Need spurs me on faster and faster until I burst through the door to the dorms and rush to Delilah’s room. When I fling her door open, she jumps and slides to the floor while yanking at her dress.

I want her in my arms so badly that I have to stop and take a breath. If I did that—simply embraced her—my father would see. And then my ruse would be over. She’d become an even bigger pawn in his game.

Forcing myself to take even steps is the worst torture I’ve ever endured, and I’ve been through plenty. I sit in front of her and simply stare at her. When I think about how she ran from me, I grip the edge of the bed. When I think about how I was willing to let her go, everything inside me rebels.

“Adam?” Her soft voice wafts over me, and something deep inside me begins to unwind.

I refocus on her gaze. Dark circles mar the skin under her eyes, her cheeks are gaunt, and her lips are cracked in several places. Raw wrists, slouching shoulders, and sallow skin tell me how bad it was in the Rectory. But they don’t tell the whole story.

“What did they do, little lamb?” I stroke my hand down her cheek and find her just as warm as she’s always been. “After you were led astray, what happened?”

“You took me to the Rectory.” The bite in her voice cuts deep.

“I didn’t have a choice.” Did I? I could have let her go and killed the men closing in. But my mind plays through the outcomes. Each of them end with her captured and me dead or permanently entombed in the Rectory.

She drops her gaze, hiding her face from me. I’m supposed to tell her to look at me, to follow my rules, to always do what I say, and most of all—that any further disobedience will result in vicious punishment from me. Instead, I want to pull this wounded fairy with the broken wings into my arms. Fuck, I’ve gone soft.

“On the bed.” Even though she’s destroyed, my blood still thrills at the thought of touching her.

She doesn’t resist, just climbs onto the mattress and lies on her back, even spreading her legs before I tell her to. I don’t look at her there, despite the steady thrum of my blood telling me to. I lie down on top of her, balancing on my elbows and staring into her eyes. Gray and inscrutable, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look into them and see all of her.

“You can’t try anything like that again.” I keep my voice low, lest Grace and the Prophet got a little too exuberant and installed audio devices in Delilah’s room. Hell, it’s highly likely.

“I know.”

I sift her hair between my fingers. “Tell me what happened in the Rectory.” I need to know, to feel what she went through. If I could have taken the torture on myself, I would have. But my father didn’t give me that option. He never gives me any options. I push the bitter truth aside and focus on my only respite from the Prophet. “I want to know.”

“Aren’t you going to threaten me first? Maybe hit me with your belt?” She comes out swinging, which I can appreciate.

“I only do that when it’s fun.” I glance down at her. “With you in this state, it would be like killing a fly with a bazooka. Flashy, but not satisfying.”

“You’re an asshole.” The fire reappears in her, the flame that drew me from the moment I saw her.

“I know. Now tell me.”

She closes her eyes, hiding from me. “I was strapped to a table. And there was water. Constant water.” She touches a spot on her forehead and winces. “It dripped. And I know it sounds insane, but that drip… it was so—”

“It’s a form of torture as old as civilization.” I press my forehead to hers, trying to erase the ghost of sensation she’s feeling.

“Good to know.” She clears her throat. “And it was pitch black. Grace was there. She’d taunt me.”

Murderous rage boils inside me, but I stay relaxed, as calm as I can be to soothe her nightmare away. “Yes.”

“And they would drag me to this room. And…”

I wait for her to continue and catch a tear rolling from the corner of her eye. The words “you’re safe now, with me” hover on the tip of my tongue, but they aren’t real. They’re lies. And I can’t force them past my lips. A first.

“Your father would be there. With food and water.” The words pour out of her in an anguished torrent. “And I couldn’t say no. I was so hungry and tired and, God, I just wanted it to stop and he kept telling me all these things.” More tears leak from the corners of her eyes, and I wipe each one away. “He was so kind, but then I would be dragged back to that room. Again and again.”

“I’m sorry.” The apology is rusty coming from me. But I mean it all the same.

“Sorry?” She gives me an incredulous stare. “You sent me there! You could have let me go. You could have let all of us go. You can end this right now!”

“Keep your voice down.” I grip her forearms. “And I can’t end this, not now. There are so many things you don’t know—”

“I’m well aware that I’m in the dark.”

“And you’re going to have to stay that way, I’m afraid.” I can’t tell her my plans, the things I want for her—for us.

“Get out.” She tries to pull her arms free, but can’t. “Please just leave.”

She’s closed off again, nothing getting through her armor. I lean close to her ear. “Check under your pillow, little lamb. But don’t let them see.” I rise and stride to the door, leaving her room without looking back. Each step away from her is a new scar across my soul, but she needs to recover. And I only have two days to finish preparations for the Winter Solstice.

The Spinners drop their chins in deference as I tear through the hallways until I come to Grace’s door. It swings open. She’s been watching me from the moment I set foot in The Cloister. Bitch.

“To what do I owe this little visit?” She perches on the edge of her desk as I sink into one of her too-plush leather chairs.

“Are you going to hold up your end for the Solstice?”

“Of course.” She runs her fingers along a silver necklace sitting on the edge of her desk. “My Maidens will fall in line. I’ve been in constant communication with the Chapel. They’re ready. What about you?” Her eyes narrow. “Do you have your end straight?”

I nod. “Bonfire, entertainment, sacrifice.”

Her eyes dance at that last word. I want to pity the creature she’s become, but I can’t bring myself to pardon her for any of her sins. She’s a jagged piece of filth, just like me. And to forgive her would be hollow, empty like we are. What she’s done is beyond grace. I would laugh at the irony, but nothing can make me smile. Nothing except Delilah.

“Have you changed your mind about what I said last time?” She begins to lift her skirt.

“Knock it off.” I hold her gaze.

Her perfect pout forms as she drops the fabric. “Still mad?”

“Stop terrorizing Delilah.” I take an ounce of joy when she winces.

“She’s my Maiden. The Prophet has given me leave to do what—”

“If I find another bruise, break, or so much as a scratch on her, I’ll be back here for you.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” She bats her lashes.

“Do you know the spot on the river about half an acre from where Faith is buried?” Just saying her name opens a wound that never truly stopped bleeding. But this needs to be done, and I have to do it now.

She blanches and walks around her desk, foolishly believing that a chunk of mahogany can protect her from me. “Why are you saying this?”

“Because that’s the spot where I will drown you. I’ve thought about that deep water so many times.” I stare at her, seeing every bit of her twisted heart and broken soul. “The rocks there are smooth, did you know? The water has cleared off their rough edges over time. So, when I step into that dark pool, I’ll do it barefoot, feeling those round rocks beneath my toes. You’ll be thrashing, screaming, begging. Your dress will soak with water. It’s so cold there under the oak trees, even in the summer, the water will give you a chill.” She crosses her arms as I stand and walk over to her, continuing, “You’ll keep running your lying mouth, just like you always do, and I’ll shove you under the surface. And then?” I lean down and grab her chin, squeezing it hard. “Blissful silence. I’ll leave your body there. No one will find you. I’ll forget about you, and before long you’ll be food for fish, raccoons, coyotes. And then you’ll just be gone.” I smile down at her, her eyes wide and her mouth slack.

“Adam,” she whispers, her eyes watering.

Her tears don’t affect me, not anymore. I hope she sheds enough to drown herself.

“Don’t. Touch. Delilah.” Releasing her, I turn and stride out the door.