The guy was a living saint. And Gabriel had the Fallen’s allegiance . . . no matter how much it tested them to restrain their basest desires. Their self-restraint was their thanks to their brother for everything he had done. Without Gabriel, they would all be dead.
When Gabriel handed Raphael the scroll, Raphael saw what he always did in Gabriel’s eyes. Something that looked like pain. Raphael didn’t understand it. He would never understand what Gabriel felt in these moments. In Raphael’s opinion, their leader felt too much, period. He was too innocent. Gabriel couldn’t have been more different than the rest. Bara, back in Purgatory, used to tease him and call him “Angel.” The moniker couldn’t have been more accurate.
The angel willingly living in a den of demons. Unrepentant, soul-stealing demons.
“The Revelation has been given,” Gabriel announced. One by one Raphael’s brothers rose to their feet. Hoods were pushed back as Raphael unlaced the red ribbon that held the scroll closed. Dropping the ribbon to the ground, where it pooled like the blood he would spill, he opened the parchment and read the name written across the center in Gabriel’s perfect calligraphy.
Angela Bankfoot.
“Trafficker of young girls,” Gabriel said. “Made millions kidnapping teenagers from their homes then selling them to the sex trade.”
Raphael smirked.
Angela Bankfoot would be fun to kill.
Raphael walked to the stone font engraved with the Fallen’s sword-and-angel-wings emblem. The font wasn’t for holy water, as the fonts at Holy Innocents had been. This was an inferno. And rather than being used to bless a congregation or to baptize a child, the Fallen’s font consumed the names of the soon-to-be dead, preemptively sending their names to hell, to where the prey’s soul would soon follow. Mesmerized by the orange and red flames, Raphael let the fire heat his face. He relished the burn on his skin.
Raphael dropped the scroll into the fire. He watched as the blaze devoured the paper, swallowing up the letters that formed the bitch’s name. When he turned, Gabriel handed him a brown leather folder. It was filled with information on the target. Each brother was given one when they received a Revelation. All the intel they would need to seek out and toy with their deserving victim before bringing them their demise.
One by one, his brothers nodded in his direction. An act of silent congratulation. But Raphael saw the envy on their faces, the disappointment that it wouldn’t be them who got to elicit pain from another fucked-up soul and savor the symphony of their screams. Gabriel moved back to the altar. The Fallen all looked his way. When Gabriel nodded, they lowered their heads and began reciting the Commandments of the Fallen: “Thou shalt not kill an innocent. Thou shalt not stray from the Fallen’s path . . . Thou shalt not bring prey back to Eden Manor. . .”
As the commandments fell from Raphael’s lips, he fought the need to flee to his room, for privacy. To begin the preparation for the takedown. He smiled to himself.
It was time to begin the hunt. It was almost as fulfilling as the kill. Almost.
Gabriel walked to the ceremonial bell’s rope and pulled it down; the bell rang out, its tone vibrating through Raphael’s bones. He stared at the rope, and his smile widened. If he closed his eyes, he would be taken back to the genesis of his fall. To being a twelve-year-old child who thought nothing of watching someone die. And was no longer able to hold back the need to do so.
Raphael could still remember every detail of wrapping the red rope around Gavin’s slender neck. After months of studying every student at Holy Innocents school, he had finally chosen Gavin to be his first. The one to break Raphael’s virginity—his strangulation virginity. If he closed his eyes tighter, Raphael could still feel the rough fibers of the church bell’s rope under his fingers, the crimson strands caressing his palms as he wound it tightly around Gavin’s throat. Around and around and around, the bell signaling Mass ringing in his ears. Raphael sucked in a sharp breath as his cock swelled inside the cage. Replaying Gavin’s chokes and stuttered breaths in his head brought him to rapture. He remembered every detail of Gavin’s battle to hold onto consciousness as Raphael pulled the rope tighter and tighter, pulling it just enough that it drained Gavin of life but didn’t crush his trachea. Raphael needed the neck to remain perfect, no breaks or snaps. The true beauty of the kill lay in the remaining perfection in the aftermath. The elegance of the slow death without mutilation.
A most perfect asphyxiation.
Raphael was suddenly consumed by the need to begin his hunt. The memory of Gavin’s strangulation had awakened his senses, stirred to life the demonic beast that owned his blackened soul. The minute the final bell rang out, he rushed back to the change room to hang up his robe and made for the stairs. The winding of the stone steps only made the kindle of anticipation flare more strongly. The twisting, circular movements made his breath come in sharp puffs of strained inhales and exhales.