds on her feet. “This is gonna hurt, Airlie,” I warn, not liking that I have to put her through this.

“I'm used to pain,” she says, her voice weak from the blood loss and tears still staining her cheeks.

I hate that she's used to any sort of harm at all.