Keeping hold of the end of her hair, he laid his head on her chest, wrapping his arm around her waist. And there he lay, for the first time in his life completely content. He lay there until he caught his breath, playing with Maria’s hair in his hand. Moving from the bed, Raphael gathered her in his arms and walked her to the coffin. He laid her down on the bed of white roses, brushing her hair on the silk pillow with his hand until not a strand was out of place. He placed a small bouquet of white roses in her hands . . . and he smiled. He unraveled the thread from around his finger and laid it on her chest, over her heart.
He would have his little rose forever. She would never ever leave him.
Finally, someone to call his own.
As he stared down at her in the coffin, roses in her hands and hair, something inside him locked into place. A feeling so overwhelming he had to hold on to the coffin’s glass side to remain standing.
Maria . . . his Maria . . . She had shifted something in his dark soul, created something that was never there before. Eradicated some of the pain. Something cracked open in his chest, and he gasped at the new sensation flooding through his veins. He reached for her unmoving hand and, when he took a deep breath, for the first time in his life Raphael felt like he could breathe.
His little rose had brought him life.
Her life, for his.
*****
Gabriel lashed at his back so hard that his vision began to blacken. He thought of Maria with Raphael. Dying. An innocent soul who deserved to live.
So he lashed himself again, wondering when it would all end. The evil, the death his brothers so craved. What his life had become.
When his back was a bloodied mess, he put down the lash and ate Maria’s blood with a lump of bread. He would not let her sins be judged when she passed. He would take them on himself. She would enter heaven pure.
He had failed in saving her life, a fellow person of God, an ally of his faith. But he would not fail in saving her soul.
He would not fail. As the bread and blood passed down his throat, he felt her sin fill his already damned soul . . .
He would not fail.
Chapter Sixteen
Maria gasped, her eyes slamming open and a familiar sight greeting her. Her heart was racing in a heady rhythm as her gaze clashed with the golden stare she had come to adore. She looked down; in her hands was a bouquet of white roses.
She was in the coffin.
She was lying in the coffin, but—
“I’m alive,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from where Raphael had choked her with her hair. He had choked her. She had watched the pleasure on his face as he had wrapped her hair around her neck and made love to her so sweetly as he drained her life.
Raphael was watching her. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright. No, not bright. They were shining with . . . tears . . .
A lump clogged her throat. “I’m alive,” she whispered again. She moved her legs just to be sure she still could. Raphael leaned over the coffin and ran his finger down her cheek. Maria’s eyes closed at the soft feel. “I’m still alive,” she repeated and felt her chest lighten.
When she opened her eyes, Raphael lifted her from the coffin, the white roses she was holding falling to the silk beneath her. Maria watched the bouquet drop, the symbol of death no longer in her hands.
Raphael laid her on the bed and climbed over her. Placing his hands on her face, he crashed his mouth to hers. When he drew back, he said, “You’re mine. You’re mine, and you’re never leaving me. Ever.” His jaw was clenched as his eyes locked on hers. “You’ll be with me every day and never leave my side. You’ll live with me. You’ll bathe with me. We’ll fuck and we’ll never part.”
Despite his harshly spoken words, Maria felt the shaking of his hands on her face, heard the tremor of fear in his voice. She cupped his cheeks, then moved one of her hands to lie over his heart. “I love you too, my lord.” Raphael stilled, and his eyes flared. “I love you with my whole heart . . . my Raphael.”
Raphael exhaled a quick breath, and he kissed her again. His hands tangled in her hair. When he pulled away, Maria’s lips felt bruised. She pushed a falling strand of his messy hair from his forehead. “You didn’t kill me.”
Raphael glanced away, then put his hand on his chest. His forehead pulled down. He appeared confused. “When you were dying . . . when your eyes closed, I knew I would never hear your voice again.” He swallowed, and Maria held her breath. He took her hand in his and stared at their entwined fingers. “When I knew I wouldn’t feel you holding my hand, or sleeping beside me, hand on my chest, or have you in the bath with me, or in the rose garden—”